One Summer in Rome: a deliciously uplifting summer romance!. Samantha Tonge

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СКАЧАТЬ what was said, Mary must have forgotten to write down one without ham.

      ‘Can’t you just pick the ham off one?’ she said, uncertainly. Her old boss would have insisted. Brenda wasted no food for principles.

      ‘Of course not. We have high standards, Mary – and regulations to follow. That topping is now contaminated with meat. I shall have to start again.’ Dante pursed his lips. ‘Just be more careful, next time. The detail matters. Now take two of those, apologise profusely, say that one pizza will be a few minutes, and offer them a free half-carafe of wine.’

      Mary delivered the pizzas, whilst Rocco walked past shaking his head. Then she took a moment in the toilets. She glanced down at her haematite bracelet and took a deep breath.

      ‘Come on, Mary Smith,’ she whispered, locked into one of the cubicles. ‘Get a grip. You’re only human. It’s still early days. You can do this.’

      But errors continued to happen. Rocco and a customer both rolled their eyes when she put too much parmesan on his pasta. One couple complained that Mary had taken their coffees away before they’d finished. In a rush and ever the klutz, she’d bumped into Natale and knocked a cappuccino onto the floor. Then Rocco looked at her pointedly and said that the evening’s tips were well down.

      As soon as the last customers finally left, just after midnight, Mary headed over to the Moor Fountain and sat down on the ornate, metal barrier surrounding it. Despite being midweek, crowds of young people still huddled together, smoking and laughing on the ground. Artists swapped banter as they packed away their easels.

      She turned, at an awkward angle, away from the restaurant to watch the large pool of rippling water. Her throat felt thick. What on earth had she been thinking? Mary Smith, seamlessly moving to Rome and fitting in? Her new superior at work was just as bad as Brenda. She’d already offended a member of her host family. And the fast-moving pizzeria was a world away from working in a lazy pub. She took a tissue out of her apron and dabbed her eyes.

      Jill’s sofa suddenly seemed appealing. ‘What should I do?’ she muttered to herself. ‘Man – or rather woman – up and give it a few more days?’ Did she have what it takes, or should she cut her losses and run?

      ‘Mary? I’ve been trying to find you,’ said an abrupt voice. ‘Rocco mentioned he’d seen you head over here.’

      She looked up and saw what a more romantic version of her might have described as an utterly gorgeous vision. Subtly muscular. Casually confident. With that thick, burnt-caramel bedroom hair. Yes it was Dante – and his attitude – standing in front of her.

Chapter Five

      ‘Not ready for bed?’ he asked, minus the hot-chocolate tones reserved for others.

      ‘No. I … the fountain – it’s so pretty.’ She bent down and tickled Oro behind the ears but the dog stood resolutely by Dante’s side. Oro wouldn’t acknowledge attention from admirers unless Dante said va bene, girl – in other words, it’s okay, have a few moments off-duty.

      ‘Pretty enough to keep you away from a mochaccino?’ he asked in a formal voice and jerked his head towards the restaurant and a table, at the front, bearing two tall drinks.

      ‘I never turn down chocolate – solid or liquid,’ Mary said and steadied her voice, grateful he couldn’t have seen her crying.

      They walked over to Pizzeria Dolce Vita. Feeling for the chair, he sat down. Mary sat opposite. The dog lay on the floor, next to its master’s feet. Instinctively, she stared at Dante’s dark eyes. It wasn’t obvious that he couldn’t see, the scar at one corner being the only clue that something wasn’t right. She blew her nose and put the tissue back in her apron, then lifted up the glass.

      Dante’s head tilted. ‘You drink without saying cheers first?’

      Mary dithered. She hadn’t thought there might be some etiquette. But then Italians did take their coffee very seriously.

      ‘Aren’t you English supposed to be considerate,’ he continued and shook his head. ‘Or because I can’t see, are you taking advantage?’

      Wasn’t that just a bit picky? Or was she really being that rude?

      ‘No. Dante. Of course not,’ she said and sighed. ‘Scusa, I didn’t think. Clearly I have a lot more to learn about Italian life than I thought. The drink looked so warm and inviting and—’

      He gave a small smile.

      ‘Oh, very good. I’d better put Italian humour at the top of my list of things to learn about.’ She took a sip and, after eyeing him shyly, spluttered out aloud. ‘Jeez, Dante, do you find this funny as well? Using cold water to make my drink?’

      ‘Eh? Oh no, I hope the machine hasn’t broken again …’ He took a small sip. ‘Ah, the English tease too?’

      Another small smile then they sat in awkward silence.

      ‘Actually, it’s delicious,’ she said. ‘Just what I needed. Grazie mille.’

      ‘A mochaccino is my favourite – a cappuccino blended with a shot of cocoa syrup.’

      ‘How did you know I’d drunk some?’

      ‘The table moved when you picked up the glass and I heard you swallow.’

      ‘You must have great hearing.’

      He shrugged those broad shoulders. ‘It’s true what they say – if you lose one of your senses the others compensate. I already know when you are walking near as your footsteps are much less weighty than anyone else’s. And your perfume … it smells strong, like I imagine English countryside to be.’

      ‘It’s lavender oil. Supposed to be calming.’ The shy look that always accompanied her attempts at humour crossed her face. ‘I stocked up before I came, to help me deal with you feisty Romans.’

      ‘My mental image is right then. You are of slight build – proven by the fact you need an oil to help you out.’

      Mary cocked her head and it hit home that, for the first time ever, she was having a conversation with a man who couldn’t judge her appearance.

      ‘It must be so frustrating … not knowing what people look like. That is …’ She cleared her throat. ‘Sorry. Um, hope that doesn’t offend, it’s just …’ Sometimes she was as clumsy with words as actions.

      ‘No problem. I prefer directness – it makes a change from everyone else tiptoeing around.’

      Guess she was used to being forthright. She always had been, as a child. When people – children, adults – asked about her parents, she’d just tell them straight: ‘I’m fostered.’ She’d seen other children lie and concoct webs of lies, to create fantasy families. What was the point? These dream figures never appeared in real life. Not that Mary offered the information, unless quizzed. The Rossi family didn’t seem to know anything about her background and she preferred it that way.

      Dante cleared his throat. ‘Natale and I have just been chatting. Sunday night … you thought you’d upset me but perhaps it is the other way around.’

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