One Summer in Rome

by Samantha Tonge

  ‘Did you really mean what you said?’ she asked.

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Finding the dancing easier than a sighted person? Or was that just a way of deflecting that woman’s nosiness.’

  Dante started to swing the cane side to side as they walked along the narrow cobbled ground. ‘She wasn’t being patronising. And yes, it’s true, isn’t it? Dancers don’t look at their feet. It’s all about the rhythm and partnership.’

  ‘I like Paola. Goodness knows how she got Rocco on board.’

  ‘Rocco used to dance a lot. In nightclubs. He calmed down a lot, after moving in with Angelo.’

  ‘Rocco? Nightclubs?’ But then he did have good rhythm.

  Dante nodded. ‘More than once he’d come into work with a headache, after partying. Lots of friends he had. They were always piling into the pizzeria for carbs to mop up the previous evening’s wine.’

  ‘That doesn’t happen now.’

  ‘Hasn’t happened for a number of years. Perhaps that comes from having an older flatmate. Rocco’s become a lot more conservative since knowing Angelo – unless that’s just a coincidence. He used to tell the craziest jokes. Smell strongly of aftershave. Wear the most colourful clothes. Yet just before I lost my sight he’d started to go for the plain shirt and chino look Angelo favours.’

  ‘Yes. He was wearing an outfit like that, this afternoon.’

  ‘I think he looks up to Angelo who is smooth. Stylish.’ Dante shrugged. ‘Or perhaps Rocco has just matured. Guess we all do. Life can’t be one long party for ever.’

  Mary went to put on her sunhat and braced herself for the strong rays as they’d soon be on the main road. However, she dropped it as a hand grabbed her shoulder. Mary turned around to see a young man, with a knife, pulling at her bag. She stared at his fingers. Saw ingrained dirt under the bitten nails. He was half-shaven and probably even younger than he looked. He smelt … strange.

  ‘Va via!’ she shouted and pulled hard on her bag. Oro barked and stood closer to Dante.

  His tanned face paled and he stopped. ‘Mary?’ Dante hissed and swung around. ‘What is it?’

  Chapter Ten

  The man sniggered and spoke to Dante too quickly for Mary to follow every word, but she understood the gist. Clearly he saw neither Dante – nor the dog – as a threat and, for one second, he let go of the bag.

  ‘Is he armed?’ snapped Dante, in a low voice.

  ‘Knife,’ Mary replied. ‘And I think he’s on something.’

  Dante’s brow knotted.

  ‘Smells like cannabis,’ she added. ‘I recognise the smell.’ Her pulse raced. She’d been mugged once before. In London. Followed police advice and just handed over her purse. Afterwards she’d felt annoyed with herself for not putting up a fight but now she remembered how frightening it could be. Mary went to move in front of Dante, but he grabbed her and pulled her behind his back.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she said. ‘This is the twenty-first century and if you think—’

  ‘It will throw him. He won’t know how to deal with a blind man.’

  The man shook his fist and lunged forward but Dante’s arms were outstretched. He’d let his cane fall. When contact was made, Dante grabbed the man’s wrist and gabbled something. The mugger tried to shake himself loose and the dog lead became twisted. It was the first time Mary had ever heard Oro growl and snap.

  ‘Take her to one side,’ snapped Dante.

  Mary took the lead and moved the reluctant dog away. Oro now whined and struggled to get back to her master, but Mary held firm.

  ‘Come ti chiami?’ asked Dante.

  The man struggled too and lifted his knife into the air. Oro barked again.

  Mary strained her ears as Dante spoke. Something about him not being there to judge, and that the man wounding him – or me – would result in nothing but a prison sentence.

  What if he stabbed Dante? Her fists curled.

  ‘Silvestro,’ spat the man, heavy breathing as he stepped from side to side. Finally he’d answered Dante’s question about his name.

  ‘Marihuana?’ said Dante.

  The man stopped moving for a moment. Then his shoulders drooped. Mary strained, again, to hear what Dante was saying. Something about … addiction is difficult to understand. Asking about Silvestro’s family. How he had lost his job. Finally, he asked the young man if he wanted to stop using.

