by C.J Duggan
I blew out a breath, parting the strands of hair that fell over my face. ‘Well, I never saw that on the itinerary.’
Marcello simply shook his head, pulling me into his arms and kissing my giggles into silence.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
I sat up quickly, the twisted sheets wedged under my arms as I brushed the hair from my eyes. ‘Marcello, what is it? What’s wrong?’
Marcello’s face was sombre as he came to sit on the edge of the bed and hung up his phone, the call having woken us up from deep and dreamless sleep.
‘Jodie doesn’t have your passport.’
‘What? That was Maria?’
Marcello nodded.
‘Well, is she sure? Jodie is probably lying.’
‘She is sure. Jodie admitted to lying about you meeting up with your sister, but she said she would never have taken your passport.’
‘And we’re going to trust a liar?’
‘Sammi, Maria got the police involved.’
‘Oh, my God.’
‘Yes, I told you Maria doesn’t muck around.’
I sat there, stunned. I had never even entertained the thought that someone else might have taken my passport—Jodie had been the most obvious suspect. I had sat right next to her at dinner, my bag looped on the chair near her, it was far too easy. And as for my suitcases, they hadn’t magically made their own way to the baggage area of the hotel. I was sure she was behind it; she had crossed the line on more than one occasion. I tried not to think too much about the foundation and perfume I pilfered from Kylie and Harper. Besides, that was different.
‘Marcello, what if someone stole it? They could be using my alias as a forged identity for a drug cartel by now.’
Marcello clamped his hand over mine. ‘Don’t worry; now we know, we can do what we need to do. We’ll go to the embassy in the morning.’
I chewed on my thumbnail. ‘I should have reported it straightaway.’ I felt like kicking myself.
‘Come, it’s not like it means you have to stay here forever,’ Marcello reasoned, getting up from the bed.
I watched his broad, bare shoulders flex as he opened his cupboard, picking out his clothes for the day. Watching him from the bed as he went about his morning routine made me realise how temporary it all was; despite our amazing night together, or even the past few days, this was just a fleeting moment. Maybe I hadn’t reported the loss of my passport because a part of me had never wanted it to be found. Somehow, I had gone from swearing never to return to his city to never wanting to leave, largely due to the man in front of me. Despite his good intentions, Marcello’s reassurance that everything would be alright felt like a knife to the heart. What had I expected—for him to beg me to stay, to tell me to forget about the passport and enjoy more time together? I was so deluded.
I scooted to the edge of the bed, picking up my clothes and quickly dressing while Marcello ran the water in his bathroom. It was a mistake to come here last night, to get caught up with the view and the candles, and those eyes. So bloody stupid. The best thing I could do was report my passport missing and face the inevitable. It was time to end this fantasy and head home.
‘You jumping in?’ Marcello called from the shower.
However tempting that was, I knew better in the light of day. ‘I’m just going to grab some clean clothes,’ I called back.
‘Use the elevator.’
I know he suggested it because it was quicker to get back, but I wasn’t coming back. The only reason I was going to la trappola mortale was because I could bloody hardly walk, every step a stark reminder of all the sordid things we had done last night. The memories only made me even more depressed, because I knew it would never be happening again.
I showered and dressed in my own room in record time, grabbing my handbag and heading down the hall, my hair dampening my collar. There was no time for make-up—I was on a mission. I scribbled a note—‘Gone to get coffee!’—and placed it on the kitchen table, then headed back towards the stairs, only to spin around and come crashing straight into Marcello’s chest.
‘Whoa, slow down!’
‘Oh, sorry I was just …’
‘You’ve showered?’
‘Oh, yeah, I was just going out to get us some coffee.’
And secretly book into Hotel Luce del Sole.
‘Are you okay?’ Marcello ran his hands down my arms and, damn him, it felt so good.
‘Yeah, of course. I think I just have an addiction to coffee.’
Among other things.
