Chapter 38
‘Gino’s here,’ Domenico said. He retreated into the kitchen.
Stella opened the door. Gino held out a bunch of lilies. Her heart lifted.
‘Thank you, they’re beautiful. I’ll put them in a vase. You’d better come in for a minute.’
‘No need. I’ll wait.’
She scurried into the kitchen, shoved the stalks into the sink and hurried out before her uncle could say anything.
The moment the front door closed, Gino pulled her into his arms. She held him tight, inhaling the warm scent of his cologne-spritzed skin.
His lips moved over hers, sending her nerve endings tingling.
Any other day, she would have been in seventh heaven, but the story Domenico had told her played on a loop in her head.
She stepped away. ‘We’d better set straight off. We don’t want them giving away our table.’
Gino smiled. ‘We’re not going back to the pizzeria.’
‘Oh, why not?’
‘Leo’s gone out with Amy tonight. You know what that means? We’ve got his house to ourselves all evening. I’ve been cooking for us. But we don’t need to stay in the kitchen.’ His eyes sparkled.
‘Let’s go, then,’ Stella said.
He held her hand as they walked along. He opened Leo’s front door. They stopped in the hallway.
‘Oh, Stella.’ His kiss on her neck sent a shiver through her. He put his hands around her waist. Her body was melting but her mind wouldn’t follow. She dropped her hands to her sides.
‘Stella?’
‘Would you mind if we waited until later?’
‘Of course, whatever you like. You could sit in the kitchen whilst I cook. Or perhaps there is a good film on TV. I’ll pour you a drink. Once I have finished preparing the pansoti I will join you. We can sit side by side and watch television like an old married couple.’ He laughed.
‘You had me at drink,’ Stella said.
‘A Campari and soda?’
‘Yes, perfect.’ Anything would do.
‘You go through, make yourself comfortable.’
She did as he said, picked up the remote and surfed through the channels.
There was nothing she wanted to see but she put on a re-run of a comedy series from the 1990s.
It wasn’t long before Gino squeezed up next to her.
Soon, they were laughing along. It was good to have something to distract him from asking about her day.
The news that Domenico was employing an assistant and the revelations about her papà’s childhood trauma weren’t things she could cope with sharing right now.
Gino slipped back into the kitchen to put the pasta in the pot, re-entering a few minutes later as the credits rolled.
‘Perfect timing,’ he said. ‘Come and eat.’
She sat in the kitchen. Gino swapped her Campari for a glass of wine.
She couldn’t help smiling when she saw he’d created the exact first course she’d been practising: pansoti con salsa di noci, the little pasta pillows piled in a pale, creamy sauce, topped with a shower of hazelnut crumbs.
She took a bite, savouring the contrast of the rich sauce with the healthy chard filling.
But it was hard to enjoy her food knowing she’d left Domenico eating alone.
Was he brooding on the past whilst she and Gino flirted over the kitchen table? She swallowed some more wine.
Gino attended to the next course of verdure ripiene, peppers and zucchini stuffed with the zucchini pulp, ricotta, mortadella and marjoram. It didn’t take them long to clear their plates.
He stood up. ‘If this was my place, I’d leave all this washing up until tomorrow and carry you upstairs. But I’d better clear up.’
‘I’ll wash if you dry,’ Stella said, pushing up the sleeves of her pink linen blouse.
They worked in an easy rhythm, making short work of the task.
Gino glanced at his watch. ‘Leo won’t be back for at least another hour. He said he and Amy were going to go and see that rock band in the piazza. Rather them than me, but their earache is our opportunity.’
He took hold of one of her hands. Gently, he eased off her rubber gloves, a cheeky smile on his face as though he were peeling off a pair of stockings. He leant back against the kitchen sink. He pulled her close.
‘My beautiful Stella.’ He ran a finger across her lips. His mouth brushed hers, light and teasing. He undid her top button, dropping a kiss on her collarbone. She felt as stiff and unyielding as one of his son’s memorials.
‘What is it?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Is it him – Joe? It was stupid of me to think you’d be over him so quickly.’
‘It’s not. Honestly. I don’t know how I ever imagined myself with someone like him.’
‘Then what? Is it me, something I’ve said or done?’ His brow was creased in bewilderment.
‘No. Really, it’s nothing.’
It was obvious she was lying. His face clouded. But how could she tell him that when she looked into his eyes, all she could see was the face of an innocent little boy, standing in a pool of blood?