by C.J Duggan
‘Goodbye, Rosalia,’ I said.
Rosalia stilled, realising I meant what I said when I looked into her eyes.
‘Thank you for everything.’ My voice broke and I knew that if I didn’t get into the car right that very second I would let her drag me back to Marcello, and beg for him to forgive me, but I knew there was no point. Leaving now was going to be easier, yet still so incredibly hard. I slid into the passenger seat next to Luciano.
‘Ah, do you want to—’
‘Just go!’ I sobbed, not daring to look out my window. Luciano didn’t have to be told twice; we drove off, with the green door at my back and Rosalia’s eyes seared into my memory.
What have I done?
Chapter Forty-One
Remember, Sammi, act surprised!
I didn’t have to fake it. Seeing Claire and Louis in the distance, a surge of sheer joy had me running so fast that I crashed into Claire, hugging her fiercely and bursting into—quite hysterical—tears. Louis simply stood to the side, not knowing what to do.
‘How long has she been away?’ he asked.
Claire cut him a dark look. ‘It’s not just that. I have this effect on everybody. Who wouldn’t miss me? Isn’t that right, Sammi?’ Claire looked at me, assessing, and I knew she knew that there was more going on with me than jet lag and a bad case of missing her sister; she saw straight through me in her usual unnerving way. But she stayed quiet for now, and for that I was extremely grateful.
‘Exactly,’ I said, rubbing at my eyes and sniffing, imagining how hideous I looked.
Claire cupped my face. ‘Oh, my God, you are so tanned!’
‘And about five kilos heavier.’
‘You look amazing—that Italian sunshine served you well.’
I knew she was lying—I looked like a bag lady; there was no other way to put it. The poor woman next to me on the plane was a witness to my sobbing, as I cried until the tears came no more. I think I had exhausted my tear ducts—the well had run dry.
Claire hooked her arm in mine. ‘I want you to tell me all about Rome!’ It took every effort for me not to visibly recoil at the question—the first of many, no doubt.
‘It was … life-changing.’ Was there any other way to describe it?
‘Louis and I have thought about Rome, you know. Something new for the show, plus I really just want to go to Italy,’ she confessed.
I walked along in a daze, relying on Claire’s guidance as I became lost in my thoughts. Claire and Louis had met in Paris, rather controversially through Louis’ famed show Restoration or Detonation. With his platform as a famed celebrity chef, Louis would go into failing hotels, tear everything and everyone apart and then give the hotel the mother of all makeovers.
‘Have you really thought about Rome, as in for the show, I mean?’
We stopped near the baggage collection.
‘Sure, why not?’ said Claire.
‘There’s mine, there!’ I pointed to the silver roller bag with scuffmarks and a hot-pink nametag.
Louis moved past the hordes, grabbing it with ease. ‘Why—do you have some place in mind?’ he mused.
And for the first time in a long time a smile broke out across my face, a really bloody big one. ‘Louis, I have the perfect project for you!’
Claire and Louis stood before me, looking intrigued, if a little disturbed at the now-smiling nutter before them. My hair a mess and wearing my baggy Golden Slumbers T-shirt, which I had changed into mid-flight for comfort, I must have looked quite the sight.
‘Oh, do tell,’ he pressed.
‘Absolutely—we’re always up for a challenge.’ Claire beamed, excitement radiating through her.
I pulled my roller bag into line. ‘Well, if you want a challenge, Hotel Luce del Sole is the place for you!’
Having Claire and Louis at home was a godsend; they were the perfect buffer, holding back Mum and Dad and their tirade of questions. I wasn’t quite sure how I was going to explain the lack of photographic evidence of me jokingly holding up the Leaning Tower of Pisa, and why I didn’t have the promised gift of Venetian glass for Mum; they were already rather confused about why I was home so early. I didn’t have the answers; all I knew was I wanted to go to my room, draw the curtains, crash into bed and never leave home again.