  Silvestro swaggered around in a circle for a moment and asked Dante who he thought he was.

  ‘Guardarmi!’ Dante said – Italian for look at me. Silvestro stopped again. A lump rose in Mary’s throat as Dante said that everyone could see his problem – the blindness – but some people’s difficulties were not so obvious. That didn’t mean they didn’t deserve help. Minute by minute, as he soothed this young man, Mary’s admiration for Dante grew. Despite his vulnerable position, he’d somehow turned the situation around. With kindness. Understanding. Without judging. All powerful weapons that not all men – all people – had in their arsenal.

  Dante held out his hand. Asked for the knife. By now Mary and Oro stood at Dante’s side. Silvestro bit his lip. She nodded at him. Finally he handed the blade to Dante, who passed it to her. Silvestro paced around, in a circle.

  ‘Go back to Pizzeria Dolce Vita, Mary,’ he said, in a low voice. ‘Or they will be understaffed. I can deal with this, now.’ He took out his phone.

  ‘Are you sure? What if things turn nasty again? Addiction … it can cause unpredictable behaviour and he’s clearly been using – and not just cannabis.’ She fought back an urge to protect him.

  ‘Put the knife in your handbag.’

  ‘But that’s evidence. What if …’ She took a deep breath. Trust Dante. He used to be a policeman. ‘So, what will you do? Contact drug services? Try to get him a detox, from whatever he’s on, and into treatment?’

  He tilted his head for a second. ‘Yes, exactly that. Everyone deserves a chance. His won’t be helped if he starts off with a threatening behaviour charge.’

  Throat feeling tight, she hesitated. ‘Maybe you should keep the knife. Just in case,’ she whispered.

  Dante tilted his head again. ‘Would you worry about leaving me, if I could see?’

  ‘Yes!’ Just not quite as much.

  ‘I am strong, Mary. And my police training tells me what to say in confrontational situations.’

  Eventually she nodded and handed him the dog lead. ‘Okay. I … I’ve had experience volunteering with addicts.’

  He looked puzzled.

  ‘Long story,’ she said, hurriedly. ‘Anyway, I’m pretty sure Silvestro wouldn’t attack a blind man. He’s an addict. His self-esteem is already minimal. I wouldn’t have thought he’d go for someone he sees as defenceless – not unless he is completely off his head.’ Reluctantly she picked up her sunhat and agreed to leave.

  Mary wanted to hold him tight, before she went away; to tell Dante how much she admired him. Since dancing together, since that physical proximity, feelings, deep down, had come to the surface. Feelings she’d found difficult to accept, due to his unfriendly, distant behaviour since she’d arrived in Italy. However, day by day it was becoming clearer that Mary was irrevocably attracted to him. Despite her anti-romance resolution made on the aeroplane. Despite how Jake had hurt her. And even though she suffered the fear of rejection – what if he didn’t feel the same?

  She worried about his safety the whole evening. Dante had made her promise to tell his family that they’d bumped into a friend of his who was in trouble – that he was helping them out. But when Dante still wasn’t back by one o’clock the next morning, she wished she’d at least told Rocco the truth – even though he would probably have criticised her for leaving him there.

  Having said that, Rocco hadn’t castigated her for knocking a bottle of olive oil onto the floor. It had taken a good hour to mop up properly but all he’d said was these things happen. He’d even congratulated her for efficiently serving the party of twenty
and admitted that Cupid’s Cuore Pizza was proving to be a hit among couples. Then he’d wished her goodnight as he left, after giving scraps to the stray dog, in the square.

  Alfonso and Natale had made their way to bed, after saying goodnight to the remaining staff who were heading off. Her boss had suffered one of his morose moods all night. She’d caught him staring at his wedding photo, on a wall next to the bar, before he sat down and knocked back a shot of limoncello.

  ‘It was one of her favourite drinks,’ he’d said to no one in particular.

  Mary promised to lock up and then waited out front, under the canopy, with two mochaccinos. She looked at her phone for the one hundredth time and a hole in the pit of her stomach widened.

