Italian Passion

by Jayne Castel

  “Excuse me – do you need one of these?” A man’s voice, in English with a lilting Italian accent, made Vanessa look up into a pair of warm, chocolate-coloured eyes. A slender man with a mop of light brown hair and a boyish face stood before her. He held out a tissue.

  “Er, thank you,” Vanessa felt her cheeks flame as she took the tissue from him. “I’m afraid I’m making a bit of a mess.”

  The man laughed and her stomach dipped as she realised how much she liked the sound. “Don’t worry – you haven’t seen me eat ice-cream. It’s a disaster.”

  She guessed he was around thirty and was dressed in well-fitting jeans and a loose t-shirt. There was something incredibly magnetic about him. Flustered, Vanessa mopped discreetly at her cleavage before giving him a shy smile.

  “Thanks again.”

  “No problem – I’m Marco.” He was smiling at her, with a warm intensity that made Vanessa feel as if she was standing next to the sun. She could see he had no intention of moving on once he had come to her aid – and strangely, she did not mind.

  “I’m Vanessa.”

  “I’ve seen you around,” Marco continued. Vanessa saw his cheeks flush slightly, despite his olive complexion. “I saw you yesterday at a bar – and this morning at the leather market. I couldn’t believe it when I saw you again. I thought I should introduce myself and see whether you’d like to have dinner with me.”

  Vanessa stared at him, stunned. He had got the last two sentences out in such a rush, that she was not sure she had heard him right. Was a complete stranger asking her out? This never happened to her in Bristol – or anywhere for that matter.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Would you like to have dinner with me this evening?” he was starting to look flustered and looking into his eyes, Vanessa realised that he was struggling to keep his composure. This was no Italian lothario but a shy man who had obviously worked up the courage to speak to her. There was something in his gentle manner and warmth that made Vanessa trust him. It seemed so long since a man showed genuine interest in her – especially in the cold light of day while sober, that she welcomed his offer.

  “Thank you Marco,” she smiled back at him shyly. “I’d like that.”

  Vanessa picked up her fork and dug it into the plate of steaming ravioli in front of her. Then, she took a mouthful and glanced across at Marco. He gave her a soft smile that melted her insides.

  Vanessa looked back down at her plate and forced herself to concentrate on her delicious meal. This evening, she was having to stop herself from grinning like an idiot. What had started off as the holiday from hell, had turned into something magical. She had not thought Florence could get any lovelier – that is, until she had met Marco Tirelli. From the moment he had spoken to her, she had felt comfortable in his presence. She knew it was folly to trust a complete stranger but her instincts told her she was safe with Marco.

  Once she had finished her gelato, they had walked, chatting all the while, across to the Ponte Vecchio. There, they had continued talking while they watched tourists amble back and forth across the bridge and buy jewellery at one or other of the numerous gold shops on the bridge. After that, they had walked back towards Piazza della Signoria and taken an aperitivo together, in a street just behind the Uffizi. Now, as the light faded and the sky turned indigo, they had sat down to a meal together at Marco’s favourite restaurant.

  “The restaurant, where I work, is across the river, in a street behind Pitti Palace,” Marco explained. “I hardly ever get the chance to come here for a meal these days but, luckily, I have tonight off.”

  Vanessa raised her glass of local red wine in a toast and smiled. “I’m glad you do. Thank you for bringing me here.”

  “So you said this is your first visit to Italy,” Marco dug his fork into the plate of tagliatelle he had ordered. “How long are you staying?”

  “Just for the week,” Vanessa replied, deciding that it was best if she did not mention the exact circumstances of her holiday. “It’s wonderful, I can’t believe I’ve never managed to get here before. I’ll certainly be back.”

  Marco smiled, his gaze locking with hers. “I hope you will too.”

  Vanessa suddenly felt a little short of breath, as if she had been running. The pasta was delicious but she was so overcome by a rush of desire for the man sitting opposite her that she could have been eating sawdust for all she cared.

