One Summer in Rome: a deliciously uplifting summer romance!. Samantha TongeЧитать онлайн книгу.
jeans ad where the man strips off in a launderette. She touched her mouth. Such thoughts felt so unfamiliar after months pining for Jake. For the first time since he’d left, her body ached with need and told Mary that Dante provided something it had missed. Yet her heart ached in a different way and the physical reaction soon passed.
‘Be friendly, dear brother,’ said Natale, before winking at Mary and disappearing back down the stairs. Dante still wore the trendy sunglasses and who could blame him. He’d clearly just got back from the shops and it was atomic bright outside. He ruffled the dog’s head. It gazed up at him. He was tall. And broad. Toned too. Perfect policeman material. She folded her arms, as if defending herself against any attraction.
‘Va bene – go and say hello, girl,’ he said to the dog, in a voice as creamy as hot chocolate. Dante looked up. ‘Nice to meet you.’
‘You too,’ said Mary and she knelt down as the dog padded over. ‘What’s she called?’
‘Oro.’ He walked around the breakfast bar, to the stove.
Mary chatted to Oro about her beautiful brown eyes and smart furry coat and laughed at the strong tail, wagging like a windscreen wiper. Then Mary got to her feet and Oro wandered back to the kitchen. Dante turned to face her, inhaled, and shook his head.
‘I don’t know what my sister is thinking, making coffee. Folle!’
‘I’m sure she meant well.’
‘Si. There is not a mean bone in my sister’s body. But today is so warm. I need a long limonata. How about you? But scusa, first I need to know – is it Mary or Maria?’ he asked and tilted his head as if concentrating hard.
‘Oh. Um. Yes, lemonade please. And, Maria, I suppose.’ She gave a nervous laugh. ‘It’s a little more exotic but I don’t really mind.’
‘You think?’ He ran a hand through that thick, burnt-caramel hair. ‘I like Mare-eee … un bel nome. Sounds beautiful. Like a gentle sea breeze.’
Her eyes widened at his poetic words. It had taken twenty-six years and an Italian policeman to entertain the idea that, perhaps, her name wasn’t so bad. She stared at him, wishing he’d take off those glasses. Perhaps his eyes would reveal a teasing nature, yet that hot-chocolate voice oozed sincerity. As if he’d read her mind, Dante took them off and rubbed a hand across his forehead. His hand eventually dropped, revealing a scar at the corner of one of his eyes.
‘Prego. Sit down on the sofa,’ he said. ‘I’ll bring over the drinks. Then I’ll show you around.’
Mary collapsed into one of the armchairs that looked more comfortable. Should she get out the Tupperware box of homemade shortbread she’d brought? It was a small gift to represent a big thank you: an iconic British sweet treat and one of Mary’s favourite recipes. However, overcome by shyness, she decided to just leave them out in the kitchen, later.
Shadowed by devoted Oro, Dante eventually headed over. He brushed his calves along the sofa’s edge. What was he doing, thought Mary? He frowned when he reached the end of the cushioned front, sat down, and placed the lemonades on the coffee table.
‘Mary?’ His face reddened. ‘Where are you?’
She stared for a moment and then her throat felt drier but not from thirst. Of course. How could she have been so stupid and not worked it out? Oro meant gold. A great name for a golden retriever. It hadn’t clicked why he’d chosen that breed. Nor why he’d been wearing dark glasses.
‘I’m here. In the armchair,’ she said and leant forward to touch his arm, heart squeezing as if someone had mistaken it for a lemon that had made the lemonade. Poor Dante. What could have happened? Why had no one said? ‘Um, let me pass you a drink.’
‘I’m blind, Mary. Not incapable,’ he said, in a tight voice, and pulled away. ‘Accept that and we’ll get along fine. Papà employed you as a waitress. Not a nursemaid.’
Pastries. Lush Italian plum jam. Little Lucia, humming and kicking her legs against the dining table. Several days on and Mary reckoned she could get used to starting every day like this one.
‘More coffee?’ asked Natale, who sported a skirt and yellow and orange striped blouse – a vibrant contrast to Mary’s beige trousers and white T-shirt. Freckles scattered across her nose, like the musical score for her tinkling laugh.
‘No thanks. I’ll be saucer-eyed, otherwise. I’m used to drinking instant coffee, back in England.’
Natale pulled a face. ‘We tried that once, years ago on a family holiday to London. Papà said it was the liquid equivalent of baby food and that no self-respecting adult should drink it.’
Mary grinned. She studied the pretty bead bracelet around the Italian woman’s slim wrist.
‘That’s lovely,’ she said and pointed.
‘I make my own jewellery.’ Natale’s heart-shaped face blushed. ‘But it’s only a hobby.’
‘It looks very professional.’
Lucia studied them both and the necklace and then babbled for several moments to her mum in Italian, crumbs of pastry tumbling out of her mouth.
Natale shook her finger at the little girl and then looked at Mary sheepishly. ‘Sorry, but it would seem that Lucia accidentally ended up in your bedroom yesterday. She says something about a crystal collection that, she thinks, would be great for making necklaces and bracelets.’
Mary stared at her plate for a second. What should she say? Not everyone understood believing in something that hadn’t been proved.
‘It’s okay,’ said Natale, ‘no need to explain.’
Mary thought back to the warm glow she’d felt when Natale had linked arms with her – something she’d done several times, over the last few days. Perhaps she’d dare to open up. Just a little. She pulled out the yellow citrine crystal from her shorts’ back pocket. ‘This is especially supportive of taking a new direction in life. It helps you achieve goals.’ She handed it to Natale and held her breath. Only Jill knew about Mary’s collection and her view was if Mary thought they worked then that was all that mattered. She’d reluctantly discussed her crystals with John Jones on the plane, but it wasn’t usually something she talked about.
‘What gorgeous saffron shades. That would make a lovely pendant.’
‘I’ve looked online and found out about a crystal shop in Rome,’ said Mary shyly. ‘If it’s as good as my one at home, they sell all sizes and shapes of stone, some suitable for jewellery-making.’
Natale raised an eyebrow. ‘I’d love to come with you – unless …’
Mary beamed. ‘That would be great.’
Clearly bored with all the English talk, Lucia babbled to Natale again and the little girl’s head cocked to one side.
‘She wants to know if you have ever met the queen,’ said Natale and winked. ‘She’s hoping you’ve got a photo to show her friends. She’s seeing them at holiday club.’
Mary had understood a little and ruffled those black curls. She slipped the crystal back into her pocket. ‘No. The queen is a very busy woman, but …’ Mary got up and grabbed her handbag from the breakfast bar. She rummaged in her purse before sitting down again and passing Lucia a bright gold one-pound coin. She turned it over and pointed out the British monarch.
‘I don’t need my English money, any more …’ Nervously, she switched to Italian. ‘You take this to club, instead.’
The biggest smile crossed Lucia’s face before she gave Mary a tight hug. Without an ounce of resentment, Mary decided anyone would adopt this little girl, with her confident gaze and