so vibrant. I worked as an usher at theaters to get in to see the shows for free. Spent many rainy or snowy afternoons roaming the museums. I majored in marketing at university. I was not the only non-American in my classes. There were also students from the UK and Japan.”
“You would have more chance of a high-paying job if you didn’t have the baby.”
“My entire life would be different if I didn’t have Dante. I was set to partner with a fellow student in New York in a marketing firm.”
“Must have been tough to give that up,” Cristiano said.
“The reality turns out to be different from my dreams. I love Dante. I am gaining a bit of confidence. It’s not forever. When he’s in school, I can try something else, use the education I have. There are a lot of single moms out there. They all manage.”
“And single fathers, but it still works better if there are two.”
She fell silent. A moment later she looked up.
“I’ll see if Signora Bertatali can watch Dante when we take a run up to Rome.”
He’d take her to the cemetery, then swing by the station and talk to the commander. Check on his own apartment, which had stood empty these last months. He had held onto it with the intent of returning if he could lick the PTSD. And he’d go to see Stephano’s widow.
He’d like to see where Mariella and Dante lived, too. He’d take her there to get her clothes. Then they could have dinner on the way back. For the first time in a long while, he felt the stirring of anticipation.
“We’ll leave early.”
She grinned at him. “How early is early?”
“Seven?”
“Fine. Are you going by the ministry to talk about the award?” she asked.
He’d forgotten about that. He shook his head. “No.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Why not?”
“People died in that bombing. Good people. Men who tried to rescue others. I was luckier than most, I got out alive. But there were many more who didn’t.”
“You saved seven people. Including two children.” She reached out to touch his arm. “It must have been terrifying as well as horrific. So many people lost their lives.”
Including Stephano. Cristiano began to feel the stirrings of a panic attack. His vision was growing dark around the edges. His heart began pounding in remembered fear.
Her hand slipped into his and he gripped it, focused on her silvery eyes. And that dusting of freckles across her nose. What would it be like to kiss each and every one? She looked like happiness personified. He knew she’d had some hard knocks herself, but they didn’t get her down. For a moment he envied her. He’d give anything to turn the clock back. To be the man he once was.
The moment passed. Another. The restaurant came back into focus—people enjoying the good food, the laughter and conversation conveying their pleasure. He drew a deep breath.
“Did you want dessert?” he asked, withdrawing his hand. Mariella was like a lifeline. Was that the clue? Not lock himself away but be with her all the time?
He’d give almost anything to do just that.
They decided against dessert. Soon they headed back to the car, glad the rain had stopped—if only temporarily. The dark clouds showed the storm had not completely passed.
She remained sitting in the car when Cristiano stopped in front of the Bertatalis’ home. Dante was asleep in his car seat, the stroller folded in the trunk.
“It’s been a nice day despite the rain. Thank you for lunch,” she said.
“My pleasure.”
“Your family’s restaurant is so nice. I really like it. You’re lucky to be a part of that, even if you don’t work there.”
That might change. If he couldn’t return to firefighting, what would he do? Join his sister in the restaurant?
No public job. If he got that bad, he would never be able to be certain he wouldn’t have another flashback. He gripped his hands on the steering wheel. Better he’d been killed in the bombing instead of injured. No one would ever have known about the reactions he couldn’t control.
He would do his best to make sure no one ever found out.
“Thanks again,” she said, opening the door.
“I’ll get the stroller.” Cristiano got out and retrieved the stroller from the trunk while Mariella took Dante, car seat and all, from the car.
The nightmare woke him again. Cristiano came awake amidst terror. He clenched his hands into fists and fought the tattered memory that wouldn’t let go. Flinging off the blanket, he rose and went to the window. Breathing hard, he pushed open the window and drank in the cold night air. Gradually he calmed. He hadn’t had a nightmare in days. He’d thought, maybe—was he forever doomed to relive the bombing?
He flung on some clothes and went to the kitchen for some coffee. No going back to sleep after that. He glanced around as he waited for the water to boil, feeling frustrated and angry. Noticing the laptop still on the table, he forced himself to remember Mariella using it. He could picture her blonde hair falling forward when she leaned closer to the screen. Her fingers had flown across the keys. Just thinking about her lowered his anxiety level. He almost smiled, wishing he could see her right now.
Of course starting any relationship with a woman he could scare to death if they slept together and he awoke in the throes of a nightmare would be foolish beyond belief. The kettle whistled and he turned to make the coffee. Still, the thought tantalized. She brought sanity into his life, made him hope for more than he had in a long time. He liked being with her. Wanted to know every speck of information about her life, her hopes, her dreams, now that she had a child to raise.
He wanted her in his life. Dared he risk such a chance?
Once he filled his cup, he prowled around the cottage. He considered going to the workshop and continuing with his project, but felt too edgy. Draining the cup, he grabbed the keys to the motorcycle. He’d ride through the remainder of the night and hope to find peace come dawn.
The roads were lonely, scarcely used even in the summer. No traffic. Few residences scattered miles apart. The world seemed different at night. No people. No animals he could see. Just the strip of asphalt illuminated by the headlight, the rest shadows whipping by, undefined vague splotches of black melding together as he increased the speed of the bike.
He made the circuit he’d completed many times before. Slowing as he approached the village, he looked toward the Bertatalis’ cottages. The last time he’d done that one had been on fire. No sign of flames tonight. But the cottage Mariella was staying in was lit up; light spilled from every window.
He turned into the lane that led to the cottages. Stopping by hers, he considered his next step. Knock on the door to see if all was well? Would that scare her? A knock in the middle of the night? What if she’d merely fallen asleep with the lights on?
