Chapter Nine
The band is called Amore e Vino. Love and Wine. I have no idea why, but I kind of like it. The music is mellow but modern, sort of an amalgamation of jazz and new age. The lead singer sounds like a little bit of Diana Krall mixed with a little bit of Amy Winehouse. Sultry, deep, and soulful.
Marina somehow got us a seat up front, so our table for two had a fabulous view as we ate our dinners and sipped the most delicious Sangiovese I’ve ever tasted.
Now our plates are gone, and we’re both thinking about dessert but haven’t decided yet.
Our wine glasses are refilled by the super stealthy waitress who I swear keeps materializing out of thin air, and I sip as the band does an impressive cover of Adele’s “Easy on Me.” Again, the main word I think of to describe the lead singer’s voice is soulful.
There is such depth of emotion in her notes, she moves me to almost-tears, leaving a lump of emotion sitting in my throat.
They finish the set with that song, and the lead singer announces they’ll take a break and be back. I look at Marina with my eyes still wet. “Wow.”
“Pretty amazing, huh?” She says it with a proud smile, and just as I’m wondering about that, she stands up and the lead singer approaches our table to wrap Marina in a clearly ecstatic hug.
The woman squeals something in Italian, then pulls back to hold Marina at arm’s length.
She’s slightly older than Marina, but not much, and she’s dressed in all black—wide-leg pants, loose-fitting tank, a drapey scarf or sweater or shawl thing that I can’t really discern—and her ash blond hair is piled on her head.
Her eye makeup is dark and heavy, but somehow, looks just right on her.
Marina holds her arm out in my direction, and I stand. “Gina DiGiuseppe, meet my friend, Lily Chambers. Lily, this is my dear, dear friend, Gina.”
We shake hands over the table, and Gina sizes me up in a way that isn’t even a little bit subtle. “It’s nice to meet you,” she says, her English perfect but her accent much heavier than Marina’s.
“Likewise,” I say, then gesture to the corner where the rest of the band is standing and chatting. “You guys are terrific. Seriously. Wow. Wonderful.”
Gina looks like she’s not sure if I’m being sincere or blowing smoke up her ass, as my dad would say, so I stop talking and glance at Marina, who I’m pretty sure levels a look at Gina. It’s like they’re having a conversation without any words.
Gina speaks in Italian, and Marina answers her in English.
This happens twice before Gina sighs loudly and switches to English, and I realize Marina is doing it for my benefit.
I add another tick in her Win column in my head.
They chat a few minutes longer, then Gina excuses herself to the ladies’ room, and Marina and I sit back down.
“I appreciate what you did just then,” I say.
Marina takes a sip of her wine. “What did I do?”
“I have a cousin who married a guy that’s French Canadian.
He speaks fluent French, but my cousin doesn’t.
Whenever his family comes to visit, they all speak French and he speaks it back to them while my cousin sits there with no idea what’s being said.
I witnessed it once and found it so incredibly rude. So, thank you for not doing that.”
“It’s one hundred percent rude,” Marina says. “And Gina”—she hesitates for a moment before continuing with—“doesn’t love Americans.”
“No? How come?”
Marina wrinkles her nose and her voice has a sheepish tone to it. “She thinks you’re all dumb and spoiled.”
I bark a laugh before tipping my head from side to side. “I mean, she’s not far off.”
Marina laughs at that and looks relieved.
“So, how do you know her?”
“Oh, we dated.” Marina says it so nonchalantly, then picks up her wine and sips again, that it makes me reach across the table and poke her.
“Well, no wonder she doesn’t like me.”
“Trust me, that’s strictly about your homeland.” But there’s a soft twinkle in her eye.
“Why didn’t it work out?” My question is genuine, not teasing, and I hope she sees that.
“Well…” Marina wets her lips as she gathers her thoughts, and I try not to audibly clear my throat at the sight.
She waves a hand toward the band. “First of all, the hours are terrible. She sleeps all day and is up all night. I don’t work that way.
I’m more of a morning person, and I need my sleep.
Second, we are just very different people with different goals in life.
” She shrugs to punctuate the simplicity of it.
“And you stayed friends. That’s awesome.”
“We did. I like her a lot. We just made very bad partners.”
“I get that.”
The restaurant has really filled up since we got here, and as the band returns, the vibe is even more palpable. Applause breaks out as Gina returns to her mic and smiles.