  The silence felt foreboding. Even Gabriel, Dante’s artist friend, had packed up his easels and blown her a kiss before going home. Sitting at a table, Mary held her head in her hands. When – not if – Dante returned, she would give him the biggest hug and …

  Her head jerked up as a taxi pulled in front of the restaurant. She stood up and, clasping her hands, stepped from side to side. The door opened and the world stopped for a second before Dante and Oro got out. Searching for signs of injury, she scanned his tall, solid frame. He paid the driver, turned around, and his face broke into a smile.

  ‘Mary? I was not expecting a welcoming party.’ He walked over and felt for a table, before leaning his cane against it.

  ‘How did you know I was here? You can smell my lavender oil?’

  ‘No – mochaccino. Grazie mille – but you should have gone to bed. Has everyone else?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He sat down. Oro lay on the ground by his feet. Dante took off his aviator glasses. Felt for one of the tall coffees and lifted the creamy liquid to his lips. Relief flooding through her veins, Mary sat down too, unable to drink.

  ‘You’ve got a frothy moustache,’ she mumbled.

  His mouth upturned as she leant forwards and, with a paper napkin, wiped it off.

  ‘Where is Silvestro?’

  ‘I had to call in a few favours, but managed to get him an in-patient detox, then a place in rehab. He starts tomorrow. Tonight he’s in a homeless refuge. I’m picking him up there early tomorrow and taking him in – before he can change his mind and disappear or start using again.’ He shrugged. ‘You used to help drug addicts?’

  ‘I … knew someone, once, who had an addiction problem.’

  He didn’t move for a moment. Opened his mouth but then closed it again. ‘That must have been hard.’

  Mary didn’t explain.

  Eventually Dante stood up. He yawned. ‘Dio Mio – that dancing has worn me out. I must go to bed. Thanks for trusting me to sort out the situation. Natale or Alfonso would have insisted on staying.’

  ‘Now you tell me!’ Her voice wobbled as she got to her feet. ‘I’ve been worried sick all night.’

  ‘About me?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Are you nodding?’ he asked and his face broke into a smile.

  ‘Yes. Sorry, it’s just … if anything had happened … I—’

  ‘I don’t deserve your concern,’ he said roughly.

  ‘You were great, today,’ she whispered.

  ‘It would have been a different story if he’d done anything to hurt you.’

  Oh. Gosh. Where were all these feelings coming from? It was as if Dante had been in disguise all these weeks and the potential threat to his life had provoked a reveal. Handsome. Caring. Funny. Decent. Brave. Those were the qualities of the man who faced her now.

  With no control over her actions Mary stood on tiptoe and draped her arms around his neck. A quizzical expression crossed his face and animal attraction overtook shyness as she pulled his mouth towards hers.

  Chapter Eleven

  ‘Mary … No … I shouldn’t … You and me …’

  ‘You want this too, don’t you?’

  Instinctively their bodies pressed together, providing her with exactly the answer she’d wanted. Dante groaned as if trying to resist but then slid his arm around her back and pulled her just that bit higher. After hesitating for what seemed like for ever, his lips pressed against hers. Mary’s vision blacked out as their mouths parted and the wetness made her feel as if her body had turned to molten lava. Nerve endings pulsated with a rhythm that betrayed hidden desires.

  He pulled back and stared with inky eyes full of intent, even though they couldn’t see. Then he kissed Mary with an unexpected tenderness that made her want to weep. She ran her fingers through that burnt-caramel hair. After what seemed like hours of cascading waves of pleasure, they broke apart.

  Mary gasped as if she’d just done the most exhilarating high dive into hot, tropical water and come up for air. Kissing with Jake had never made her feel like that. They scrutinised each other – Mary with her eyes, Dante with his touch. She scoured that handsome face, with its scar that spoke an unspoken story; with the tilt of his head that meant she had his full attention. Dante softly ran one hand down her neck and across her shoulder. He bent down again and ran his lips across her throat.

  ‘I love the way you smell,’ he whispered.

  Mary took his hand. Shyly, she turned towards the restaurant. His eyebrows rose.

  ‘Mary? Are you sure? But—’

  ‘No buts. I came to Italy to live my life.’

  Dante squeezed her hand and picked up his stick. He led her inside and locked the doors.

  ‘I’ll be up in a minute,’ he murmured.

