In Italy for Love

Chapter 20

20

‘We should go back to the car,’ he said. Grasping her hand, he took off along the narrow path of pale stones, tugging her along behind while she recovered from her surprise. He realised too late that if they weren’t supposed to be kissing, they probably shouldn’t hold hands either, but he was bone-tired and confused and he wanted to hold her hand, so he threaded his fingers with hers.

She held on, gripping so tightly that he had to glance at their tangled fingers to make sure he wasn’t imagining it. Was she annoyed with him? She had every right to be.

As he clutched her hand and gave himself a moment to feel what he felt, without judgement, fear or guilt, he agreed that the Berengario’s matchmaking scheme might have been a good idea too. He’d needed this, an hour alone with Jules somewhere outside the house to let his conflicted emotions come to a head.

The cold was seeping through his old woollen pullover by the time they returned to the car and the hand that hadn’t been clasping hers was chilled. He was strangely reluctant to drive back down, even though that was the right thing to do. He gave her hand one more squeeze before letting go to climb into the driver’s seat.

‘Do you think Berengario interfered with the car so we’d be stranded here overnight?’ she said warily after she’d settled Arco in the footwell in the back.

‘I think saying that might be tempting fate.’ Closing one eye as he turned the key, he shared a smile with her when the car started up without a problem.

‘Phew,’ she said drily.

Reaching for the old handbrake, he pressed the button and pushed and… Nothing happened. He jiggled it, but again – nothing. Frowning, he stepped on the footbrake, wrapped both hands around the lever and pushed, grunting with effort, but it wouldn’t shift.

‘Oh dear,’ Jules said under her breath, although her tone was still dry.

‘Maybe I can…’ He put the car into reverse and revved, slipping in the clutch to try to jolt the wheels back a little and dislodge the brake, but the car only made a disturbing creak and then a foul smell wafted into the interior. He turned the engine off.

Jules shivered and he noted the temperature on the dashboard: eight degrees. No hypothermia, but it wouldn’t be comfortable to wait in the car for long. Arco whined and barked and she settled him with a hand in his fur.

‘Berengario had better answer this time,’ Alex said through gritted teeth and called the old man. Of course, he didn’t pick up.

‘Do you think he put glue on the brake pads?’

‘I don’t think he wants us dead.’

‘Or like one of those Korean shows: if we die at the same time, we’ll be reborn on the same day and find each other in the next life.’

He turned to her fully, his elbow on the steering wheel. ‘What kind of shows do you watch?’

‘They’re die-hard romantics apparently.’

‘Yeah, die hard. I don’t find that romantic.’

A flinch of dismay crossed her features. ‘Oh God, I’m sorry. I didn’t think.’

‘And this is why I didn’t tell you,’ he replied with a deep sigh. ‘I didn’t want you to just see the guy whose wife died. That’s what everyone else sees.’

Her nostrils flared and he could see her struggle to decide what to say next. ‘You think the guy I met the first night is not who you are?’

‘I think it’s disturbing how easily I kept Laura a secret.’ He leaned back on the headrest, feeling ambushed – by the truth about his own motives. ‘I’m not resentful of you. I’m annoyed at myself for trying to keep her out of… this.’ He winced, hoping she wouldn’t ask what he meant by ‘this’ because he had no idea.

But she just said, ‘You don’t have to.’

‘Have to what?’

‘Keep her out of…’

His eyes drifted closed and his cheeks heated. ‘This,’ he repeated softly.

‘Yeah,’ she agreed hesitantly. ‘This.’ Then there was a weight on his shoulder and the scent of herbal shampoo and olive tree reached his nose and a strand of hair tickled his jaw and the handbrake on his emotions released until he wanted to laugh and cry at once.

He fumbled for her face, finding her forehead with his thumb because he didn’t want to open his eyes yet. Even just tracing her jaw with his fingertips, he knew he wasn’t even close to forgetting the heady chemistry of the day they’d met.

He nudged her face up and kissed her.

She broke off to suck in a surprised breath, but that was her only hesitation. Clenching a hand in his pullover, she kissed him back, hard enough for him to know she’d felt it every time he’d resisted doing this over the past two and a half weeks. She pushed him back in the seat and he covered her closed hand, smiling as she kissed him bossily, teaching him a lesson that he was glad to learn.

We should have been kissing all this time .

‘You don’t have to be jealous of Davide,’ she murmured, her lips skimming his cheek, his jaw after she’d spoken the words.

‘I’m not jealous of Davide right now,’ he responded, searching for her mouth again and drawing out a deep kiss. ‘I’m sorry I made you think I didn’t want you. That first date was…’

‘What was it?’ She drew back with a wry smile. ‘I’ve been trying to work that out myself.’

