You have no idea.
Perhaps Marco could read how Stella was coming undone – the way her shoulders had dropped, or the new look of concern which filled her face – but something prompted him to steel himself and reach for her hand. ‘Ti porto a casa.Andiamo.’
Accepting his invitation, she found relief in the prospect of going home. Of ending what had been such a beautiful intimate day together. She recalled the darkness of his eyes in her mind, and allowed herself to accept that perhaps he did have feelings for her. Of some kind.
Part of her was bolstered by this prospect, but another – the louder, reason-driven part – warned her. With fresh wounds and a cautious heart, she sighed.
But it was Giuseppe’s words that she could hear on their arm-linked walk back to Marco’smotorino. They drowned out the street noise and the stark brightness of the traffic lights on the ride back to Trastevere.
‘Marco was right. You are very beautiful.’
Throughout the journey, Stella’s mind wandered to that sense of longing. It scared her, revealing for the first time that perhaps she wantedsomeoneorsomethingto fill that void sooner than she was ready.
Because she wasn’t.
Of that she was certain.
Stella felt just as she always did to Marco; small. It made it easier to wrap his arms around her, and she had the most incredible way of melting into the space he made for her. Her cropped hair tickled his chin, and her intoxicating scent bore holes in his resolve, knowing that he had to give her the opportunity to heal.
Eventually, he felt her slip from his embrace and she took a moment to flick her fringe back into place. ‘Thank you for today, Marco.’ Her eyes reflected the lights of Santa Maria in Trastevere. ‘It was really, truly magical.’
‘Grazie a te.’ He reached out and caressed her cheek with the back of his hand, concerned to find it cold from the windswept ride. As much as he wanted to keep her there, even for a few moments longer, he knew she needed to go. ‘Che freddo, Stella, vai.’
His heart flipped upon feeling her hand reach for his, giving it a gentle yet determined squeeze. ‘Your friendship means a lot to me, Marco.Youmean a lot to me.’ She smiled, then turned, disappearing around the corner,cascounder her arm.
The f-word. The final drop of hope that had kept him buoyed all day finally drained from his heart. It trickled down through his now solidified legs, dispersing among the cobblestones underfoot.
He sighed, and looked to the sky in search of comfort.
Stella was in Rome for a reason, and the reason wasn’t him. Her focus drove nearly everything she did, day in, day out. She had an objective and an end goal. It would be selfish of him to try to derail that.
As much as it hurt to admit it, Marco felt that the day had provided some kind of closure.
Stella wasn’t ready for anyone, let alone him.
‘How was your specialgiornata alla romana?’ Marcella asked upon Stella’s re-entry to the apartment.
‘Heavenly,’ she replied on an exhale.
‘Then why,’ she stepped out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on the tea towel flung over her shoulder, ‘do you look likethis?’
‘Like what?’ Stella asked, suddenly self-conscious.
‘Like this!’ Marcella grabbed Stella and led her into their cramped little bathroom.
Hollow cheeks gave way to vacant eyes, and her sparkle seemed to have left her. Seeing her reflection clamped a vice around her heart, and she braced herself against the cold porcelain basin. ‘Oh God . . .’ she whispered, allowing her fatigued soul to finally release her tears.
Marcella hugged her from behind. ‘Eh! What’s wrong?’
The words left her mouth to their own accord. ‘I feelsoalone.’
In Stella’s mind, the wordaloneconjured images of growing old surrounded by cats, eating frozen meals and reading sappy romance novels, wearing the pages to sheer transparency. And sustained unemployment.
‘You’re not alone, Stellina. You have me, Carlotta, Giulio, Elda, Marco . . .’
‘I’m going to end up being the old cat lady of Rome! The ultimateGattara!’ She trudged into the living room and dropped onto the couch. ‘I’ve always been fascinated by the cats at Torre di Largo Argentina. Maybe that’s a sign!’ She let out a whiny grunt and practically faceplanted into one of the cushions.
With a loud clap of her hands, Marcella snapped into her tough love routine. ‘Stella! You have to get over this! You are beautiful, and talented and sweet. Any man would love to call you his own!’
