Chapter 55 Sophie
S OPHIE
‘Pronta?’ Rocco cocks his elbow.
‘Si, sono pronta. I’m ready.’
‘Brava, Sophie! Your Italian impresses me.’
‘Grazie mille, signore. I love that movie. Such a beautiful theatre too.’ She links her arm through his.
When Rocco invited her to the movies and then to see the New Year’s fireworks, he was so awkward and nervous about it that she was sure this was him asking her out on a real date. And the fact he chose a rom-com like Sleepless in Seattle just about confirmed to her that he had an ulterior motive.
So she dressed to the nines, curling her hair to perfection and painting her fingernails fire-engine red. Beneath her coat, she wore the sexiest of the dresses she’d bought yesterday from Massimo, a clingy plum wrap, cut extra low to show off her look-at-me cleavage.
The location of the date itself couldn’t have been any more romantic – a ferry ride in the dark, flanked by the thousands of twinkling lights of the canal, out onto the Adriatic Sea to a stunning old theatre on the Lido, home of the Venice Film Festival.
But throughout the movie, Rocco kept his hands to himself. Sophie was on tenterhooks for the whole film, willing him to touch her leg, drape his arm around her, anything . It felt like she was back in high school, wondering if the boy she liked would ever notice her. Whenever he leaned over to whisper something in her ear, his coffee-scented breath made her stomach tighten with want. But nothing happened.
Now, as they wait for the last ferry of the night to take them back to San Marco, she’s beginning to wonder whether she’s imagined his whole attraction to her. Maybe she’s misinterpreted his natural friendliness as something more. Perhaps this is his way with all women. Is this just what Italian men are like?
Earlier, Bec insisted she message her with every last detail once she was back from the fireworks. It’s beginning to look like there’s going to be nothing to report. At this rate, Rocco will give her a hearty backslap when the clock strikes twelve and be done with it.
It’s eleven-thirty when the boat pulls into their stop at San Marco. She expected it to be busy around the harbour but everything’s shut. ‘So quiet for New Year’s Eve,’ she remarks.
‘Everyone is on the other side, at the lagoon,’ Rocco replies. ‘Let’s go.’
On their walk to join the throng, a light rain starts. Rocco opens his black golf umbrella and she huddles under it. Her mind wanders. She’s still carrying the hurt from the phone call with her mother this morning, but being around the bustling Bianchi family all day, and a particularly wonderful session of cooking gnocchi with Loretta, has helped comfort her. Sophie’s at her happiest in that kitchen.
A thought comes to her with a sudden force.
I don’t want to leave Venice.
The rain gets heavier.
‘This is not good for the fireworks,’ Rocco says. ‘The people stand so close to each other on the esplanade, like sardines. Five years ago it rained on this night, and it was a disaster. There was a stampede at the end, when all the people tried to get out of the rain quickly at the same time. Some people were hurt very badly.’
‘You’re not exactly selling the fireworks to me.’ She laughs.
‘You know, we can see them from your window. Your side of the hotel faces the lagoon. What do you think if we forget about the esplanade and go instead to the hotel?’
She doesn’t need to think. Just the two of them in her room at midnight compared to getting jostled around in a crowd of thousands in the rain? ‘Sounds perfect.’
‘You are sure? For me, there is always next year, but this is your one chance to be here.’
It hits her again. I don’t want to leave Venice. ‘I can always come back next year.’
‘Yes! Come back every year!’ He stops to check his watch. ‘We only have fifteen minutes. I want to show you the basilica quickly. We must walk fast to still make it back to the hotel in time.’
‘I already saw the basilica the other day, remember? Let’s just head to the hotel.’
‘Ah, but you must see it at night in the rain. There is nothing more beautiful, I promise you.’
So they walk on to Piazza San Marco. The piazza is completely abandoned, aside from three women in their twenties taking selfies under the rows of fairy lights that hang from the eaves along the edge of the square.
Rocco points to the basilica. ‘Guarda! Look! She is beautiful, eh?’
Sophie struggles to find words. Her arms are covered in goosebumps. The contrast of the black sky behind the illuminated basilica makes the building appear even bigger and whiter than it did during the day. It shines magnificently over the wet square, casting its reflection in the puddles. The basilica’s opulent domes and arches and spires, all sparkling in the rain, give it a more magical appearance than a Disneyland castle.
She turns to face him. ‘This is absolutely the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life.’
He tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear before stroking her cheek with his thumb. There’s no mistaking how he’s staring at her now. She hasn’t imagined it this time.
‘I am also looking at the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my life.’ His voice is assured and his gaze is intense. He’s lost all of his dorkiness. ‘I am so happy you came to Venice, Sophie. Being around you has made me feel more alive than I have in a very long time.’
‘I feel the same way.’ She shivers.
‘You are cold?’
‘No, just happy.’
‘Come.’ He pulls her in closer to him.
Around them, the rain pours harder. The women who were taking photos leave the piazza and walk towards the lagoon. Sophie and Rocco are all alone.
‘I was beginning to wonder if you didn’t actually like me after all, Signore Bianchi,’ she laughs nervously.
‘Like you? I fell in love with you from the first evening when you came to help in the kitchen.’ His eyes linger on her mouth. ‘Do you know how many times I have wanted to kiss you?’
‘Why didn’t you?’
‘I had the romantic idea of the first kiss to be when the fireworks are above us, at midnight. And now midnight is only minutes away, but I cannot wait for the fireworks.’ He looks at her in a way that makes her breath catch. ‘I cannot wait for even one more minute.’ He smiles. ‘Happy New Year, Sophie.’
‘Buon anno, Rocco.’
And it’s there, standing in the middle of the empty piazza, holding on to each other under his big umbrella, with the night rain falling all around and the basilica shining its golden light on them, that Rocco kisses her.