Italian Romance

ITALIAN ROMANCE

A Roman Summer

Neapolitan Encounter

By Jayne Castel

All characters and situations in
this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to living persons is purely
coincidental.

Italian Romance
by Jayne Castel

Copyright © 2012 Jayne Castel.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a
retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic,
mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the
author.

Edited
by Tim Burton.

Cover
photography courtesy of www.istockphotos.com

Cover
design by Jayne Castel.

Visit
Jayne’s website and blog:
www.jaynecastel.com

Follow
Jayne on Twitter at:
https://twitter.com/JayneCastel

A
R
OMAN
S
UMMER

By Jayne Castel

Kay Starling winced
as the heel of her strappy sandal caught in between two cobbles and her ankle
twisted. Her trolley suitcase lurched to a standstill beside her, sitting
awkwardly on the unevenly cobbled street.

It was mid-July and
Rome was slowly baking. The heat rose off the cobblestones in suffocating
waves. A jumble of yellow, ochre and cream buildings loomed overhead. Their
earthy shades contrasted against a hard strip of blue sky.

Rome was deserted.
Only fools and tourists were out in the blistering midday heat. Kay pulled her
blouse away from her sweat-soaked back and consulted her map. Trastevere,
Rome’s old workers’ quarter, across the river from the historic centre, was a
labyrinth of twisting cobbled lanes. Her hotel was in an alleyway somewhere in
the heart of the labyrinth, and if she was reading the map correctly, it was
only a block away. Kay continued on and minutes later turned left into a narrow
lane covered with ivy. Up ahead her hotel loomed: L’Albergo Gelsomina.

Finally.

Kay was about to
wilt. Her home town of Wellington, New Zealand, had mild summers and she wasn’t
used to fighting against a wall of heat. It was easily pushing forty degrees
here. She wasn’t sure how long she’d be able to put up with this inferno.

Not for the first
time, Kay regretted coming to Rome. She wasn’t here for pleasure. If she had
wanted a holiday, she would have chosen a milder, less aggressive location
closer to home. Kay Starling was not an adventurer. She had spent most of her
twenty-nine years making sure her life was comfortable and safe. Her older
sister, Melissa, was the fiery one – and it was Melissa who had brought her to
Italy.

Right now Kay was
bitterly resenting her sister. If Melissa had been standing next to her she
would have gotten a tongue lashing. Melissa had suggested meeting Kay at the
airport and had offered Kay her couch to sleep on. However, Kay was still so
annoyed at her sister she had refused both offers. She would make her own way
into the centre and she would find her own accommodation. She didn’t need
Melissa’s help.

Fuming as she thought
about her sister, Kay jabbed the intercom. Seconds later, it crackled into life
and a man’s voice queried.

“
Si
?”

“Er, hello…I’m Kay
Starling. I have a room booked for five nights.”

“
Si, Signorina
Starling. Prego!”

Not understanding a word the man had uttered, Kay didn’t know how
to reply. She stood back from the intercom and was relieved when the gate
unlocked with a well-oiled
clunk
. Kay walked inside and the gate clanged
shut behind her. She pulled her trolley across the ivy-draped courtyard to the
reception.

A man about the same age as her was waiting in the doorway. He was
swarthy and slender with a mop of black hair and a cheeky grin.

“Signorina Starling!” he repeated, “I am Piero. I take your case.
Please enter!”

“Thanks,” Kay followed him into a cramped reception area. A small
fan was working over-time in one corner, blowing hot, humid air around the
room. The heat didn’t appear to bother Piero, who looked cool and crisp in
well-fitting jeans and a white linen shirt. He handed her a check-in form to
fill in and took Kay’s passport before handing her a heavy key.

“Second floor,” he smiled and held her gaze for long enough to
make Kay feel a blush rise up her neck. “Number 15. There is a lift next to
stairs inside the entrance.”

“Fine,” Kay mumbled, pushing the completed form back across the
counter. “Are there any messages for me?”

“Ah si!” Piero smacked his forehead with the heel of his hand in a
dramatic fashion, “I forget! A Signor Falcone leave a message for you this
morning. He meet you here at four o’clock today.”