There was a quickening in my chest, but I reminded myself to focus, to keep to my plans. I was freaking out for a very specific reason: I was losing myself—to this place, this city, to Marcello—and if I didn’t get out now, who knew how much of me would be left when it came time to return home? I brushed past him to head down the stairs, almost making it to the front door.
‘Sammi?’
Shit.
I turned, my eyes lifting to Marcello standing above me on the stairs, smiling until he saw my face.
‘What’s wrong?’ he said, descending the steps and reaching out to me, but I moved away. I didn’t want him to touch me; I didn’t think I could bear it.
‘What are we doing?’ I blurted out.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Like, seriously, what are we doing, Marcello?’
‘Well, breakfast.’
I sighed deeply. ‘And then?’
‘Report your passport?’ Marcello answered tentatively, like he was a little frightened to guess the wrong answer.
I breathed out a small, sad laugh, shaking my head. ‘I’m going to see if the Hotel Luce del Sole has any rooms available.’
There was a flash of pained confusion in Marcello’s face. ‘Why?’
‘Why? Because what is the point, Marcello, to any of this? I live on the other side of the world, and this is just a summer fling, forgotten as soon as you change the sheets.’
‘What has brought all this on?’
I couldn’t voice the reason—it seemed too ridiculous. Like a child having a tantrum at not being able to have the things she wanted. Maybe it was last night, lying in his arms, listening to his heart, knowing I was the reason it was beating so fast, or the way his eyes had lit up taking his class up to the terrace, knowing he was doing it because I had suggested it. All the little victories, and heated looks, stolen kisses and in-jokes: it was all leading to nothing.
‘I can’t stay, Marcello, it’s too much.’
‘I don’t understand.’
Marcello stepped forward, cupping my face, forcing me to look into his eyes, shaking his head. ‘It will be too much, if you go.’
‘Why prolong it?’
‘Why rush it?’ There was rawness in his words; I could feel it run through his body. He didn’t want me to go; it should have fed my soul but it only made me feel more hopeless.
I gripped his hands on my face.
‘Look,’ he coaxed, ‘let’s grab some coffee—there’s a place down the road called Gino’s, it’s the best coffee in Rome. If you still feel the same after breakfast I will roll you back to the dungeon myself. Deal?’
I looked at him for a long moment, knowing I should be comforted by the fact that he didn’t want me to walk out the door, but I was no less terrified by the feelings swirling around inside my head.
I had joked to my parents that there was no chance of me finding love here. I’d been so confident, so cocky. Well, look at me now.
‘Okay,’ I relented, and saw a glimmer of hope in Marcello’s eyes; the very thing I had been lacking since Maria’s call. I didn’t know if a cup of coffee would fix it, but I at least owed it to Marcello to try. He opened the door and stood to the side.
‘After you.’
Maybe it was the Italian sunshine, or the insanely good coffee, or Marcello walking beside me in comfortable silence, but with each step back to the apartment I felt calmer, a little less manic. If anything, I felt a little foolish. I’d had a mini breakdown�
��it was the only explanation. Seriously, threatening to check back into Hotel Luce del Sole? I must have been mad. I glanced at the grimy exterior of the hotel as we walked by, earning an animated wave from Luciano.
‘Eh, Marcello, Sammi, ciao.’
We both laughed, waving back, the first sign of the ice being broken and a lightness coming back between us. Marcello must have felt it too as he reached out to take my hand, the connection giving me a shot of pure joy. I smiled.
Just live in the moment, Sammi, live in the moment.
We reached the door, pushing beyond the green barrier into the cool, grand entry, leaving the white noise of the street behind. Marcello dumped his possessions on the table without so much as a thought, then kissed me on the forehead and headed to the stairs, coffee in hand. I watched him go, feeling a warmth swell my heart at this beautiful, yet messy man.
‘Marcello, Rosalia is going to murder you!’ I laughed, walking to the side table, where his jacket, keys and wallet sat in a pile. Shaking my head, I flicked out the jacket, hooking it up on the coat rack; jiggling the keys and pulling a pair of glasses from the pocket, I opened the table drawer to put them away.
