Chapter Three #2
‘Do you speak Italian?’
‘I do.’ She was bilingual and proud of it. Then she thought of the way her half-brother Rocco rolled his eyes at her Australian accent and at her occasional confusion when someone spoke in a strong dialect or used unfamiliar colloquialisms. ‘But not well.’
It was a white lie but there was a strange freedom in speaking her mother tongue.
Nowadays she only used it when talking to tourists.
Being far from her father’s home, speaking the language he’d decreed she couldn’t use if she were to perfect her Italian, felt good.
As if, for a short time, she could shuck off the worries weighing her down.
When she’d checked in she’d used English, thinking that if her family searched for her they’d ask for an Italian speaker. Which was why she’d checked in under her legal name, rather than her father’s. She used the latter day-to-day for convenience but wasn’t legally entitled to it.
Another reminder that she was an outsider.
‘Perhaps you want to practise your Italian?’
She met his surprisingly intense stare and shook her head. ‘I’d rather listen to you speak English.’
Too late she realised how she sounded, like a woman breathlessly hanging on his words, and it was true, she could listen to his voice for hours. But instead of preening he laughed and the sunny day grew even brighter.
‘What’s your name?’
‘Stella.’ She saw he was waiting for more but she didn’t want to give it. She liked the untethered freedom that anonymity provided. She wanted to savour it. ‘Just Stella.’
If word got out about where she was, her father would send someone to bring her home and she desperately needed time alone.
That was why she’d chosen a hotel owned by Giancarlo Valenti.
Given her father’s hatred of the Valenti family no Barbieri would stay on the premises.
At least she hoped that was what he’d think.
‘A pretty name. It means star.’
‘Yes. That’s what my mother used to call me, her little star.’ She stopped abruptly, aware she was babbling again. ‘And you are?’
‘Gio.’ His gaze held hers with curious gravity. Almost as if he expected her to know the name.
‘It’s nice to meet you, Gio. Are you from Rome?’ He might have been eating at the hotel rather than staying there.
For a moment longer his expression was unreadable.
Then he smiled. ‘No, but I visit often.’ He gestured towards the road where there was a break in the traffic and together they made it to the large cobblestoned piazza and began walking across.
Ahead a group of tourists posed before a huge, ornate fountain. ‘And you? I know you’re not local.’
‘No.’ She paused, wary of sharing too much, then shook off the urge for caution, impatient that she was overthinking things. ‘I’m Australian. From Melbourne.’
‘You’ve left an Australian winter for spring in Rome? It’s a good time to be here. Before the true heat and all the visitors. I assume Melbourne is chilly now?’
‘I—’ He’d taken her by surprise, assuming she’d flown straight from Australia. But it was easier to let him believe that than explain her true situation.
‘Melbourne winters are cold. The wind sweeps up from the Antarctic.’
She looked sideways and once more he was scrutinising her. But even as she thought it he smiled, a slow furling of the lips that made her pulse quicken. He really was an extraordinarily charismatic man.
Why was he spending time with her? But then he spoke and she shelved the question.
‘Not just in winter. I was there in spring and I’d swear we had four seasons in a day. Everything from rain and wind to blazing sun.’
Stella’s footsteps slowed. ‘You’ve been there?’
Strange that his casual comment should make her feel homesick.
She no longer pined for Melbourne as she had through those terrible days when she grappled with the loss of her mother and everything she knew.
But suddenly she yearned for that little suburban house with its well-tended garden.
She remembered helping her mum pick home-grown vegetables and playing hopscotch with her friends on the cracked, concrete driveway.
‘Once or twice. But not for a while.’
‘You should visit in summer, in January when the Australian Open Tennis is on, right near the city centre. It’s a great day out.’
Her mother had taken her once. Not to centre court, because they couldn’t afford the tickets. They’d got a pass that gave access to the outside courts and practice areas. Her mum had packed a picnic and they’d drifted from court to court, seeing so many of the players Stella had heard about.
‘You’re a tennis player?’
‘Not for a long time.’ Her mother had been and Stella had loved her lessons on Saturday mornings. But there’d been no court near her father’s house and he hadn’t seen the need for her to travel just to hit a ball. She blinked and yanked her thoughts to the present. ‘How about you?’
He had the build of a sportsman.
‘I’ve been known to play from time to time. I’ll have to remember your advice next time I go to Australia.’ He gestured ahead. ‘Here we are.’
Stella’s attention was on the brightly decorated gelateria as she stepped onto the road. An engine roared suddenly and a hand closed around her elbow, pulling her back. She stumbled, colliding with a large, hard body as a tiny car sped past.
‘Always check the traffic before crossing.’
That deep voice didn’t sound lazy now but taut with concern. She looked up and felt again the unfamiliar ripple of awareness she’d experienced back in the hotel. As if Gio were no stranger but someone she knew. Or should have known in another life. As if they had an unseen connection.
She shook her head at the flight of fancy. It was ridiculously unlike her. She’d grown up to be practical, sensible and hard-working. As a child she might have believed in magic and fairytales, but she’d moved beyond that. The magic in her world had died with her mother.
‘Thank you.’ She stepped back and he released his hold. ‘I’ll remember to look out in future.’
She made some half-hearted joke about being too focused on getting her ice cream but felt strangely shaken.
But not by the near collision. By the sudden, urgent longing for a past life she could never recapture? Or was it something to do with her companion?
They crossed the road together but didn’t touch and she was glad because that little prickle of sensation when he’d grabbed her was concerning. It had been like that when he’d handed her belongings to her. She couldn’t remember feeling someone’s touch in that way before.
You’ve never run away from your life before either.
Relief flooded her. Of course things seemed odd today. Her life was in uproar. No wonder she was on edge, imagining things.
‘Are you okay, Stella?’
This time she didn’t look up at him, though she registered a rush of warmth at the way his deep voice lingered on her name. ‘Yes, I’m fine.’
‘Just a little distracted.’
She did look up then, surprised that he’d quoted her words back to her. He looked relaxed, mouth curved in the hint of a smile, yet his eyes were unreadable.
Stella waited. Over the years, through hard-won experience, she’d developed an awareness of people trying to use her for their own ends. Even in her family there were undercurrents as siblings jockeyed for her father’s approval, something Alfredo Barbieri encouraged.
But there were no warning bells now. Only the natural caution of a woman meeting a stranger, though even that was muted.
She wanted, desperately, to do something uncomplicated like enjoy the simple pleasures of ice cream and sunshine. And the smile of a charming man who had no idea who she was and who had nothing to gain from her.
Her grin was wide as she met his gaze. ‘Not any more. Today I’m going to live in the moment. The question is, what flavour do I choose?’
‘Why restrict yourself to one? You could have two or three.’
She laughed out loud. For some reason it had never occurred to her to indulge herself, even on something like multiple gelato flavours. ‘I like your thinking, Gio. I like it a lot.’