by C.J Duggan
Don’t look at Marcello, Sammi. Be strong.
Walking through the restaurant, my eyes drifted along the framed black-and-white photos of old movie stars hung on the floral-imprinted walls, aglow with golden lighting. I looked with particular interest, staring at a candid snap of James Dean and Sammy Davis Jnr wearing an eyepatch. Approaching our table, I saw that I was in luck: the seat nearest the wall, on the left, was empty. My lumpy face might yet avoid detection!
Oh, shit.
My seat was opposite Marcello.
He slowly unbuttoned his jacket before pulling out the chair opposite and sliding into position, making himself quite comfortable. Ignoring him would be near on impossible, and I could only find the wall art interesting for so long. I would just have to become fascinated by whoever was going to sit next to me, ask lots of questions and keep the small talk flowing. I shifted my chair aside to make room, only to watch in horror as Jodie sat next to me, looking red carpet ready in a halter-neck dress, heavy eye make-up and straightened, sleek hair falling down her back. Did she not realise what she was doing, the situation she was putting me in?
She scooted in her chair and turned to me with a beaming smile. ‘Oh, hey, Sammi—you look lovely tonight.’
Oh, she knew exactly what she was doing alright. She was here to torture me.
Chapter Twenty-Three
I wasn’t sure which was worse—that Marcello was seemingly ignoring me or that Jodie very much wasn’t. If anything, having her hair straightened seemed to have the effect of a personality transplant. She clearly picked up the awkward vibe Marcello and I were giving off and made a particular effort to include us both in the conversation. It was enough to make my welts itch.
Jodie lifted her wine, clinking on the side of her stem, summoning the table’s attention. ‘Time for a toast!’ she declared, and everyone seemed just as unsettled by Jodie Version 2.0 as I was. ‘I just want to thank Maria and Marcello, and, well, all of you really, for such a great start to our Italian adventure.’
By this point I had given up trying to hide my blemishes; my thick hair had become a torturous form of insulation and, with the intimate placing of our table and the warm summer’s night, I was fanning myself with my menu, pushing my hair back and looking eagerly for our main meals. Gnocchi would make everything alright; I believed fully in the curative power of potato pasta. I wished the waiter would come and deliver it right now and interrupt Jodie’s long-winded speech.
‘All my life I have dreamed of Italy. Since I was a little girl I wanted to explore this magical city …’
I sipped my drink, thinking if I waited for the actual toast I might die of thirst. Everyone seemed transfixed by Jodie, who now stood up at the table, hand on her heart. Good God, was she getting misty-eyed? I kept my barely contained smile hidden behind my wine glass and stared down at the tablecloth.
Don’t laugh, don’t laugh.
‘And then my mum said to me, Jodie, you need to follow your dreams … you need to follow your heart.’
Don’t snort, don’t even breathe.
I closed my eyes, finding the inner will to control myself; had Jodie been drugged? Who was this affable imposter and what had she done with the real Jodie?
When my imagination brought up the image of Jodie climbing onto her chair and breaking out into the chorus of ‘Climb Every Mountain’ I nearly lost it, dribbling a small mouthful of wine onto the tabletop. I felt something press against my foot and looked up to see Marcello, who was also struggling to keep a straight face, although he managed to appear fully focused on Jodie, nodding as if entranced by her words. He kept his foot pressed firmly on top of mine as I watched him, smiling and waiting for him to crack, almost hoping that he would. I cocked my brow and placed my hand on my chin, staring at him, pretending to care. He blinked rapidly, breathing in and refocusing as he pressed down on my foot harder.
But it only made me want to do it all the more.
‘Anyway, here’s to you all. New friends!’ Jodie lifted her glass up and, much to my absolute shock, turned to me first, looking me in the eye and clinking against my glass.