I don’t know how I would have survived without Claire force-feeding me—of course, it did help that Louis had taken over the kitchen. She was incredibly patient, and when the time came for me to talk, she listened, staying silent until the climax of the story.
‘Oh, no, you didn’t.’ She shook her head, her eyes wide.
‘Yep, I accused him of stealing my passport,’ I said, hugging my pillow to my chest.
The look of sheer devastation on Claire’s face said it all. ‘Oh, Sammi.’
I shook my head. ‘I didn’t even say I was sorry—I was too much of a coward.’
‘Well, do you think he knows you know the truth now?’
I scoffed. ‘Oh, I am certain Rosalia would have told him.’
‘And he hasn’t contacted you in any way?’
‘I’m sure, now that some time has passed, he is thanking his lucky stars that I live far, far away.’
Claire blew out a long breath. ‘Loving a foreign man is never easy, especially when they are this gorgeous,’ she said, lifting up his business card from my mattress. My eyes snapped up at her, her words resonating with me deeper than she could have realised.
Loving.
Without saying as much to Claire, I knew that was my biggest problem, my biggest fear. I had fallen for the very person I couldn’t have. The discovery had me unwittingly self-sabotaging us the moment Maria had called. I knew that, now; I’d had hours upon hours of unpacking it all.
‘So, what now?’ asked Claire.
‘Well,’ I breathed out, ‘I get on with my life.’
Claire looked sad—she was always the hopeless romantic. I knew she wanted more from this. I did too, but sometimes the fairytale ending doesn’t come true.
‘I just wish there was some way I could make it up to him. He was so good to me: he put a roof over my head, fed me, showed me the most amazing places.’
Any plenty of other things.
I blinked, squeezing the pillow tightly.
‘And he’s an artist, you say?’
‘An amazing artist! Claire, you should see his work, and he’s locked away, schooling seniors on how to paint sunsets and working as a tour guide—it’s insane.’
Claire’s head tilted in that scary way she had when an idea was brewing.
‘What? What are you thinking?’
‘Well, I will be forever grateful to a man who saved my sister from certain peril.’
‘Claire.’ I said her name as warning.
‘Oh, don’t worry, you can still mope and sook over the one that got away, but we seriously need to pay him back some way. Louis!’ Claire called out down the hall.
It didn’t take him long to appear, his eyes alight anytime he set them on Claire. It was the way a woman longed to be looked at—I knew because I had seen it for myself.
Yeah, let’s not think about that, Sammi.
‘Louis, you’re an art lover,’ Claire chimed.
Louis folded his arms and leant in the frame of the door. ‘I am?’
‘You are! So, I think we need to retweet a little recommendation for a soon-to-be-discovered Roman artist.’ Claire held up Marcello’s business card to him.
I sat up straight. ‘Oh, my God, Louis, would you?’ I asked, fearing to hope.
One recommendation from the likes of Louis Delarue, world-renowned Michelin-star chef, and your life was destined to change forever. There’d be no more need for Marcus to drag filthy rich westerners up to his terrace and show them a good time.
Louis sighed. ‘This won’t affect my brand, will it?’
Claire laughed. ‘Oh, please, you didn’t even care about a brand or know what it was before me. Now you’re a Twitter addict, and you
even post food pics on Instagram.’
Louis smirked knowingly. ‘I don’t know who I am anymore,’ he said, taking out his phone and snapping a picture of the business card. ‘Leave it with me; if I am going to make a recommendation, it has to be done right.’ Typical Louis—a stickler for the details.
Having made one wrong in the world a tiny bit right, I leapt out of my bed and wrapped my arms around him.
‘Thank you, Louis, thank you, thank you, thank you!’
Chapter Forty-Two
Four months later …
So fate had other ideas for me. And don’t judge me, but somehow going back to the place it all began felt kind of poetic in some really messed-up way. I’m not talking Rome, of course, no-no-no. I’m talking about sitting at a desk, with an irritating-as-all-hell neck scarf and a stiff, ill-fitting jacket that made working on the keyboard really tricky.
