Page 37 of In Italy for Love

But when he lifted his head, herfacewas right there. He couldn’t stop thinking about how they’d kissed by the city wall as the river rushed by, how she’d told him she wantedhim. That evening had been everything – but it had to be nothing.

Kiss her again and all this guilt and confusion would only multiply. She deserved so much more than his bad-tempered hospitality, but he still didn’t draw away.

She did. With a light pat on his cheek, she gave him a tight smile and said, ‘Thanks – for everything. I’m going to take a shower.’

He nodded mutely, letting her brush past. Arco lifted his head and watched his mistress leave the room. When the dog hauled himself to his feet, Alex assumed he was going to station himself outside the bathroom door to wait, but he plonked himself down next to Alex’s chair and rolled over with his feet in the air.

‘Why are you so determined to be friends with me?’ he asked the dog. But he leaned down and gave him a thorough scratch on the tummy.

16

Jules went to sleep full – her belly, her mind and also somehow her soul. When she awoke in the night for a sip of water, she heard movement downstairs and that twinge in her heart made itself felt. Before she managed to fall back to sleep, her thoughts settled once again on Alex’s comment last night that had made her heart beat strangely.

I was having some problems when I came back from London.

His haggard expression had revealed more than he’d meant to, she guessed. Yes, he’d lost someone, but something had happened to him too and she couldn’t bear thinking about it, but she also couldn’t stop wondering about the significance of that small confession and the shadows in his gorgeous eyes.

The following day she had no plans and swung her stiff legs over the side of the bed slowly. After wrestling with the latch, she pulled open both sets of windows to the seep of frigid air, making her shiver as she pushed the creaky shutters. The church bells rang out into the stillness of the cool Sunday morning where no one ventured out of the house unless they had to. The afternoon would be soon enough.

But to her surprise, when she trudged down the stairs in an extra pair of socks, the cuffs of her threadbare hoodie over her hands for warmth, Alex was already up and preparing to leave.

‘I made you a coffee,’ he said, his expression hesitant.

Something had shifted last night and she wasn’t sure where they’d go from here. ‘Thanks.’

‘Uhm, I’m going to the market.’

‘I thought the market was on Saturday.’

‘Not that one,’ he said, scratching his head. ‘Il Baule del Diavolo – the devil’s… suitcase? It’s the monthly antiques market.’

‘You want another accordion?’ she teased, enjoying the flash of a smile over his lips.

‘Always.’ He paused, turning to her with his coffee cup halfway to his lips. ‘Do you want to come?’

‘Sure.’

She didn’t overthink it. She quickly fed Arco, attached his lead and followed Alex out into the sunshine that was already burning off the chill of the morning. Walking with him through the old town reminded her of their first date, but she stuffed her free hand into her pocket and refused to dwell on that.

‘How are your fingers?’ he asked as they passed the main piazza where the cafes were opening up.

‘Better – thanks.’ She wanted to ask him how he’d slept, but suspected that topic would be off limits.

When they emerged from the narrow lane, the square beside the cathedral was filled with market stalls, from tables and gazebos to the occasional simple blanket on the ground – all of them crammed with tarnished, faded and downright old… stuff.

Alex waved to a stallholder with a series of antique glass lamps and then glanced awkwardly at Jules. ‘Eh, you don’t have to stay with me. The accordion talk might bore you.’

‘Where have I heard that before?’ she teased, before she’d thought better of it. It was nearly worth the ache of memory to see his cheeks blossom pink. She turned to the nearest stall, pretending to be interested in… Wait, was that a real cat in a wicker basket?

Quickly leading Arco away, she wandered the stalls, admiring the old canvas-bound books she couldn’t understand, the painted, gold-trimmed soup tureens, endless plates and teacups, doilies and table runners and rocking chairs. She could picture all of it at Alex’s place – and she knew exactly how much Luca would hate it all, which brought a smile to her lips.

A flash of colour partly hidden in a pile of woollen jumpers caught her eye and she reached for it absently, pulling out a chunky knit cardigan that looked as though it had once belonged to a Sherpa. It had rainbow stripes in thick wool and a baggy fit and she was certain the person who wore it could be outdoors all day and never grow cold. It was rough-hewn and rugged, words she suddenly felt could describeherand she justhadto try it on. If it fit, she would buy it.

The owner of the stall, it turned out, was from over the border in Austria, but spoke Italian and English fluently and directed her immediately towards the full-length mirror, and even took Arco’s lead for a moment so she could tug on the heavy cardigan. What she saw in the mirror made her grin.

She might never find the starry-eyed Jules she’d been fresh out of uni, falling in love with a handsome Italian, but she liked the woman in the old, colourful cardigan – the woman she would be. Perhaps she was sometimes ‘brutta’ – and bitter – but that was authentic.

‘Fifteen euros,’ the stall owner said to her. ‘It’s pure wool.’

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