‘A surprise,’ he finished – inadequately, but the word would have to do for now.

She shivered and he noticed how cold he was himself. With a sigh, he dropped his hands from her face and looked around for his phone.

‘I’ll have to call the breakdown service. I have no idea how long it will take them to come out this way. Can I call you a taxi?’

She shook her head as he found the number. ‘If you have to wait here, I’ll wait too.’

The time estimate was three hours. ‘It’s a busy Saturday night,’ he explained to Jules in dismay after he disconnected the call.

But her response was a shrug. ‘These things happen,’ she said lightly, stretching in her seat. She glanced at him. ‘I thought you said this was the crossroads of Europe. Surely there should be a tow-truck on standby at all times.’

He clicked his tongue at her, but gestured her closer at the same time. ‘You’ve had leaves in your hair all afternoon.’ He picked them off and carefully untangled the twig from her ponytail, trying not to think of Berengario’s words about wanting to take care of her. It was his character, that was all.

She might know a little about his situation now, but they’d still promised each other no expectations – especially not the expectation that she might stay longer than necessary.

‘Your passport will be on its way soon, yes?’ he forced himself to ask.

She nodded. ‘I had an email from the Italian passport office saying the application had been approved. That one might be another week. My new Australian one should be on its way too, according to the processing times.’

‘Mmph,’ was all he managed to say in response.

‘Do you think… we’ll keep kissing for that time? More?’ She peered at him guardedly.

‘I want to,’ he answered, a little dismayed that she’d been reckless – brave – enough to ask.

‘But?’

Had he implied a ‘but’? Perhaps there was always a ‘but’ with him: he was single but he’d been married and his wife had died; he liked her a lot but he’d belonged to someone else first; they were good together in bed but she would never have a chance to get to know him properly in such a short time.

‘Well, I don’t sleep well. I told you that.’

‘Is that since she died?’

He nodded, the feelings rising in his throat.

She studied him and apprehension tightened in his chest again, wondering what she saw, what the damage was three years after the worst had happened.

Glancing away as though she’d seen enough, she gave his hand a brief squeeze then snatched hers back. ‘Your hands are freezing ! How are we going to manage three hours of this?’

Peering back at the rustic restaurant, shuttered and empty, he said, ‘Maybe Gabriella leaves a key out.’

Arco was the first to zip inside after Alex jiggled the back door of the restaurant open. Maddalena had called her friend to ask about a key, so thankfully they weren’t breaking and entering. Apparently Gabriella was in Udine for the evening and wouldn’t be back until tomorrow.

Alex had to duck under the lintel as he followed Jules into the lingering warmth of the kitchen and switched on the light. She still felt a glow under her skin when she looked at him, fired up again by the kisses in the car. She wasn’t looking for everlasting love, happily-ever-after any more, like the foolish twenty-five-year-old Jules who’d fallen for Luca and turned her life upside down. But whatever ‘this’ was between them, she was pleasantly tipsy on it.

Following Arco through the archway and into the dining room, Jules sighed with relief to find the air still warm. Alex gestured to an old stove in the corner and she approached happily, pressing her palms to the pink glazed tiles that still held heat from the fire.

Arco turned in a circle and squeezed into the space between the stove and the table beside it, while Jules slipped into the bench seat to admire the heavy old beams in the ceiling and the rusty ironwork nailed into the exposed stone walls. In the middle of the room was a fireplace, open on all sides, with an enormous decorative flue hanging from the ceiling above, plastered and edged with red and white fabric.

‘ That ,’ Alex said, following her gaze, ‘is a lovely fogolar.’

‘It’s a real fire hazard,’ she responded.

He lifted his hands in a shrug. ‘That too. Gabriella said there was some jota left in the fridge that we can have. I’ll put it on to warm.’

Jules rummaged in her backpack for the foil tray of dog food she’d packed that morning and set it in front of Arco. He was so tired, he just stuck his nose against the packaging at first, before hauling himself to his feet and swallowing down the wet food seemingly without chewing.

‘Did he just burp?’ Alex asked, appearing in the room again with two glasses of water and a puzzled smile.

‘He burps a lot. Doesn’t Attila do that?’ Her own smile wobbled as she remembered that Attila was Laura’s pet and that was why Alex had stumbled over his admission the first night that he hadn’t named the cat. She certainly couldn’t fault him for keeping the truth from her when she now seemed to put her foot in it with every sentence she uttered.

But he didn’t get that haunted look in his eyes, he just said, ‘Attila would never burp with an audience, so if he does, I’ll never hear it.’