‘Oops, okay, so that’s not going to work,’ I mumbled, seeing the drawer jammed full of letters, and shoving it closed again. I moved over to the next drawer, and was about to place the keys inside when I froze.
The keys fell from my hand as I stared down. The crash of them against the marble floor echoed through the entire space, but it was a muted sound, as was Marcello’s voice, calling from above.
‘Sammi, are you okay?’
I blinked, twice, his words rolling through me, slowly registering, connecting.
Was I alright? No, no, I most definitely wasn’t.
I slowly reached out my shaking hand, delving into the recess of the side table, barely able to breathe as I opened the booklet. With a whimper I lifted it up to the light, my blurry vision struggling to focus on what I held in my hand.
My passport.
Chapter Forty
The passport slid across the kitchen table, until it hit Marcello’s newspaper.
His eyes flicked from the blue rectangle up to me with a bemused smile. ‘Where did you find it?’
Was he for real?
‘Are you serious right now? Where do you think I found it?’
Marcello studied the passport, looking up at me as if I had lost my mind.
‘I FOUND IT IN YOUR FUCKING DRAWER!’
All the colour drained from his face as he slowly stood, looking at me.
‘That’s not possible.’
‘Si, very fucking possible, Marcello. The question is: how did it get there? No, no, don’t answer that. I think we both know.’
‘No, we don’t know, but I would sure like to.’ His voice was raised, his face cast into thunder.
I scoffed. ‘I should have known better than to trust you—you were so cagey about even the smallest things,’ I said, pacing the kitchen.
‘Sammi, I am telling you I don’t know anything about your passport.’
‘Well, excuse me if I don’t believe you,’ I said, walking over and snatching it from his hand.
I stormed out of the kitchen, heading down the stairs—so many fucking stairs. I skipped two at a time, knowing he was behind me but praying he would just leave me alone.
‘Samantha, wait!’
I stopped near the door, spinning around, fire in my eyes. ‘No! No one calls me that, especially not you. You don’t get to call me that—you don’t get to call me anything, anymore, ever again. Just stay away from me.’
Emotion welled in Marcello’s eyes, his hands moving to his head as if in denial, powerless to stop what was happening.
Pain wrenched Marcello’s face. ‘Don’t go, not like this.’
I shook my head. ‘You don’t get a choice.’ And with that I turned to leave; with my passport back in my possession, there was nothing left to stop me. I stepped outside and slammed the door behind me.
Once again, I sat in a wingbacked chair in the lounge area of Hotel Luce del Sole, reeling from the words that echoed through my mind, over and over again. The bottom of my world had dropped away the moment I had opened that drawer. I shut my eyes.
Oh, God, I feel ill.
I wrapped my arms around my stomach, leaning over, wishing it all away. I heard the sound of wheels against marble like I had done before; the last time it had been Marcello coming towards me. I straightened in my chair, only to see a lone traveller passing through reception. I knew if anyone would be bringing my suitcase it would be Luciano, who had kindly agreed to pick up my things from Marcello’s. He knew better than to ask questions; he just had to see the look on my face to know.
It was all so simple now. Flight booked, all I had to do was wait for Luciano, who had also agreed to take me to the airport. I would not be spending another night in Rome.
‘He shouldn’t be too much longer.’ Gabriello took my empty coffee cup from me—no doubt my last one of those, too.
I smiled. ‘Thanks, Gabriello. I’m going to give your customer service a five-star rating when I get home.’
Gabriello didn’t know what to say; instead, he simply took my hand and kissed the back of it.
‘Safe travels, signora.’ And right on cue, the infamous sound of roller wheels heralded Luciano’s arrival with my things.
‘I think this is everything,’ he said, juggling my belongings.
I didn’t really care if it wasn’t—I was ready to go. Hooking my bag over my shoulder and clenching my passport in my hand, refusing to let it go, I followed Luciano out to the waiting car. I stood near the boot, staring off into the distance, numb and waiting for my possessions to be locked away; the thud of the boot pulling me out of my trance. Moving towards the passenger door, I was careful not to look down the street, not entirely sure what I would do if I laid eyes on that green door again.
