Star is very vulnerable, and even though she tries hard not to show it, she can’t bear it when the people she loves are not around her. When she first met Nikolai, she wanted me and Cindy to move into his mansion. ‘It has like a hundred rooms,’ was her justification. Both Cindy and I just shook our heads in wonder.
“Rome’s not on the other side of the world, Star. We’ll keep in touch—phone, email, Skype.”
She nods sadly. “Of course, we will.”
“And with the money I’ll be making … I can afford to fly back to London any time I want, and you and Nikolai can come over for a dirty weekend too, right?”
“I’ll miss you,” she chokes out.
“And I’ll miss you, Star,” I say with feeling. Star and I have been through thick and thin together. Except for the time right after her first marriage to that dickhead, when I went to America to intern for Cosmo, we’ve never been apart.
“Right,” she says with a sniff. “I’m going to stop being selfish. This is not about me. This is about you. Your big break.” She makes a great effort to smile broadly. “I’m so, so, so happy for you, Rosa. This could be the best thing that ever happened to you. Other than the baby, of course. Obviously, I’ll do whatever I can to help you.”
The future stretches out, foreign, but exciting. “Thank you, my sweet Star.”
“You said you have a week to move, right?”
“Signore Ricci, the owner, wants me to go to Rome immediately.”
“Wow. So why you?”
“Uh huh.”
She laughs. “Ooops … that didn’t come across the way I meant it.”
“No, it bloody didn’t,” I scold good-naturedly.
She giggles in the way that only Star can.
“From what I understand, Mr. Ricci’s granddaughter is a fan of mine.”
“His granddaughter?”
“Gina Ricci.” I put on a melodramatic accent. “She adores every word I write apparently.”
“Who knew you have such a big fan in Rome?”
I make a face. “I don’t know. Doesn’t it all sound a little fishy to you?”
“Fishy? In what way?”
“This offer coming totally so out of the blue right after I turn down Dante’s offer of living in Rome with him. You know I don’t believe in coincidences.”
She shakes her head and looks at me strangely. “Stop being so paranoid. It’s called good karma, Rosa. You deserve a break. Just enjoy it.”
“It’s probably the pregnancy. My head’s never been the same since I found out. Okay, I’ll just take it as a wonderful opportunity and enjoy every minute of it.”
“That’s my girl,” she says, nodding and beaming at me.
We chat a few more moments and promise to get together for lunch the following day.
Chapter 8
Rosa
The new opportunity really is a dream come true, and I look forward to it with great excitement, but I worry too. I’ve always been a writer, never an editor. Can I handle the responsibility? I can understand Italian and speak a passable amount, but is it enough to carry me in a competitive and professional environment where everyone will be speaking it?
Do I have any real idea what I am getting myself into?
Nevertheless, pure excitement and adrenaline keep me going as I clear out my desk and take care of any last-minute problems with the upcoming issue of Mirabel. After this it will be someone else’s concern. I wonder who will replace me. Maybe Emily, or Willa could hire someone new.
Taking care of the practicalities of moving to a new country in one week turns out to not be as bad as I thought it would be. Especially as I decide to take Star’s advice and keep the apartment for a few months more. Also, Star, being an author, simply made herself free for the whole week to help me out. To a lesser degree, Cindy and Raven pitched in too.
Between us and Star’s shit-hot personal assistant we accomplish everything we need to. Notify the post office, pause all my different magazines, cancel the milk, and so on. I pack only what I think I’ll need—laptop, clothing, some personal items. The magazine agrees to pay to ship anything I need. They have already rented a place not far from where I will be working. Someone from the publication will meet me at the airport to take me there.
I’ve traveled throughout Europe for weekend trips and vacations, but I’ve never lived anywhere but London. It’s going to be hard to leave my familiar surroundings, my friends, and my family. When I tell my mother the good news, she puts the kettle on, and brings out the good brandy. We toast to my success and talk in her little yellow kitchen until my mother becomes very merry. As I am climbing the stairs up to my old bedroom, my mother touches my arm and tells me how proud she is of me. There are tears in her eyes. She says she will come over for the birth of the baby and stay as long as I need her.
On the last day Star and I are at my apartment while I try to decide what to take with me, what to leave behind, and what to ship. I don’t know why I’ve left all this till practically the last moment. I usually make decisions easily. But not now, it seems. I dither over every item. “What about a bikini?” Star suggests, “it’ll be really hot there now.”
“I’m pregnant. Shouldn’t I get a full suit?”
“Don’t be silly. You’ll look great in a bikini. I love to see the stomachs of pregnant women. I saved the pictures of Beyoncé with her big stomach.”
I stare at her astonished. I know she loves babies, but saving an image of a pregnant woman. “Why on earth would you do that?”
She shrugs. “I just liked the whole thing. I just love a belly swollen with life. It’s so beautiful.”
I shake my head. “You can’t tell me you actually think a big belly looks good.”
She grins. “I think it’s the most beautiful thing in the world. You wait until you see your belly growing. You’ll change your mind then.”
I cover the sides of my head with my hands. “I can’t believe I’m talking about this when I’m such a mess. What if I’ve forgotten something really important?”