‘He should teach Arco some manners while we’re here.’

‘Did you say you’ve only had Arco just over a year? How did that happen?’ he asked as he opened the door of the tiled stove and peered in.

‘God, you want to hear all about my stupid mistakes? Now I finally understand a little what you’ve been through, I feel bad for complaining about a break-up.’

‘Jules,’ he said carefully, his voice deep. ‘We don’t compare heartache. It doesn’t help anyone, including me. I have enough pity from myself.’ He rubbed a hand over his eyes.

‘You’re right,’ she agreed.

Satisfied with her answer, Alex turned away again to stuff some newspaper and three pieces of wood into the stove, adding a rolled-up firelighter and setting it all expertly alight with a single match, allowing them to burn with the door open for a few moments. Staring into the flames, it seemed easier for her to talk.

‘Arco is a symptom of my stubbornness. I jumped into the relationship with Luca too fast and I stayed to salvage my pride. Maybe I sensed him drawing away and I thought a pet might keep us together, but it only gave us something else to argue about after we broke up.’

‘Is that why you didn’t want to stay with me? Did it trigger your feelings, moving in with someone you… well, you know.’

‘I didn’t really think of it like that,’ she reassured him. ‘That one time with you was very different from the two years with Luca. And my main worry was keeping my hands off you.’

‘That challenge I am familiar with,’ he said earnestly, turning around again, but when he pressed his lips together, she could make out the smile he was stifling. ‘Luca, is it?’ he asked. ‘The guy I’m supposed to beat up? What? The beating up was your idea.’

‘It was not. I prefer non-violence.’

‘So you want me to beat him up in a figurative sense?’

‘Do you have a special book of Furlan insults or something?’

His smile broke out and it felt like she’d won a prize. ‘We save those for the people of Trieste.’

‘You weirdos,’ she teased.

‘“Va’ a vore.” That’s what a Furlan would tell your Luca.’ He stood and disappeared back into the kitchen.

‘What does it mean?’ she called after him, scooting to the end of the bench so she could see him stirring something over the gas stove.

‘“Go to work”,’ he translated. ‘He sounds a bit useless.’

Jules snorted water up her nose. Alex peered around the doorway in concern, but she waved him back into the kitchen, pressing a hand to her chest. ‘I’m okay,’ she croaked. ‘But how do you say it again? I love that. He always had big plans for the future, but getting his hands dirty in the here and now was not his style.’

‘Whereas you’ve been a lifesaver for Maddalena. No wonder Berengario insists you have Friulian roots.’ He set two bowls of thick stew with beans and chunks of something unidentifiable onto the table and collapsed into the chair opposite Jules with a tired sigh. The dish would have looked less than appetising if it weren’t for the scent of garlic and smoked meat rising off it. ‘Va’ a vore,’ he repeated. ‘That’s the phrase.’

‘Mandi, va’ a vore!’ she said, grinning when he chuckled. ‘Bon pitìc,’ she added, gesturing to the bowls.

‘You remembered the Furlan for “buon appetito”?’ He looked impressed and she wished she could take credit for being amazing at languages.

But in this case, there was a simple explanation that didn’t involve much effort on her part. ‘It’s painted on one of your ceramic bowls,’ she reminded him.

‘It’s still appreciated, when you try to learn the language.’

If he kept giving her those smiles, she’d have all the incentive she needed to learn Furlan.

‘What’s this dish, then?’ she asked.

To her surprise, Alex laughed again. ‘Jota,’ he supplied. ‘The original meaning of the term is a bit lost, but it probably means the food that the pigs eat? You know what I mean?’

She peered at her bowl. ‘And this pig slop is a local delicacy? Maybe I should have foraged for chestnuts instead.’

Alex drizzled olive oil over his swill and tucked in, ignoring her, so she did the same, grasping her spoon and scooping up a mouthful of the beige stew. The pork, potato and garlic in the warm, lightly salty broth gave her the comfort of an imminent full stomach, but there was a tang to it as well, a hint of Eastern Europe, she guessed.

‘Is that cabbage? This really is peasant food.’

‘Peasant food is a compliment in Fri?l,’ he quipped, pointing his spoon at her. ‘It’s crauti – sauerkraut. This is a dish from the Trieste region and Trieste has half a foot in Slovenia and is a bit stuck in its days of Hapsburg greatness, hence the sauerkraut.’

‘I thought you only liked to insult people from Trieste, but here you are enjoying their food.’

His lips formed that little pout she remembered from their first date. ‘As we say, the bell-tower of your home town is always the tallest.’

‘And you wonder why the region is so scarred when you offer to beat people up and have fights with your neighbours.’