Kay looked at her watch. It was 12:30pm - that would give her time
to have a shower and rest. She tried to forget that it was just past midnight
in New Zealand. It was better to trick her body into thinking otherwise. 

“Thank you,” she said, taking the key.

“In Italy we say ‘
grazie
’,” Piero corrected.

“Er…grassi,” Kay attempted, feeling her face flame.

“No…grazzzeeaaay,” he insisted, deadly earnest.

“Grazzzeeaaay,” Kay repeated and was rewarded with a beaming
smile.

“
Brava!”

Escaping Piero, Kay went back into the courtyard and passed under
an archway. Worn marble stairs curled upstairs but with her cumbersome suitcase
Kay decided to take the rickety lift up instead. It was an ancient iron
contraption reminiscent of those she’d seen in old horror films. The lift
wheezed its way up to the second floor and Kay was relieved when it jolted to a
stop and she was able to squeeze out. Number 15 was at the end of the corridor.

Kay unlocked the door to her room, stepped inside and gasped. Despite
her tiredness, grumpiness and stress, the beauty of the room held her in its
thrall for a few moments. It was painted custard yellow and had a huge green shuttered
window at one end and gauzy white curtains. A door led through to a tiny
bathroom, done in pink and white tiles and gleaming porcelain. A large,
wrought-iron bed dominated the room with a white, embroidered bed-spread. A fan
slowly rotated overhead. It was the sort of room a honey-mooning couple would
hole-up in, she thought wistfully; an oasis from the rest of the world.
However, the thought of a honey-moon brought her thoughts to weddings, and the
reason she had put her busy life on hold and flown to the other-side of the
world.

Melissa.

The room’s magic lost its hold and Kay thumped her trolley
suitcase down. She sat on the edge of the bed and felt the tension that had
kept her running for the past twenty-four hours drain out of her.
What the
hell am I doing here?
She thought hollowly.
Why do I care so much if
Melissa wants to ruin her life and run out on her responsibilities?
However, Kay could not answer her own question. Despite that she usually
approached all things with calm, careful consideration, her decision to get on
a plane and fly to Rome had been instinctive and she did not have the mental
energy to analyze it. Right now, the only thing she cared about was a cool
shower and a soft bed. The rest could wait till later.

***

Rome still smoldered three and a half hours later when Kay slipped
on a flat pair of pumps and surveyed her reflection in the mirror. Her face was
still flushed and sweaty from the heat but after a shower and a nap, she was at
least presentable. Her long auburn hair had curled in the humidity so Kay had
tied it back from her face. Makeup would melt until her skin acclimatized so
she had settled for a flick of mascara and a slick of lip-gloss instead of her
usual routine. Her eyes seemed a deeper green in the heat – almost as dark as
her sister’s. Melissa had startling emerald eyes whereas Kay's eyes were the
color of crème de menthe.

Kay dressed simply, and non-provocatively, in a cotton A-line
skirt and blouse. Already, on the journey in from the airport she had noticed
the high testosterone levels of Italian men. The lingering glances, rude stares
and whispered comments. She wanted to give them as little to harass her about
as possible. Such aggressive male attention made her uncomfortable. She
preferred to be left alone.

Glancing once more at her watch, Kay picked up her bag and made
her way downstairs to reception. Piero, the flirty receptionist was still
there, as was a new man.

Signor Falcone.

The men were talking and neither of them noticed Kay approach. As such,
she had the opportunity to observe the man who had stolen her sister from a
loving fiancé and a happy life in New Zealand.

He wasn’t what she’d expected.

Kay had imagined someone who looked more like Piero - more
stereotypically Italian with olive-skin, raven hair, patrician features and a
lithe-build. Instead, this man was tall and well-built with bronzed skin and a
mop of wavy, sun-streaked brown hair. He was unmistakably Italian however.
Already Kay had noticed Italian men carried themselves with supreme
self-confidence. Like Piero, he was dressed casually but with an innate sense
of fashion in well-fitting jeans and t-shirt.

On hearing her approach, Vincenzo Falcone turned from his
conversation with Piero and fixed Kay in an intense, hazel-eyed gaze.

Kay’s step faltered and her stomach see-sawed. Then shame washed
over her in a hot tide. Where had such a primal reaction come from? She never
responded to men this way. Ever. To think her sister’s Italian lover affected
her like this made Kay’s stomach lurch.