Marina and I have slid our chairs around toward the back of our small table so we’re sitting next to each other. I reach over and grab her hand, and when she looks, I lean close and say in her ear, “I’m having a really good time.”
Her smile is bright and warm, and she squeezes my hand in return.
She doesn’t let go of it.
We leave the restaurant before the band is finished. It’s my suggestion, and I’m okay with that. I’m ready to have quiet, and also to have Marina to myself again. Plus, I don’t want to take too much advantage of Serena, who has Reggie.
“Are you kidding?” Marina asks as we step out of the restaurant and onto the cobblestone street. “Serena loves that dog. She’d keep him forever if you asked her to.”
I’m not sure if she’s trying to make me feel better or if she’s angling for more time, and I’m not sure I want to know which it is. Because I’m not sure which I want it to be.
We stroll casually, hand in hand, back toward where we left Marina’s scooter. Her hand is warm, soft, and strong. I like the way it feels in mine.
“I can’t remember the last time I walked holding hands with somebody.” It’s a thought in my head, and I’m a little surprised when it comes out of my mouth.
“No?”
I shake my head.
“I think holding hands is underrated,” she says, and that somehow seems odd to me coming from somebody under forty.
“You do? How come?”
“Because it carries so much weight.” Her voice gets softer.
“You just said, you can’t remember the last time you held hands with somebody.
Which means you don’t do it often at all.
It’s not a regular, everyday thing. But when you do hold somebody’s hand, it’s likely somebody you trust. Somebody you care about.
Somebody you want to keep safe or that wants to keep you safe.
Somebody who cares enough to lead you or be led by you.
” Her thought seems to trail off and she shrugs in kind of an offhand way, like she’s worried I might think her reasoning is silly.
I don’t think that at all.
“That’s beautiful,” I say, and I mean it. “I’ve never really given it that much thought, but I agree with everything you said.” I give her hand a squeeze to punctuate my words.
We walk quietly for a bit, and I just take in my surroundings.
It’s fucking gorgeous here, there’s no way around it.
The heat has eased enough where I’m not actively sweating the way I have been pretty much since my arrival.
There’s even a bit of a breeze coming in from the direction of the river.
Now that it’s dark and all the shops and restaurants are lit up, now that there are lights all along the river, now that people are strolling, just like us, I feel like I’m walking in a painting.
One titled Evening Stroll Through Trastevere or something factual like that, featuring cafés and bistro tables with wine glasses on them, maybe a faceless couple kissing in the shadows, the whole thing with a tint of moonlight blue. It’s dreamy and romantic.
For a moment or two, I start to think about my pastry chefs—my fictional characters who’ve been ever so stingy with the chemistry—and I wonder about putting them in a similar situation.
Someplace where they’re together, physically close to each other in the evening light.
Surrounded by other people, but feeling like it’s just the two of them.
There’s nothing more romantic than that feeling of the rest of the world just melting away…
“You still with me?” Marina asks softly, giving my hand a gentle tug.
“I am. Just thinking about my current work in progress and the characters.”
“Ah. So, would you say this evening was inspiring ?” There’s a teasing lilt to her voice, and it makes me laugh.
“I would definitely say that, yes. You’ve done well.”
We reach her scooter and she drops my hand, sadly, to unlock the helmets. “Well, just so you know, I have more inspirational ideas. Other places to take you. I mean, if you need more.”
Do I need more? What a stupid question. Of course I need more. I don’t even take a moment to think about it. “I’m in.”
She glances up at me quickly.
“What, are you surprised?”
Her grin is sheepish. Maybe. The light is low and it’s hard to see, but I think I’ve made her happy. Which makes me happy. Ridiculously so. She hands me a helmet, then holds her thumb and forefinger scant millimeters apart. “Maybe a tiny bit.”
“Well,” I say, pulling the helmet on, “you shouldn’t be.
You’re a wonderful date.” Hostess! Hostess!
I meant to say hostess! Damn it. I clamp my mouth shut and concentrate on the chin strap, and I can feel my cheeks heat up.
I’m glad for the dark. When I do finally glance up at her, she’s grinning like she just won the lottery.
“You’re a terrific date as well.” She says it softly and holds my gaze for a beat before getting on the scooter and making room for me. And this ride?
Oh, this ride.