‘It’s not all our fault. It’s the earthquakes as well.’

‘Earthquakes! What woes have not befallen Fri?l in its history?’ she teased.

He didn’t respond and Jules wondered whether he was thinking about his own woes, rather than those of his home. If he didn’t want to talk about his wife, she respected that, but she couldn’t think of anything else to say, her mind was so full of questions.

Alex sighed, hanging his head. ‘Ask me,’ he muttered. ‘I can see you want to.’

‘Ask you what?’

‘Something. About her. I should have told you. I don’t need pity, and sympathy is even worse. So ask me what you want to know and anything you don’t ask me at least won’t upset you.’

Her skin prickled at the thought that he was worried about upsetting her . Taking a deep breath, she dived straight in. ‘How did she die?’

Her throat clogged, realising too late how the question reduced this unknown woman’s life to her last moments. How much must Alex hate that! She wished they didn’t have this hurdle to overcome before their relationship – friendship – could return to even ground. She considered rescinding the question, but with a flick of his brow he drew a breath to answer.

‘A car accident.’ His mouth was thin, pulled tight. ‘That was the cause anyway.’

‘How old was she?’

‘Twenty-eight.’

She didn’t have to say it to know he was thinking the same thing: her own twenty-eighth birthday was two weeks away. The unwanted sympathy rushed at her again.

‘I know I’m wearing her jacket. Is it her house too? Did you inherit it from her?’

‘Yes, it belonged to her grandmother, Gigi. It was closed up for a long time before I came home and… needed it again.’

‘She didn’t die here?’

He shook his head. ‘In London. Guy’s Hospital.’

‘Did you move to London with her?’

‘Mmhmm. She was a corporate lawyer – something to do with mergers and acquisitions.’

‘Wow,’ Jules said, hoping he didn’t catch the tickle of her own inadequacy in her tone. How sad was it to compare herself to a dead woman? Glancing warily at Alex, she found him staring blankly at the stove. It struck her, how different that first date would have been, if he’d told her he’d lost his wife. She understood why he hadn’t wanted to be that person, just for one evening.

But there was no solution to the death of a loved one. He couldn’t just leave, the way she’d left Luca. She almost wished she didn’t understand how complicated it was for him to be attracted to someone else.

He sighed and stifled a yawn and Jules felt the same lethargy creep into her skin, now her stomach was full of pork and potatoes and sauerkraut, and the warmth from the stove had grown fuggy and thick. Alex stood to wash the bowls, but she took them from him and ushered him to the bench seat.

‘You rest,’ she instructed him firmly.

When she’d finished the dishes, she returned to the dining room to find him slumped against the wall, his head lolling. But he blinked and then gave her a groggy smile. She wondered how much he usually slept, how he managed to function. The hollows under his eyes were a deep grey, the skin puckered, but as he blinked at her, she caught glimpses of the vivid blue of his irises.

She didn’t want to be curious or hear a sob story that would no doubt upset her, but she couldn’t help but wonder . What had they looked like together, Alex and Laura? Had they bantered and joked the way she and Alex did?

How much he must have loved her. She knew him well enough for that thought to kick her in the stomach and that served as a warning. Perhaps he should have told Jules he was a widower, but she hadn’t really wanted the heartache of imagining what he’d gone through – what he was going through, she realised with dismay.

Even if she should have learned her lesson by now, she still scooted over to him on the bench and tucked herself into his side. He lifted his arm, draping it heavily around her back, and she sank into him and ignored the pricking of tears now she understood why he’d been so conflicted these past two weeks.

The platonic housemate thing had been a bad idea, when they could have been holding each other like this.

‘Do we need to talk about… this?’ he mumbled sleepily, pressing a clumsy kiss to her hairline and then his eyelids drooped and closed.

This , between them, whatever it was, she didn’t want to question it yet.

‘We don’t have to talk right now,’ she comforted him softly.

‘Good,’ he murmured. ‘I like this – you. But there were things about Laura’s death that I struggled with.’

‘I understand,’ she said, muffling the words in his old pullover when her nose began to sting with the urge to cry.

‘You don’t,’ he insisted with a sigh.

Settling her palm over his chest as though she were stemming the bleeding of his heart, she said, ‘Shh. I can tell it was traumatic. That’s enough. I don’t need the whole story.’

He took a breath as though he were going to say something, but stalled. ‘I suppose it’s enough for now – for you. That’s good,’ he finally said, his voice rough.

‘Keep your secrets,’ Jules whispered when his breathing evened out. He was more passed out than peacefully asleep, but even that must have been some relief for him. ‘I don’t think I can hear it.’