I sat stunned, incoherently repeating ‘To new friends’ and clinking my glass against hers. I half expected to see her true self in the reflection of her eyes, but there was nothing, just sparkling warmth I had never seen before; well, not when she looked at me. Maybe I had been too judgemental, too quick to assess Jodie’s character, and got her all wrong. Maybe we had just got off on the wrong foot—she judged me, I judged her—and seeing the email had caused her to reflect on her behaviour and turn over a new leaf.
With Marcello’s foot still touching mine, and the toast of solidarity between me and Jodie, I was suddenly grateful that I had come out for our last Roman supper. There was something about the energy in the restaurant, a buzz of activity that amounted to more than the flow of the wine and the delicious plates piling onto our table. We had turned a corner, we all had; even Bookworm Gary seemed to be merry with his red wine-stained lips and flushed cheeks. Harper and Kylie’s cackles rang out over the chatter in the restaurant, so raucous that I couldn’t help but laugh with them. By the time my tiramisu was delivered I had lifted my hair up into a messy, casual bun on top of my head, caring little about the twins on my cheek. If Marcello noticed them, he didn’t say. As I went to take my first mouthful of the indulgent sweet he slid his fork into my dessert, carving off a cheeky slice and licking off the cream with a little wink that made my tummy flutter. I pressed my other foot on top of his and he smiled, running his tongue along his lips and savouring the flavour.
‘Okay, everyone, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but we have a big day tomorrow and I want everyone there on time—I mean it.’ Maria pointed to Nate.
A collective groan sounded from the table, a group of kids begging their camp leaders to let them stay up just a little longer. And despite our actions last night, tonight we acted like the mature adults we were supposed to be. Johnny slung his arm around Jodie and Nate opened the door for Kylie, followed by a cheerful Gary talking Harper’s ear off about the history of Pompeii. With wine consumed at a more moderate, civilised level, I hooked my bag over my head, sliding it to the front and making a straight line for the door, skimming past Maria, who chatted to the owner in words my Italian high-school lessons wouldn’t help me with.
With a full belly and an unexpected evening of, dare I say, good vibes, I didn’t mind walking on my own. Wandering had a new meaning here; as evening fell and the harsh summer sun inched its way out of the piazzas, a local evening ritual had already begun—the Italian tradition of passeggiata, a gentle, slow stroll through the main streets, where new romances begin and new life is on display. Italians tended to dress up for passeggiata, while tourists were much easier to spot in their shorts and daypacks. Maybe tonight, in my dinner attire, I might even be mistaken for a local? Now, that I wouldn’t mind at all.
I felt many things: overfull, a warm buzz from good wine, excitement for what tomorrow held and a certain sadness at leaving a city I hadn’t even begun to scratch the surface of. I wandered down Via della Stamperia, watching as the others zigzagged their way into the distance, about to call out for them to hold up when I was slowed by a hand gripping my arm. I turned to see Marcello next to me, his questioning eyes ticking over my face and the same boyish, dimpled grin appearing. It was the Marcello who was infectious in his warmth, the one who was easy to get lost with, the kind you wanted to kiss in doorways. It would be so easy to smile back, to walk on together as if nothing was amiss; instead, despite the butterflies in my tummy, I lifted my chin.
‘Are you lost?’ I asked, an air of innocence in my question.
‘No, but you might be.’
I scoffed. ‘I know exactly where I am,’ I lied with confidence, knowing I was following the others, but as I turned my smiled faded. They were gone—they hadn’t bothered to wait for me.
Unbelievable.
Marcello laughed, sliding his hand into mi
ne and pulling me into step. ‘Come on.’
‘Is this the way?’ I asked, three of my steps equal to one of his. I bunched my skirt in my hand and lengthened my stride in a bid to keep up. ‘Where are we going?’
‘To finish what we started.’
My eyes were wide, my mouth agape; was he going to drag me back to the nightclub and ravish me against a doorway? As unlikely as that sounded, I nevertheless quickened my pace.
‘What are you talking about …’
But as we increased our pace up the street, I didn’t need Marcello to answer. It all became clear as I turned to Marcello, who reached into his pocket and turned to me, pulling up my hand and placing something into my palm.
