Chapter Seventeen #3
Sofi shot him an enquiring look over Sheenagh’s shoulder, but he maintained a bland smile.
When the two had stepped outside into the street, he decided the laundry could wait and set out in search of Jade.
He toured every floor of the gracious, historic building in vain, then returned downstairs and tapped on the apartment door.
After several moments, Jade answered, a wary light in her eye and a bolshy tilt to her chin. When she saw him, she stepped back to allow him entrance. She’d removed her shoes, and her forehead only reached his jaw.
Once the door was closed, he pulled her gently into his embrace.
‘She’s sorry already.’ He found himself swaying gently with her, as if they danced to an inner tune, soothing her with long strokes of her spine.
Some of the tension seemed to slide from her body and she silently rested her forehead against his collarbone.
He kissed the top of her head. ‘When can I see you again? Tonight?’
Slowly, she straightened, turning her gaze to his, the golden lights less evident in the dimness of the small hallway. Then a slow smile dawned. ‘Why wait so long? Riposo after Yara returns from lunch?’ she murmured suggestively.
Instantly, Leo’s blood boiled in his veins, certain that, in this instance, riposo would have little to do with taking an afternoon nap. ‘Sì, sì, sì, tesoro.’
She nuzzled his jawline. ‘We’ll silence our phones and lock the apartment door.’
He dropped his mouth to the crook of her neck, above her severe black dress, enjoying the way her head tipped to make it easier. ‘Perfetto.’
But their plans went nowhere. Jade became involved with Carlotta over the formalities of her leaving on Friday, then was called to Reception to speak to a lady whose English was too fast and heavily accented for Yara, then to the phone, then to another guest. The time for riposo well and truly past, Leo let himself out of the apartment’s back door.
It was a twenty-minute stroll over the city cobbles and out of its walls to Mercato Coperto, the covered market in Via Mentana, rich with foods from local producers.
Cheese and meat stalls stood alongside those groaning under baskets of brightly coloured vegetables and fruit, beautifully arranged and busy with customers.
He moved from stall to fragrant stall, buying perch, carnaroli rice, white wine, butter, onions and cheese.
Pomodori cuore di bue – oxheart tomatoes – were too tempting to leave behind with their ridged shape that made him think of pumpkins, so he bought dark green basil and onions to make a tomato salad, trusting that Jade would have olive oil and vinegar.
A small loaf of fresh bread was next and then, finally, he purchased a begonia with coral-pink flowers and purple leaves for Jade.
He carried his booty back through the sunshine, admiring the arches and columns, balconies and buttresses of his hometown, swinging the shopping bag like a child.
Back inside the apartment, in what he still thought of as Mairead’s kitchen, he cut the tomatoes into chunks, tossed them in shredded basil, and drizzled on oil and vinegar, before leaving the dish to marinate in the fridge. The plant he placed in the centre of the battered kitchen table.
Jade finally came in at 7 p.m. and while she showered, he made risotto and floured and fried the fish.
He closed the shutters to cool the room and lit a lamp on the dresser.
It wasn’t a lamp he’d have chosen, with a tasselled shade and a base decorated with roses and cherubs, but it bathed the area in a rosy glow.
When she reappeared in a loose green summer dress that slipped fascinatingly from one shoulder, they enjoyed a slow, chatty meal, avoiding, by tacit consent, the subject of Sheenagh.
‘This food,’ she said, indicating the risotto with her fork, and then the tomato salad, ‘is sublime.’ She kissed his cheek, which encouraged him to slide his arm around her and nuzzle her ear. The meal progressed ever more slowly and his heart grew fuller each time her eyes shone.
But, by the time the last morsel was eaten, Jade was smothering yawns. ‘Sorry.’ She widened her eyes, as if that would vanquish her fatigue.
He rose, pulling her from her seat. ‘Why don’t you get ready for bed while I clear up? Then, if it’s OK with you, I’ll join you.’
Her golden-brown eyes gleamed. ‘Sounds fantastic.’ She wiggled her pelvis against his and his blood roared away from his brain, almost making him abandon all thoughts of loading the dishwasher.
Reluctantly, he disengaged. ‘It’ll be the fastest clear up ever.’
But when he hurried into her bedroom, with its double bed and old-fashioned dressing-table and wardrobes, he found Jade naked in bed . . . but profoundly asleep, her hair storming over the pillows to the sheet, her lips parted.
He couldn’t find it in himself to be disappointed and, throwing off his clothes, slipped gently in beside her. Sleeping with Jade didn’t have to be about sex. He scooted closer, inhaled her perfume and listened to her soft breathing.
Perfetto.