Yet again, she regretted her decision to come to Rome.

Their gazes held for a few moments before Kay ripped hers away.
When she looked back, Vincenzo Falcone was still staring at her, his face stern
as if he disapproved.

“Mr Falcone.” Kay greeted him, hoping to echo the right amount of
cold disapproval.

“Yes, and you must be Kay Starling” he replied. His voice was low
and musical, his English lightly accented, “I’m Alessandro Falcone, my brother
couldn’t meet you and sent me in his place.”

Relief flooded through Kay – although being attracted to the
brother of the sleaze who had seduced her sister was only marginally better
than being attracted to the creep himself. Her surprise and relief obviously
showed on her face because Alessandro Falcone raised an eyebrow.

“Sorry to have robbed you of the opportunity to abuse my brother
but don’t worry, you’ll be able to soon enough.”

Kay felt her face heat up. She hadn't realised she was so
blatantly obvious. She just hoped he had not seen her reaction when their eyes
had met for the first time. She made a silent promise to herself to be very
careful with this man. He saw too much, and such people were dangerous.

“I’m taking you to the apartment Melissa and Vincenzo are
renting,” Alessandro informed her, “It’s in the south of Rome, about fifteen
minutes from here. Let’s go.”

Alessandro said goodbye to Piero and strode out of reception. Kay
reluctantly followed.

“
Ciao!
” Piero chorused after her, “
a presto
Kay!”

Outside on the narrow lane a shiny silver Vespa waited. Alessandro
handed her a helmet, put on his own and standing astride the Vespa, pushed it
off its stand.

“Get on,” he ordered.

“We’re going on this?” Kay’s voice rose in horror. She had never
been on the back of a motorbike or scooter and didn’t intend to start now. “But
I’m wearing a skirt!”

He glanced over his shoulder and looked her up and down
dismissively, “it’s not short. You’ll be fine. Get on.”

His tone brooked no argument. Kay’s first impulse was to refuse
but something in the judgmental way he’d looked at her made her hold her
tongue. She’d show him. Kay climbed on behind, adjusted her skirt and made sure
her feet were placed on the footrests provided.

“Hold on,” Alessandro gunned the engine. The puttering sound of
the 50cc engine roaring to life echoed off the surrounding walls and deafened
Kay. Didn’t they have noise pollution laws in this country? Kay gingerly held
on either side of Alessandro’s waist and gripped fiercely as the Vespa took
off.

They rocketed down the alley and turned left onto a slightly wider
street. There were more people about than earlier in the day – tourists licking
rapidly melting
gelati
, locals riding about on bicycles and old ladies
walking their dogs. Alessandro expertly maneuvered the Vespa in and out of the
meandering crowd and crossed a busy intersection with a coffee bar in its center.
Tourists lounged outside the bar, drinking in the sun over tall glasses of iced
tea. Alessandro and Kay zipped past the bar and into a dark, narrow street.
Moments later, they reached the river and turned right, joining a throng of
honking traffic.

Kay was terrified. Her jaw was clamped down so hard her temples were
aching and she gripped on for dear life.

“
Mamma mia!”
Alessandro shouted as they stopped at the traffic
lights, “you’re going to give me internal injuries if you grip any tighter!
Hold on like this.” Before Kay could protest he un-pried her fingers and pulled
her arms around him so they were wrapped around his waist. Now her body was
pressed up against his. His heat radiated against hers.

This was far too intimate. Kay was mortified but Alessandro
appeared unconcerned. It took all his concentration to maneuver the Vespa
through the mayhem. Moments later Kay had also reassessed her priorities.

Kay had never seen traffic like it. It was utterly undisciplined.
Everyone was driving small cars with dents in them. There were no lanes; people
just wedged their car in where they found a space and scooters buzzed through
the centre of it all like demented wasps. Intersections were the worst. Cars
edged across at the amber light and got stuck in the centre of the road when
the traffic lights turned red, causing a chorus of enraged horns from the
oncoming traffic. Kay was terrified and couldn’t imagine how people managed to
endure such chaos every day. She clung round Alessandro’s waist – no longer
caring about the embarrassment of such forced intimacy.