I slid into the passenger seat of Luciano’s car; with an overflowing ashtray and bags of junk food at my feet, it seemed like a poetic way to be leaving.
‘Oh, scusi for the mess, Sammi.’
I honestly couldn’t have cared less. ‘Let’s just go,’ I said, grabbing for my seatbelt. A loud tap at my window caused me to jump, my eyes locking with that of a steely-faced nonna. I quickly unwound my window to see just how angry she was, staring down at me and shaking her head.
‘Rosalia?’
‘You broke him.’ She pointed in my face.
I scoffed. ‘Yeah, well, he broke me first.’ I looked away. The last thing I needed was a parting lecture from Rosalia; I had been the villain in her eyes from day one.
‘Come on, Luciano, let’s go,’ I said, wanting nothing more than to put distance between myself and this place.
But before Luciano could even shift into gear, Rosalia shouted, ‘No!’ and snatched the passport from my hand, her eyes wild.
‘Hey!’ I yelled, opening the car door and grabbing for my passport. The day had officially hit a new low; I was now wrestling with an old lady who was half my size. Managing to pull it from her gnarled grasp, I moved back to the door, only for her to block my path.
‘Si, si, passaporto!’ Rosalia shouted, pointing.
‘Si, Marcello took it,’ I snapped, thinking it was time she learnt a few home truths. Horror registered in Rosalia’s eyes. I knew the feeling; the truth was shocking. All she could do was clasp her cheeks and shake her head.
‘No, no,’ she repeated.
‘Si, si,’ I said, hoping now she would simply leave me to my misery, to get in the car and drive away. But she was still unmoving, and my patience was wearing thinner by the second. Grabbing for the handle, I was no longer ready to play nice, brushing past her and opening the door. I was about to slide in, when her words hit me.
‘I found it!’
I froze, turning to see Rosalia’s teary face. She stood there, twisting her hands.
‘W-what?’
‘Si, si, it fell from
messy jacket.’
‘What are you talking about—what jacket?’
‘Eh, blue jacket, on hallstand.’
My heart stopped.
‘Rosalia, when did you pick the jacket up?’
She thought for a moment, her eyes sorrowful. ‘The night before you came.’
I stood still, not saying a word, only letting the sickness twist in the pit of my stomach.
My mind cast back to that night in my room, how Marcello had dumped his jacket on top of my bag, how I had knocked the chair over in the dark, my things strewn all over the floor, of Marcello scooping up his jacket and wedging it under his arm, the memory of that very jacket hanging in the hall.
Oh, God.
My widened eyes shifted back to Rosalia. ‘And you never told Marcello … about the passport?’
She shrugged. ‘No.’
I blinked.
Marcello didn’t steal my passport.
My face was on fire, the truth shaming me to my soul. I cupped my burning cheeks as the tears welled in my eyes.
‘Oh, Rosalia, what have I done?’
Rosalia beat her chest, like the full realisation was almost too much to bear.
‘No, è colpa mia, è colpa mia.’
I looked at the frail old lady, the very life and soul of Marcello’s house, cooking, cleaning and caring for every aspect of his life. I imagined her easily shoving keys and letters into drawers without thinking, her mind on the many other tasks she had to attend to.
I reached for her withered hand and held it while I looked down at her. ‘This is not your fault, do you understand?’
Something sparked within her misty eyes: the sudden look of hope. ‘Come, come, see Marcello—we will tell him.’
She pulled at my arm, but I was unmoving. Instead, all I could do was stare off into the distance, looking at the green door; the door that had been my saviour, the very same one I had slammed on Marcello, so hard the sound haunted me still. Closing my eyes, I shook my head. How could I face him? The vision of me throwing my passport across the table came to me again, the things I had said; I hadn’t even given him the right of reply. It was better for me to simply go.