  Careful, Vanessa, warned a niggling voice within her. You’re falling for a complete stranger. Ignoring the voice, Vanessa held Marco’s gaze. She had never felt like this; it was as if she had just taken a powerful drug. She felt dizzy with lust. If they had not been in a public place she would have thrown herself across the table into his arms.

  “So,” Vanessa took a deep breath and forced her gaze away from his, “tell me about your life. Are you from Florence? Do you like it here?”

  “I’m from a town called Lucca, not far from Florence,” Marco explained. “I came here for work ten years ago and never left. Yes, I do like it here, and I love my job, even if it’s exhausting at times.”

  “The hours must be a killer,” Vanessa sympathised. “You’re working while everyone else is out enjoying themselves.”

  Marco nodded, taking a sip of wine. “Yes, that’s one of the downsides of my job – but not tonight.” He gave her another smile and Vanessa’s breath caught once more.

  Careful Vanessa, the voice warned once more. Once you take this path there’s no way back.

  Suddenly, she did not care.

  They ate slowly, taking bites in-between a steady stream of conversation. They talked about everything – nearly everything, for Vanessa avoided any mention of her love-life. In contrast, Marco told her that his last girlfriend had been nearly a year earlier. They had been together for nearly five years but their relationship ended once she moved away for work and they ended up growing apart. Since then, Marco had thrown himself into work, taking extra shifts to fill up his suddenly empty weekends.

  Eventually, the trattoria closed for the evening, and they were forced to move on. When Marco hesitantly suggested that they have a nightcap at his place, Vanessa agreed.

  You should be playing this cool, the voice returned to torment her. You shouldn’t be going back to his flat on the first date.

  Shut-up, Vanessa pushed her conscience aside and followed Marco up the two flights of stairs to his flat. When I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it.

  Marco lived in a tidy, if spartan, studio flat. Vanessa could see, at a glance, that he loved cooking. Although the living space was functional, with a sofa-bed, a small table, chairs and a bookcase; the small kitchenette was packed – wall to ceiling – with cooking utensils and ingredients.

  “Sorry about the mess,” Marco scooped a pile of washing off the floor and dumped it into the hamper next to the bathroom door, before giving Vanessa a sheepish smile. “I wasn’t expecting a guest.”

  He poured them tiny glasses of limoncello – the delicious lemon liqueur from the Amalfi coast. Vanessa had heard of the liqueur, but never tasted it.

  “It’s like a dose of sunshine in a glass,” she enthused. “Delicious!”

  They finished their liqueurs and sat chatting on the sofa. All the while, Vanessa was aware of his proximity, his heat, and the faint spice of his aftershave. She had never felt this attracted to Richard, not even in the beginning. It was as if a magnet, powerful and irresistible, was pulling her towards Marco. She did not have the will to fight it.

  One moment they were talking, the next she was in his arms and his mouth was devouring hers.

  Moments later, they were both naked.

  Marco gently pushed her back on the sofa and lay against her. She could feel him trembling, such was his need for her. Vanessa entwined her body with his, her fingers tangling in his hair, their tongues duelling.

  Passion washed over her in a hot tide, sweeping her with it. She clung to it, refusing to be left behind. His mouth moved like fire over her
body and when he entered her she gasped at the sheer heat of it. He moved gently within her at first, until she began to arch against him and call his name. Then, all restraint gone, he gave in to his passion.

  Afterwards, Vanessa lay cradled in his arms and cried – not from sadness, but happiness. She had never thought love-making could be so beautiful; and it made it her realise what she had been missing. Marco held her tightly against her, whispering endearments in Italian into her hair, his arms clasped about her, as if he was afraid she might slip away from him.

  ***

  The pale light of dawn filtered in through the cracks in the shutters. Vanessa awoke gently and snuggled within the circle of Marco’s arms. He had held her all night, and she had never felt so protected.