‘Last night in Rome—make it count.’
My eyes dipped to a silver coin in my palm. I smiled, looking from my hand to the Trevi Fountain.
I breathed out a laugh. ‘I knew it was close to the restaurant but I didn’t realise it was this close.’
It was surreal knowing all the things this fountain had seen. Movie sets, centuries of lovers’ quarrels, the wishes of a billion travellers. It was like I could feel my soul being refuelled by the fountain and the energy flowing all around us. I could think of no better way to end the night than being here; ending my stay in Rome the way it started, with Marcello.
He took my hand again and pulled me through the crowds; this time I didn’t hesitate as he slid and darted through the crowd with expert ease until finally we stopped right in front of the fountain. I breathed in the magic and smiled at Marcello, who motioned with his finger to turn around. I giggled, doing exactly as he instructed, biting my lip and closing my eyes. I took a moment, not knowing if I had to wish for my return or to simply throw the coin and let the myth do its thing. Not wanting to risk it, I did both.
Chapter Twenty-Four
I wasn’t ready for goodbye. This time was different, I felt it, and I know he did too. It resonated in the silence that fell between us, after I thanked him for walking me home and wished him good luck with everything, thinking that ‘everything’ was general enough to cover any area of his life, which I still knew nothing about. No doubt Maria would finish this tour and then go through all the same motions again with a new bunch of horny tourists vying to find love or a fling in the Eternal City.
With my belated bonding with my group and a new city to conquer, I could make one of two decisions: I could walk inside and bid Marcello goodbye, or I could voice the less reasonable, more terrifying notion that was screaming in my head, one that would usually require a lot more alcohol for me to even contemplate.
‘Umm, so did you want to come in …’
Don’t say nightcap, Sammi, don’t say nightcap—that’s so lame.
I had a brain freeze; oh, God, what was I asking? To come in and have a mocktail? For all he knew, I was still bunk buddies with six other people; yeah, that sounded like an attractive proposition.
Marcello’s mouth curved as he watched me squirm. He crossed his arms and waited for me to fumble my way into a deeper hole. Finally, he saved me, clearing his throat and asking, ‘Don’t you have to get up early tomorrow?’
Great, now he was looking for a way out. He’s not interested, Sammi, take a hint!
I shrugged. ‘I had a lot of rest today.’
Something changed in his expression, as if those simple words held a deeper meaning; maybe they did. Now the ball was in his court, but I wasn’t going to beg.
I decided to give him one last chance. In a tone that sounded far more flippant than I felt, I said, ‘I just thought I would give you the grand tour of my new room.’
That got his attention. ‘New room?’
I laughed. ‘I am not sure if I’ve been upgraded or downgraded, but it’s all mine.’ I held out my arms like it was a blessing from the gods.
Marcello broke into a broad smile, stepping forward. ‘It’s not a linen cupboard, is it?’
‘I’ll let you be the judge of that,’ I said, walking through reception, ever aware of him following. Gabriello looked up from his paper at the front desk, adjusting his spectacles and nodding to us.
‘Buona notte, Gabriello,’ I sing-songed.
He shook his head. Oh, the things he must have seen, I thought.
‘Buona notte, Sammi,’ he sighed.
We had only made our way up the first lot of steps before Gabriello called out once more. ‘Oh, Sammi, before you go.’
We stopped midway, turning to see Gabriello at the base of the stairs.
‘We have washed all the linen in your room and replaced the mattress as you requested.’
My smile fell away, watching Gabriello wink and double back to the front desk. I wanted to die.
Marcello slowly made his way up the steps until he stood beside me, smirking. ‘Expecting company, were you?’ His brows rose in question.
I pointed to my face. ‘Bugs! I had bed bugs,’ I said, a bit too loudly, for once grateful there was evidence of the foul creatures on my face.
Marcello laughed, moving past me on the stairs. ‘A likely story,’ he said.