After taking my still-wounded soul bursting through the doors of Jan and John Buzzo’s travel agency, unleashing my tirade of the complete and utter shambles of my Italian adventure (minus the hot, sordid details of Marcello), I took great pleasure in telling them that their ‘no regrets’ philosophy had left me with nothing but regrets! I thought that was a rather killer line; I know because I had practised it over and over again on the car ride over to their office.
That was three months ago, and I never imagined that I would have received not only a written apology and a phone call, but a job offer. Jan was planning to retire Mr Buzzo to the golf course and fill his well-indented seat with someone who actually had a clue. The thought of another year of binge-watching Netflix at Mum and Dad’s was all the inspiration I needed: I was only too happy to accept Jan’s offer. The next thing I knew, I had my own headset and was booking other people’s dream holidays.
I had found my calling!
As much as I liked a challenge, and it was definitely a challenge. I actually enjoyed the job, especially on the odd occasion when I knew what I was talking about; that is, giving recommendations for Rome. Whether it be a little lunch place with a view of the Pantheon, or the famous gelato they simply had to try, or, if they were up for it, the power hour at Rome’s hottest nightclub. It kind of made it fun, too, that Louis was shooting his next TV series at Hotel Luce del Sole, the worst hotel he had ever seen, which made for great television. I was now in a position to recommend the hotel to travellers and feel confident about it. The location was excellent, the staff were A plus, and now it was entirely bedbug free!
And I never failed to recommend Bellissimo Tours. I had Googled Maria often enough to know that her business was booming, with no joint venture with Marcello in sight; he didn’t need it. Since Louis had tweeted his ‘discovery’ of the Roman artist Marcello Bambozzi, my former flame’s career took off. I tried desperately not to Google him, which was tough with a computer at my fingertips most days of the week, but last I heard he had his own gallery opening, showcasing his art. I’m not going to lie: I cried. Cried like a newborn baby, I was so happy for him; it was exactly what he deserved.
It all seemed like a distant memory now. Despite the rather disastrous parting of ways with my fellow travellers, I still kept in touch with the Gold Coast besties, who often sent me updates of all things Jodie and Bookworm Gary – engaged, buying a puppy, heading back to Rome! I guess they threw their coins in the fountain successfully. I tried not to let the bitterness eat away at me. At least Nate would send me the odd humorous YouTube clip to take the edge off, and Johnny liked my status updates on Facebook. In some weird way we were all still connected; we probably always would be. I certainly wasn’t expecting an invite to Jodie and Gary’s wedding, and she was never going to make it onto my Christmas card list, but hey, I was a-okay with that.
I glanced at the clock, my head shaking at my calculations: another two-hour lunch for Jan. I didn’t mind, though, as it offered me a reprieve from her constant chattering.
I sighed, checking over the details for the Berrymans’ annual trip to Bali, then pressed print in a fury of clicks until a symbol flashed up on my screen.
‘Oh, great!’
I swivelled in my chair, making the long trek to the ancient printer, doing my usual pull tray, slam, bang, jiggle routine that usually brought the old beast to life. I was so focused on my task that I didn’t see the thread of my bracelet get caught in the door, snapping the accessory off my wrist.
‘Oh, shit.’ I slammed the top of the printer in frustration, my vision instantly blurring as I pulled the green, white and red strip from the door in despair. It was the bracelet Marcello bought me in Rome from a dodgy vendor, promising good luck if it broke. I closed the door, staring at it, my heart aching as I held the limp strand.
‘Yeah, well, I need all the bloody luck I can get.’
And just as if the universe was listening to me, the machine began functioning again, shooting out sheets of perfectly printed paper. I burst out laughing, sniffing and wiping at my eyes.
‘It’s a miracle!’ I shouted to the sky, grabbing the papers and walking back to my desk. I head the telltale groan of the shopfront door, announcing Jan’s return.
About bloody time.
‘Hey, Jan, the printer’s on the fritz again. Do you want me to call Tony?’ I sat down in my chair, swivelling around to see the cause of her lack of reply, ready to repeat the question.