  ‘Okay. I’ll leave my bedroom door open.’

  Heart pounding, Mary climbed the flights of stairs, not wanting to wake the others. Finally she reached the top floor where only her and Dante resided. Perhaps he’d gone into the men’s toilets. Due to her unexpected pregnancy, Natale had made sure contraceptive products were available to customers. Nervously, Mary looked in the mirror. Her hair was ruffled. Her lips swollen. She moved to the bed and sat down on the edge.

  Apart from Jake, she’d only slept with one other man and that had been a mistake. She was sixteen. At a party. A bit tipsy. With a sense of loneliness greater than ever in her belly, as couples paired off, she’d started talking to Callum. He was okay. A little shy like her. They’d crept upstairs to one of the bedrooms and it had just sort of happened after seconds of fumbling with buttons and working out positions. Over in a few minutes. Painful. Embarrassing. And stupid, she’d quickly told herself.

  Mary was on the contraceptive pill to help monthly cramps, but had scolded herself for not protecting herself against anything else. It hadn’t even left her feeling as she’d hoped – grown-up. Confident. Loved. She never saw Callum again and was grateful.

  As footsteps sounded coming up the stairs, she couldn’t help a grin. Dear me, Jill wouldn’t approve of that pity party, however small. At least she’d met Jake and sex with him was … nice. An English teacher had once told Mary never to use that adjective as it didn’t really mean much but in this case it was the only appropriate adjective.

  She’d watched movies. Seen how you were supposed to reach some sort of climax and when that never happened, with her, she’d felt stupid – just like she had at sixteen. Assumed it was her fault. So – Mary blushed at the memory – she’d always mimicked the noises that she’d heard in those films. Moans leading to gasps. And when she stopped, Jake would too as if he’d finished some sort of job.

  According to magazines lots of women faked that sensation. Mary smoothed down her hair. Perhaps that was her destiny. Maybe she just wasn’t wired to fully enjoy being intimate. But what if Dante could tell and thought her odd?

  A low knock sounded. He came in and closed the door. Dante leant his stick against the wall and held out his hand. Mary stood up and, feeling dizzy, hurried over, passion cancelling out her reservations. She lifted her hands to his face and gently pulled him down. Her on tiptoe again, their lips met and rippling sensations appeared in her stomach and further down. She gasped, overwhelmed by a need to feel him inside
her core. He ran a finger down her face, kissed her on the mouth but then pulled back, chest heaving …

  She took his hand and led him to the bed. They both sat down.

  ‘This might sound silly but … this feels so right,’ Mary said.

  ‘You say that as if not many things have felt right before.’

  ‘I had a difficult childhood.’ Mary swallowed. She didn’t often share her history. What was the point? She had to get on with life. ‘I grew up with foster parent after foster parent. My mum … I can hardly remember her now.’

  He bristled. ‘That must have been …’

  ‘It was scary – never experiencing a feeling of belonging.’

  He paused. ‘Look, Mary … I … you … Please. This was just a kiss.’

  She leant back, heat rising up her neck. ‘I … I know—’

  ‘This. Us. No. Not a good idea.’

  He’d changed his mind? Perhaps he’d never felt the same. What if her feelings weren’t real? What if the dancing, the mugging, had confused her … It was all so confused.

  She swallowed, throat now feeling scratchy and dry. Just as it had as a child, when she recognised that look crossing a foster parent’s face – just before they were going to announce she’d have to move on. Mary gulped as she recognised the sheepish smile. If he could see, she knew there wouldn’t be eye contact.

  ‘Us … it’s no good,’ he repeated.

  ‘It felt good,’ she said and tried desperately to keep her tone light.

  ‘But we … work together,’ he said and raised the palms of his hands. ‘And tonight my emotions are all over the place. Silvestro … he reminded me of how much I used to love my job. How much I miss it. Feeling useful. Sorting out people’s lives. I shouldn’t have let this happen.’

  She stared at him and for the first time since arriving in Rome, she oh so wished he could see. Just for a split second. It would help her read his thoughts – although his body language made his position clear. Those strong forearms crossed over each other, as if setting a boundary. And to be fair they were both adults. Why should a few snatched kisses lead to anything more?