  “Buongiorno principessa,” Marco stirred and propped himself up on one elbow, staring sleepily down at her. “Good morning, princess.”

  “Good morning yourself,” Vanessa murmured, tracing his cheek with her finger. “You’re still here?”

  He chuckled at that. “Well, since this is my house, that’s not surprising.”

  “I mean, you’re not a dream.”

  “No – I’m not,” he kissed her tenderly. “And I’m relieved to see you aren’t either.”

  Marco sat up and stretched, and Vanessa followed suit.

  “What’s the time?” She asked him, stifling a yawn.

  “Still very early – 6.30am.”

  “I should take a shower.”

  “You can have one here if you want?”

  Vanessa shook her head. “I need to change my clothes, I should really head back to the hotel.”

  Marco nodded before kneeling down so that their gazes were level.

  “Do you want to have breakfast together after you’ve showered and changed? I don’t have to work until after lunch. I’d like to show you some more of Florence today, if you’re free.”

  Vanessa wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him languorously. “Of course I’m free – I’d love to.”

  Dressed in yesterday’s blue shift dress, with her new suede jacket on to ward of the morning’s chill, Vanessa walked down the street towards her hotel. No doubt, reception would wonder where she had been last night, but she did not care. She felt as if she were walking a metre off the ground this morning. Her stomach curled with excitement at the thought of seeing Marco again in just two hours. She had arranged to meet him outside the hotel.

  In her hotel room, Vanessa had a hot shower before dressing in a denim skirt and short-sleeved pink shirt. After she had dried her hair, she left it loose around her shoulders. She was ready, and still had an hour to spare before Marco arrived, so Vanessa sat down on the bed and pulled her mobile phone out of her bag.

  She switched it on and found two text messages waiting for her.

  Vanessa started to read. As she did so, her euphoria slowly dissolved.

  Both texts were from Richard. The first one read: Where are you? I’m going out of my mind with worry? Why didn’t you fly back to the UK?

  Vanessa read the second text and felt sick to her stomach.

  I’m so sorry Vanessa. I’ve made a terrible mistake. I didn’t mean anything I said – I was stressed with work but I should never have taken it out on you. Tara means nothing to me. Please give me a call and I’ll make everything right, I promise. Love always, Richard.

  She could not believe it – after everything he had said, Richard was sorry. Had Tara rejected him? Whatever the reason, Vanessa was not interested. His texts made her feel manipulated, used and sick.

  All at once, she hated men – all of them. Suddenly, she just wanted to go home and pretend Richard and Marco did not exist. Sure, last night had been wonderful, magical even, but it could not last. Men were like Richard; cruel one moment, and kind the next. She could not bear for Marco – sweet, sexy Marco – to turn out like all the others.

  She had to leave. Now.

  Blinking back tears, Vanessa switched off her mobile, threw it into her bag and stuffed her clothes and toiletries into her trolley case. Then, without a backwards glance, she rushed from the room.

  Marco glanced at his watch and quickened his pace. He was due to meet Vanessa outside her hotel in a couple of minutes and did not want to keep her waiting. His eyes stung from lack of sleep and he knew he would pay for it later at work, but he did not care. Last night had been unexpected, and wonderful. He needed to find a way to keep Vanessa Woods permanently in his life.

  Reaching the pensione, Marco decided to wait for Vanessa at reception. He stepped inside and hovered near the doorway.

  “Excuse me?” the elderly woman at reception called out to him after a few moments. “Are you waiting for someone?”

  “Yes, one of the guests, Signorina Woods.”

  “The English girl? The blonde?”

  “I guess so, that sounds like her,” Marco gave the woman a quizzical look. “Why?”

  “You’ve just missed her. She just left – three days early too. She had her suitcase with her and looked like she was in a hurry.”

  “What?” Marco went cold. Had he heard right? Why would Vanessa leave without saying goodbye? “Where did she go?”

  The elderly woman shrugged, running an appraising eye over him as she did so. “I don’t know – most likely the train station.”