I glared at his back, shaking my head and following in his footsteps.
‘This one.’ I pointed.
Marcello moved to stand to the side of the door while I rummaged through my bag for the key, a key that appeared to have been swallowed up in the abyss. Biting the side of my mouth, the more I searched, the more flustered I got—and the more aware I became of Marcello, standing there watching, and waiting for me to open the door. Mercifully I found it in a side pocket; blowing out a breath and offering a small smile, I slid in the key and unlocked my cell door. Pushing it open and turning on the light, I saw the bed—my new bed—had been freshly made, and there was a lingering smell of bug spray in the air.
‘Ah, home, crap home,’ I sighed, pulling off my bag and throwing it on top of the chair next to the door. Marcello stepped in, his serious gaze taking in the small, windowless room, and closed the door behind him.
‘Wow, this is …’
‘Charming, quaint, cosy?’
‘Awful, this is really awful.’
I laughed, because I had learned the first time I had stepped into this room that if you didn’t laugh you cried; seeing as I hadn’t been able to find the funny side to it, I had done exactly that for most of the afternoon. I sat down on my bed-bug mattress and cried. Now, thanks to the clean sheets, the fact that I didn’t have to worry about other people waking me up with their body gases, snoring and squeaky bed springs, and the happy knowledge that I only had to endure one more night in this rat-hole, made it easier for me to snigger at the depressingly low quality of my accommodation. I also felt strangely alive, thanks to my jaw-droppingly gorgeous companion, despite the fact that he made the room feel even smaller than it already was. I couldn’t exactly offer him a drink, or even turn on a TV or radio for background noise. I was now painfully aware that there wasn’t actually anything to do in here … aside from the obvious. We both stared at the freshly made bed.
‘Well, we could always break it in,’ I joked, but the speed with which Marcello’s head spun around caused the laughter to die in my throat. Bad joke, BAD joke.
I detected the hint of a smile as he slowly peeled off his dinner jacket, throwing it over the chair on top of my bag.
‘Anything to get me into your bed, huh?’
Okay, that was it. I was no longer speaking about anything other than the weather—my mouth was obviously too big and too unfiltered for decent conversation. As charming and gorgeous and attentive as he had been, I still knew nothing about this man—who was, oh, God, sitting on the edge of my bed, unbuttoning and rolling up his cuffs. I mean, I knew what bloody Jodie’s childhood dreams were, for God’s sake; how did I know nothing, not one single thing, about the man who was on my bed?
In an effort to restore some of my dignity, I moved his jacket and my bag aside to sit opposite him in the chair.
Marcello curved his brow. ‘So far away?’
> I tilted my head. ‘I tell you what, I’ll scoot my chair closer with every question you answer.’
Marcello’s face turned dark. Clearly he didn’t like the sound of those rules, which made me all the more eager to ask. What was he hiding?
‘Deal?’
He gave me a slow nod.
Bingo!
‘What’s your name, your full name?’
‘Marcello Lorenzo Bambozzi.’
Excellent.
I slid my chair forward an inch; Marcello folded his arms as if he found my tiny little movement annoying.
‘How old are you?’
‘Ventisei.’
I knew enough to know that was twenty-six in English.
I slid my chair closer. ‘All answers in English, please.’
He held up his hands. ‘Scusa.’
As small as the room was, I was still out of arm’s reach and now the questions really mattered: what did I want to know?
‘How do you know Maria?’
‘We grew up together.’
I nodded. ‘Childhood sweethearts?’
Marcello laughed, shaking his head and crooking his finger. ‘That’s two moves.’
A girl could try.
I was getting closer now; if he reached out he could touch my knees. I thought carefully about my last few questions.
‘Today, when you were talking with Maria, what did she have to think about?’
It was a stupid question, a question that pushed him too far and was none of my business. I wouldn’t have blamed him if he got up and grabbed his coat. But instead he sighed contemplatively and looked at the distance between us, weighing up the pros and cons of answering.
