Chapter 18
The sun was setting as Marco and Beth sat in the vaporetto – the water bus – on the way to Murano.
She’d taken Polo back to the apartment and changed into a tidier pair of trousers and a cuter jumper, but now more than ever realised her wardrobe needed a shake-up.
It still needed to be practical, but she could definitely branch out into something more stylish and, dare she say it, more colourful.
She hoped Marco’s mamma wouldn’t hold it against her.
She smiled nervously at him. Their hands were nearly touching as the boat lifted over the gentle waves.
‘Don’t be nervous,’ he said, leaning into her so his breath tickled her ear. ‘My family are nicer than I am.’
‘You don’t think you’re nice?’
‘Do you?’ The air was suddenly charged as Marco caught her eye, his expression different to anything she’d seen before.
He was teasing her, his mouth lifting at the corner and his eyes shining mischievously.
He continued without waiting for her to answer.
‘I know I can be …’ He looked around at the Venice skyline in the distance. ‘Too focused on my work.’
‘You have drive and ambition; there’s nothing wrong with that. If there is, my whole life has been wrong.’
‘Then maybe we are similar.’
He turned away and, feeling heat rising underneath her clothes, she focused on the rippling waves that surrounded the boat as it made its way through the water.
As the water bus pulled up and they disembarked, Beth chastised herself for never coming here before.
Murano was like a smaller version of Venice, just as beautiful, but with far fewer tourists.
Many of the shops sold the colourful hand-blown glass the area was famous for, and Beth couldn’t wait to get to Marco’s home and hopefully see the workshop his family operated.
They walked away from the main streets towards the furthest part of the island, coming to a stop outside a large cream house.
It was gated and at first appearance looked elegant and expensive, but as she looked closer, she could see marks on the walls from the leaky guttering and paint flaking from the iron fence.
At the gate, Marco entered a code, and it swung open.
As they walked in, the front door flew open before they’d taken more than a few steps and a woman Beth knew instantly was Marco’s mother came out.
She was short and round, with rosy cheeks lifting into a smile.
She had Marco’s ice-blue eyes, and her hair was still dark and luscious though a few grey hairs scattered the crown of her head and at her temples.
‘Benvenuto! Benvenuto, Signora Thorpe! Benvenuto a casa nostra!’
It was the most effusive welcome Beth had ever received.
Before she could reply, a dozen small children of various sizes ran around Mamma di Rienzo’s legs, swarming Marco who chuckled as he almost tripped over them.
His face instantly relaxed, losing the closedness it carried when they spoke about business.
When he relaxed, there was a light in his eyes, the same teasing gleam she’d seen earlier on the way over.
Beth felt a rush of attraction for Marco as once more she saw the man underneath the business exterior.
His mamma rushed forwards, shooing the children away with a tea towel that had been slung over her shoulder.
She embraced Marco, speaking quickly in Italian, saying how well he looked (if a little thin!) and that she was looking forward to feeding him and hearing all about his week.
As soon as he could speak, he cleared his throat and spoke in English.
‘Mamma, this is Beth.’
‘It’s lovely to meet you,’ Beth said, handing over the bouquet of flowers she’d brought with her.
‘Oh! Grazie, grazie! Thank you! You’re so kind. And pretty! Isn’t she pretty Marco? I can see why you like her. Come in, come in!’
He liked her? Beth’s cheeks grew hot. She knew he and Cesca had been talking about her, but she hadn’t thought he’d say anything more than they were working together.
Then again, she could see how his mum might misread his interest and their relationship.
They were hustled inside, the children all speaking quickly at Marco, talking over one another as they vied for his attention.
‘You can call me Paola,’ she began gently, then stopped to chastise her grandchildren in Italian, telling them to leave their uncle alone so he could get in the house.
Beth giggled as they moved into a large open-plan living room. Cesca immediately stood and walked over to her. They hugged, and kissed each other’s cheeks and Cesca hooked her arm.
‘Let me introduce to you to everyone.’ She began pointing at her brothers and introducing them and their wives and children. There were so many names, Beth worried she wouldn’t remember them all, but they all smiled or waved happily, seemingly glad she was there.
‘And this is Papa,’ Cesca said, as a man came in from the garden wearing grubby overalls. ‘Papa, this is Beth.’