I glanced up, then froze. My grip clenched on the papers so tightly that I could feel them crinkling in my hands. I slowly stood, shaking my head in utter disbelief.
‘What are you doing here?’
There he stood, tall, tanned and eyes as dark as I remembered, standing next to a plastic pot plant, holding a very real rose. He slowly stepped forward, a twinkle in his eyes.
‘I need to book some tickets.’
‘What?’ I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t register what he was saying.
‘H-how did you know …’
‘Where to find you?’
I nodded, because that’s all I could manage.
‘Louis is a great man, and an interesting neighbour.’
The penny dropped. Claire and Louis at Hotel Luce del Sole. I should have known.
I could feel my legs shaking, watching him make his way around the desk, coming closer to me.
‘He could probably learn a recipe or two from Rosalia.’ I swallowed; why was it getting harder to breathe? It was as if all the oxygen had been sucked from the room. He smiled, and there was no escape, those bloody dimples were weapons of mass destruction. Standing before me, he handed me the rose.
‘This one is yours to keep this time … if you want it?’
I shook my head, tears welling in my eyes, my heart beating so fast I didn’t think I could take it.
The door opened, letting a blast of cool air into the office. Jan shrugged her coat off and looped it over the back of her chair.
‘Sorry I’m late, love, I had to zip to the bank and the lines were mental …’ Jan came up short. ‘Oh, hello,’ she said, touching her neck and smiling. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.’
I tore my eyes from Marcello’s, desperately needing the reprieve, knowing it was the only chance I stood to think clearly.
‘It’s okay, Jan. I was just helping Mr Bambozzi with a booking.’
‘Oh, fab—where to?’ she asked, plunking herself back behind her desk, grabbing a nail file and listening intently as she filed her talons.
I turned back to Marcello’s solemn, serious gaze. He looked lost, hanging on for the very next moment, his eyes ticking across my face.
The heart was a ridiculous thing.
I lifted my hand, placing my fingers around the stem of the rose.
No thorns.
Bringing it close to me, I smelled its perfume, the memory making me smile as I lifted my eyes to look at him, really look at him. Stepping closer to Marcello, I spoke to him and only him, finally able to voice what I wanted—the only thing I ever truly wanted.
‘Two tickets to Rome!’
To my loving husband, Michael, thank you for making me eat, drink and sleep, even when I say, ‘Just one more chapter!’ Living with a tortured artist mustn’t be easy but you do it with a smile and a shake of the head, and I love you for that.
Thank you to my wonderful publisher, Hachette (the A Team); Kate, you are my editing spirit animal, I adore you!
To Anita, Keary, Jess and Lilliana, thank you for always pushing me and helping me to the finish line even when it seems impossible. Your friendships, patience and smarts are what help govern my success; I cherish each and every one of you.
Thank you to my amazing family and friends for putting up with my lockdowns and neverending deadlines and for constantly reminding me of things I tend to forget; you remind me to live and be balanced. Your love is the best anchor I could wish for.
To all the bloggers and readers and reviewers of my stories, thank you for taking something away from my words, for loving and embracing the characters, and for wanting to read Australian voices, no matter what city they may stand in.
I also need to convey the most difficult acknowledgement of all. Five years ago, I connected with a fellow author, a kind, creative, lovely soul who encouraged me to ‘own what I do’, four little words that changed my life. Fifteen books later, there isn’t a day that goes by when I don’t appreciate your words, knowing how very different my life could have been without them. Now you are gone, and far too soon. It is hard to process. Thank you, Ednah, for your gentle reassurance, your fierce determination and, above all, your beautiful friendship. You will be sorely missed in the book community. My thoughts are with all the people who were lucky enough to call you their friend, and with your wonderful family – I know you loved them dearly.
RIP Ednah Walters
October 18, 1965 – September 16, 2017
(And know I am still owning what I do.)
IF YOU LOVED WHEN IN ROME
YOU WILL ADORE HOLLYWOOD HEARTBREAK
COMING 2018