“Stop worrying, for heaven’s sake,” Star says. “It doesn’t matter if you forget anything. I can have whatever you want shipped to you, and you know I’ll be glad to take care of any little, last-minute details. Just bask in it!”
“Bask!”
“Yes. Enjoy the moment. Enjoy the fact that you’re going to be living in one of the most romantic and cultured cities in the world.”
“Bask, huh?”
“Bask, bask, bask.”
“What if I fall flat on my face?”
“You won’t, but if you do, you’ll just get up, dust yourself off, and start again. You’re magic, remember?”
I nod. “I am a bit nervous. It’s such a big change.”
“You’ll be amazing. Just as you always have been.”
“God, I wish I could pop you into my suitcase and take you with me.”
She smiles, then bites her bottom lip. “You won’t let anything change between us, will you, Rosa.”
“Never.”
Chapter 9
Rosa
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PxZHBxlwZBw
(Tell me when you will come,
Tell me when ... When ... When ...)
The flight takes a little more than two hours. That’s over two hours of butterflies flapping furiously in my tummy. I try to convince myself I’m being ridiculous. This is just another trip abroad. That I can always go back to England. Except it isn’t. This is a life-changing trip. A new job. A new country. And I’m pregnant!
Finally, the pilot announces that we are landing.
I sail through customs, pick up my luggage, and enter the airport lobby. Looking around I immediately see a young woman holding a placard with my name on it.
“Signorina Gardener?” she asks.
I smile. “That’s me. Rosa Gardener.”
She smiles back. She has the whitest teeth I’ve ever seen, and pretty dimples at the corners of her mouth
. “I am Carmela Moretti. I will be your secretary.”
My eyes widen. Oh my! I’ve never had a secretary. “My secretary?” I can’t help repeating.
She looks concerned. “If you don’t object.”
I rush to reassure. “No. No. Of course, I don’t object.” I grin again. “I’ve just never had a secretary before.”
She flashes another dazzling smile. “In that case, I am very glad to meet you and very glad to be your first secretary. I have been asked to take you to your new home and show you around. I have done some shopping for you. I’ve filled your fridge with some essentials. Milk, cheese, ham and eggs. I also bought you some fresh bread from the bakery. I know English people like their tea so I got you a few varieties.”
A great chunk of my nervousness leaves me. This is going to be a great adventure. I smile at her gratefully. “Wonderful. Thank you, Carmela.”
After we collect my luggage—two large bags—Carmela leads me outside to the parking lot, and up to a bright yellow dung beetle Volkswagen. It has purple daisies painted on it. As if it is from the hippie era.
“I apologize,” she mumbles.
“What for?” I ask.
“My car. It is very old, but I love it so much I can’t bear to change it for another one.”
I smile at her. “I think it is gorgeous, and a great indicator of real style when someone does their own thing.”
Carmela beams at me and pops the trunk. We stow the luggage into it and climb into the car. The interior smells of vanilla and cinnamon.
“Now on to your new home … unless you’d like to stop anywhere first.”
“No. Nowhere. I’m eager to see where I’ll be staying.”
Even though it’s a Sunday afternoon, the streets are so crowded with fast moving vehicles, I’m glad Carmela’s driving.
After a journey of many blocks, twists, and turns, we arrive in front of a pizzeria.
“We have arrived,” Carmela says, and points to the top floor of the old two-story building. “That is where you’ll be living.” She turns to me. “That is, if you like it. We had to secure the rental very quickly, but if you don’t like it we can change …” She sounds doubtful. “The good thing about it is I got you some of that terrible coffee in a bottle.” She scrunches her face with disgust. “So if you don’t like it you can always go down to the pizzeria for a proper coffee.”
I gaze up at the intricate ancient plasterwork on the exterior of the building and fall in love with my new address. The whole idea of living above a pizzeria is incredibly romantic to me. Carmela parks the car and we get out. From inside the pizzeria comes the sound of loud Italian folk music. Carmela carries one of my suitcases, and I carry the other one.
“I love the smell of pizza,” I say as I wait for Carmela to unlock the door at the side of the pizzeria.
“That’s great since you’re going to be smelling a lot of it.” She realizes what she has said and hastens to add, “however, yours is the only apartment above the shop so you will have a lot of privacy.”
We climb the narrow stone stairs and at the top she opens the door. I walk in, put my suitcase down, and glance around in awe. The flat is surprisingly beautiful—furnished much more expensively than any place I’ve ever lived. The floor is highly polished wood, the ceiling is lofty. Heavy drapes in mixed shades of blue and red cover the windows. The living room furniture, consisting of a sofa and two armchairs, look almost as comfortable as my own butter-soft sofa.
Carmela goes forward, opens a window, and turns to face me. “Well, what do you think?”
“It’s perfect,” I tell her softly. “I don’t see how anyone would want to leave such a place. Just look at the view from the window!”
“I’m very happy that you’re happy.”
I laugh then. The first proper laugh since I found out about this job. Star was right. Everything will work out.