‘Call me Elio,’ he said with a smile. ‘I won’t shake hands until I’ve cleaned up. Look!’ He held up his blackened hands, the fingernails dark with muck.
Marco had inherited Elio’s height and strong jawline.
Age and hard work hadn’t dampened the brightness of his gaze or the strong set of his shoulders.
When his eyes fell on Marco, he stiffened slightly, then smiled at her again and went off to change.
She glanced over her shoulder at Marco, but he was busy watching after his father.
‘Don’t worry about them,’ Cesca said. ‘Things are always a little weird at first. They’ll be all right in a while. Papa has just come in from the workshop. Marco was going to show it to you—’
‘After dinner!’ Paola announced, wagging a finger at them all.
Beth felt about twelve years old, but in a comforting way, as if she were part of something again. Something bigger than herself. Marco, Cesca and Beth all shared a cheeky look as the two siblings responded, ‘Yes, Mamma,’ in unison.
As Paola left for the kitchen, several conversations erupted at once with questions fired at her while others were talking amongst themselves.
Her senses were overwhelmed with noise and colour, and she was almost growing concerned she wouldn’t be able to cope when she felt the weight of Marco’s arm around her, his hand settling perfectly into the dip of her waist. The warmth of his skin through her thin jumper was comforting.
Like being given a hot water bottle to hold when you walk in from the cold.
He dipped his head to speak to her, his voice, husky and deep, cutting through the racket.
‘I told you it would be noisy, didn’t I?’
‘You did, but I admit, I didn’t expect it to be this …’
‘Crazy?’
She giggled and he looked at her in a way she’d always hoped a man would. Once more, the words just said stayed in the air between them as if they understood each other perfectly. Marco cleared his throat and she said, ‘It’s wonderful but also … a lot.’
‘I know exactly what you mean. Shall we step outside for a few minutes? Get some fresh air before dinner?’
She nodded and he led them outside, his hand moving to the small of her back, through the door Elio had just come.
The cool air hit her cheeks, and she studied the darkening sky.
A pale pink glow was just visible above some of the rooftops as the dense navy and soft black of the night crept in.
No stars were visible yet, but it wouldn’t be long.
She’d never seen sunsets as beautiful as those in Venice and it thrilled her to think that the centuries-old artists she loved had looked up at the same sky.
‘I understand my family can be overwhelming,’ Marco said. ‘They take friendliness to a whole new level.’
‘I think most Italian families can be overwhelming. They’re all so big and loving. It’s wonderful, just … not what I’m used to.’
‘Are your family not like that?’
‘No. I’m an only child and my parents weren’t the most responsible of people. They used to make random, last-minute decisions – going places, buying things – that threw everything into chaos.’
‘And that’s why you like to think slowly? To plan?’
She nodded again, thinking how no man had ever ‘got’ her the same way Marco did.
‘I don’t like regrets. I’ve seen too many from them and I try to avoid them.
But—’ She brightened. ‘Now they’re enjoying their retirement and I’m here living my own life.
I have Elsa and Daisy; they’re my family really and have been for years. ’
‘How is the pregnancy?’
She smiled at his concern. ‘Good. Everything’s fine. They’ve asked me to be godmother to their baby.’ Her grin widened, Marco’s matching it.
‘And how do you feel about that?’
‘Happy. Blessed, actually. I feel more comfortable with that than being a mother.’
‘Parenthood isn’t for everyone,’ he said gently. ‘And that’s okay.’
She couldn’t help but notice he’d said parenthood, not motherhood.
Were his thoughts similar to her own? Unless he volunteered the information she didn’t feel she could ask.
A knock at the window drew their attention and they turned to see one of Marco’s nephews, aged around eleven, blowing a raspberry on the glass so his entire mouth was visible.
Beth dissolved into laughter, Marco too, even more so when Marco’s sister-in-law noticed and told him off in whispered Italian for creating a bad impression with Beth.
Catching each other’s eyes, Beth and Marco laughed again.
Beth knew this was exactly the type of situation where trouble lurked for her in the future.
Men like Marco, who enjoyed their big families, would they want children and what would they do when they found out Beth didn’t?
Worry threatened to knot her stomach like a vice.