  Marco turned and barrelled through the door, knocking over a young man with a huge backpack who was coming through it. With a breathless apology, Marco helped the man to his feet and took off at a run towards Santa Maria Novella station. It was only two blocks away, but suddenly, it felt like the longest run of Marco’s life.

  Vanessa glanced up at the departures board and let out the breath she had been holding. The Eurostar for Rome was due to arrive at platform eight in ten minutes. Her timing – for once – had been impeccable.

  She towed her suitcase behind her and made her way over to a small white and green machine next to the platform, where she stamped her ticket. Then, she walked down the platform, weaving through a crowd of people, and found a spot to wait for the train.

  As she waited, Vanessa struggled not to let images of yesterday evening, and night, dominate her thoughts.

  It was over. Better to finish it now, before disappointment set in. Richard was not that different from most men, she told herself. She was finished with them. She could not bear the thought of Marco turning on her, like Richard had. How could she trust anyone after Richard? She could not believe that he wanted her back. She did not believe a word of it, although, sadly, she would have in the past.

  Fresh tears stung her eyes and Vanessa blinked them back angrily. Tears – she had shed so many of them over men. No more.

  Still, the thought of never seeing Marco again, caused an ache deep within her chest.

  “Vanessa!”

  Her heart leapt at the voice, and she turned to see Marco running towards her up the platform. Panicked, she looked around, desperate for an escape route. Yet, there was none. She remained there, rooted to the spot, as Marco approached. Out of breath, he stopped before her, his eyes full of pain.

  “Vanessa,” he repeated. “Why?”

  “I can’t Marco,” she replied, hating the way her voice shook. “Last night was special, but it was just one night. We don’t know each other. You don’t know about me – if you did you wouldn’t want me.”

  “What could be so terrible that you’d just run off without giving me an explanation?” Marco asked, frowning. “What have you done that would make me not want you.”

  Vanessa took a deep breath, aware that they were drawing curious stares from the travellers around them. Marco was right – he deserved an explanation.

  She told him everything – from how she had met Richard, right through to the moment he had abandoned her in San Gimignano. Then she told him about the texts she had received from him that morning. She left nothing out. When she finished, Marco’s face was thunderous.

  Vanessa’s stomach cramped. She had been right.
He was furious with her, as Richard so often was.

  “What a piece of shit,” Marco growled. “He doesn’t deserve to spend a minute with a woman like you.”

  With that he stepped up close to Vanessa and gently placed his fingers under her chin, raising her face so that their gazes met. At that moment, the Eurostar glided into the platform.

  Both of them ignored it.

  “Listen to me Vanessa,” he said gently. “You were unlucky, that’s all. Your only mistake was staying with him. I would never, ever treat you like that. In fact, I wouldn’t treat anyone like that.”

  “But we’ve just met,” Vanessa stammered, ignoring the tourists with unwieldy suitcases who pushed past her to board the train. “We don’t know each other. It might not work between us. I live in England and you’re here…”

  Marco smiled then, the soft gentle smile that had made her trust him instantly when they had met. “You never know unless you try. Why don’t you stay a few more days and let me show you that not all men are like that bastard.”

  “Marco, I…”

  Not waiting for another half-hearted protest, Marco stepped closer still, gathered her into his arms and covered her mouth with his.

  Cheers went up on the platform. Vanessa pulled away in shock, before realising that they had a considerable audience.

  “Thank god!” one American lady exclaimed. “I was going to have to prevent you from getting on this train myself. Anyone can see he’s crazy about you girl!”

  Vanessa laughed, brushing at the tears that now streamed down her face. Then she reached up to kiss Marco. Her arms went about his neck and he pulled her close.

  The cheers escalated to whistles and cat-calls.

  “Come on,” Marco whispered in her ear, a smile in his voice. “Let’s get out of here before we start a riot.”

  Hand-in-hand, they did just that.

  The End

  Venetian Distraction