After Carmela leaves I go to the window and look out at the stunning view. The afternoon sun falls on the grey stone walls of the ancient Basilica making the majesty and beauty of the cathedral take my breath away. Laughter and the strains of Italian opera float up from the pizzeria. I breathe in the dry air of this unfamiliar land. I made the right decision. This is the place I’m meant to be.
It is all so perfect, it’s like being in a dream.
The sudden ringing of my cell phone snaps me out of the moment of almost spiritual awareness and triggers a feeling of annoyance. However, it might be Carmela with something important to tell me, so I can’t ignore it.
“Hello.”
“It’s me, Dante.”
My heart stops beating. “How did you get my number?” I demand.
“I asked Star.”
I can hardly believe it. “Star gave you my number?”
“You seem surprised.”
“She’s not supposed to.”
“She gave you my number,” he points reasonably.
“That’s different,” I say grumpily.
“Star thinks we’d make a great couple.”
“Well, I don’t.”
“Don’t hang up, please.”
I clutch the phone hard. “Give me one good reason not to.”
“I’m very good in bed,” he drawls in his sexy voice that even now sends lovely little chills of excitement down my spine.
The fact that he can turn me on so easily irritates me. I can’t allow him to get to me again. “I can’t believe you just said that,” I begin furiously. “Going to bed with you the first time only got me in trouble.”
“But it was great, wasn’t it?” Dante asks cheerfully.
It’s hard to be angry with him when he sounds so happy. Yeah, playboy happy!
“Look, if you just called to boast about your sexual powers, I’m going to hang up.”
“I called because I want to take you out for dinner.”
“Why? Did you call some other woman and she turned you down?” I ask sourly.
He ignores my little jibe and says instead, “I know this nice little restaurant that serves to die for Roman dishes.”
“No thanks. I think I’d rather die than go to dinner with you.”
“The last time I heard such a categorical statement from you, you ended up in my bed,” he shoots back.
I keep my voice cool. “I was inebriated the last time. I’m stone-cold sober right now.”
“Then you have nothing to worry about.”
“Has it ever crossed your mind that I don’t want to have dinner with you because I just plain don’t enjoy your company?”
“No.”
“Oh, my God. I give up. You’re without doubt the most arrogant, vain, infuriating, irritating, and shallow man I have ever had the misfortune to come across.”
“Will you come if I promise not to seduce you?” he asks cheekily.
“Are you capable of being in a room with a woman and not try to seduce her?”
“That’s one of the things I like about you. So witty.”
“You know, I really don’t like you at all.”
“Nevertheless, you are a stranger in a foreign land and you need to eat.”
“I have bread and cheese.”
“Come on, Rosa. We have to kiss and make up at some time. We have our child to think of. Say yes, and I’ll send a taxi to pick you up,” he says persuasively.
I should say no and hang up on him! I open my mouth to utter those exact words but instead find myself saying, “I really don’t know why I am agreeing to have dinner with you. I’m sure I’ll regret this decision.”
“Rosa, your words are like arrows shot into my heart. But thanks for saying yes. The taxi will be there shortly, bella,”
“Don’t call me—” The line goes dead.
I groan as I stare at my cell phone. Why, why does he have to be so damn irresistible? If he was not so ripped and delicious I might have been able to say no. However, in spite of my misgivings, I find myself more than a little excited about going out to dinner with him
. There is something about him that goes beyond his good looks. I am also perfectly aware that I am deliberately rude and horrible to him because I don’t want him to know just how much I like him. Still, he is right. He is the father of my child and I have to find some way of communicating with him that isn’t completely made up of exchanging barbed insults.
“This isn’t a date and he isn’t your boyfriend!” I tell myself as I put my clothes away in the cupboards and drawers, but I find myself choosing a black, low-cut cocktail dress. A little cleavage never hurt a girl. I slip on a pair of black high heels and look at myself in the mirror. Not bad for a pregnant woman. I turn sideways and smooth the material over my belly. My pregnancy isn’t showing yet. I try not to think of the future when my belly gets so big I have to wear those hideous maternity blouses. How Star can think that is attractive is beyond me. I’ll just have to hope the nine months whizz past without me noticing too much.
The smell of pizza filtering up from the restaurant below causes my mouth to water as I sit waiting for the taxi. When I hear a horn blowing in the street below, I quickly open the window, and stick my head out. Waving at the taxi driver, I yell, “Un minuto, signore.” I realize as I say those words that if I’m going to live in Italy, I’ll have to learn to speak Italian properly. I just heard how awful my pronunciation is.
“Yes, I wait for you,” the driver shouts back in heavily accented English, as though he fears I am going to continue butchering his language.
I grab my matching black clutch purse and keys to my new home off the small decorative table and hurry out of my apartment. As I reach the street, I pass the window of the pizzeria. A fat Italian man is twirling pizza dough in his meaty raised hand. He smiles at me as he throws the spinning dough into the air and catches it.
To be honest, I feel a little like a bit of pizza dough that Dante is tossing into the air. I hope he plans to catch me before I hit the ground hard.
“No need to rush, signorina, I wait for pretty English lady all day,” the driver says as I hurry to his cab.