The Italian’s Cinderella Bride

‘Maybe it’s about time,’ she said quietly, her eyes on Pietro.

‘You’ll certainly attract the customers,’ he agreed.

There was something in his voice that set her at a slight distance, and she was sure of it a moment later when he said, ‘Why don’t you go on home? Tell Minna I’ll be late. I’ve got things to catch up with here.’

‘Can I help?’

‘No need,’ he said briefly. ‘You go on. I’ll see you later.’

He finished the conversation by walking away, leaving her nothing to do but go.

Pietro was late home, and she told herself that she was glad of it because it left her free to work on learning Italian. She’d bought a book and some tapes, and needed to practise her pronunciation in privacy.

When she’d had enough of that she went into her room and took another look at the clothes that she’d put up on hangers. At last she selected a dress cut on deceptively simple lines, but actually something that only a woman with a perfect figure could risk.

Regarding herself in the tall mirror, she knew she was one of those very women. But that was small comfort when she was standing here alone. Pietro had suddenly decided to stay away this evening of all evenings.

What would Gino think if he could see her now?

And did it matter?

She sighed, turning to move away from the mirror. Then she saw Pietro standing there.

‘You left your door open,’ he said by way of apology.

‘I was just giving myself a conceited moment,’ she said with a little laugh that sounded oddly embarrassed to her own ears.

‘I’m glad. You’ve earned it. What suddenly prompted you to do this?’

‘Partly it came from last night. When you get sick of being a permanent invalid, buying new clothes is the right thing to do.’

He came to stand behind her, looking at her reflection, which showed an elegant woman with a touch of sophistication, something Ruth was sure she had never been before. But she liked it.

‘Let me introduce you to Ruth Three,’ she said, indicating the mirror.

‘Three?’ he asked cautiously.

‘For years I was Ruth One, but now she’s gone and I’m even glad to be rid of her. She was boring and stupid, easily taken in.’

‘She was generous and trusting,’ Pietro corrected gently. ‘She believed the man she loved.’

‘Exactly. Like I said, stupid. Then she turned into Ruth Two. She’s the one who arrived here the other night.’

‘Don’t say anything against her,’ Pietro warned.

‘I’m not going to. It wasn’t her fault that she was the way she was, but, let’s face it, it didn’t make her very good company.’

‘I liked her company,’ he observed quietly. ‘She was easy to talk to, and she gave back more than she knew.’

‘You’re just being kind. I’d had enough of her. I’m ready for Ruth Three.’

‘And what is she like?’

‘I have no idea, that’s the best of it. I never met her before today, but I think she’s been waiting to appear for some time. I’ll tell you this, she’s not just going to sit there and take it like the other two.’

‘Just the same, they had something that mattered. Don’t change too much.’

She put her head on one side, then the other. Then she brushed her fingers through the front hairs where they fell over her forehead. This way, then that way.

‘I can’t decide,’ she said.

‘Let me see.’

He turned her to him and touched her forehead gently. But then he stopped, for his fingers had brushed against a scar, the last reminder of her injuries.

‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered.

‘It doesn’t hurt anymore,’ she assured him. ‘That’s all in the past.’

But it wasn’t in the past. It was still here and now, despite the new appearance and the burst of confidence.

‘Does it show very much?’ she asked.

‘No, just a thin line. You’d never see it-unless you already knew it was there.’

‘That’s the way to be,’ she said softly. ‘Keep the pain to yourself, unless you find someone else who understands.’

He nodded. ‘You’re right, although not everyone is that lucky.’

He brushed her few hairs back and leaned down, gently laying his lips against the scar.

‘It’s going to be all right,’ he whispered.

They settled into a comfortable routine. Pietro gave Ruth a key to the side door, making her independent. Most days she went to the shop with him. At other times she stayed at home studying papers, brushing up on her Italian, sometimes going for walks, learning about Venice as she’d never done before. In Gino’s company she’d thought only of Gino, but now she began to love the little city for its own sake.

Stripped of tourists, it contained barely seventy thousand people, ‘true Venetians’ who thought their unique home the most perfect place on earth, no matter how difficult and impractical life might become.

There were no cars, so that people either went by boat or walked. Even an elevator could be a luxury.

‘We can’t install elevators,’ Mario told her. ‘The buildings are so old and frail that the vibration would make everything fall down. My grandparents have to climb seventy steps to get from the ground to their apartment at the top of the building.’

‘Wouldn’t they be better off somewhere else?’

He stared at her in amazement.

‘They’re Venetian,’ he said, as though that explained everything. And Ruth guessed that it did.

Sometimes she helped Mario with his English, sometimes he helped her with her Italian.

‘But you’ll also need to know Venetian dialect,’ he told her once. ‘Have you noticed the sign outside the shop? “Qua se parla anca in Veneto.” It means “Here we also speak Venetian”. Not everyone does, and we’re very proud of it.’

‘I guess I can manage,’ Ruth said cheerfully. ‘We have dialects in my country too. Remember that man?’

‘The one you helped me with? Yes, but he only pronounced English words in his own way. Venetian is a completely different language.’

‘Oh, yes,’ she said slowly as something cropped up in her mind. ‘Venetian has the letter “j”, which you never find in Italian.’

‘That’s true,’ Mario said. ‘So you already know about our dialect?’

‘A little,’ she murmured. ‘I remember about the “j”.’

How Gino had chuckled the day he said, ‘Ti voglio bene.’ It means “I wish you well”,’ he’d explained. ‘But it’s how Italians say “I love you.”’

‘I don’t believe it. It’s so sedate.’

‘But we are sedate,’ he’d said in mock indignation. ‘A very sedate, proper people. We say “Ti voglio bene.” Unless we are Venetian, and then we say, “Te voja ben.”’

Gino’s words whispered through her head. Te voja ben-te voja ben.

But suddenly there was another memory fluttering at the edge of her mind, refusing to let her seize it but also refusing to go away. It was more recent-he had said these words to her and she had said them back to him again and again, holding him close in an ecstasy of love. Just a few days ago-but that was impossible-if only she could remember-

‘Ruth, are you all right?’ Mario asked anxiously.

‘Yes, I’m fine,’ she said hastily.

The memory vanished. She sighed and let it go. It had escaped anyway.

A few days later she was working in the back with Pietro when Mario put his head around the door.

‘Ruth, there’s a man out here who’s looking for you.’

She drew a sharp breath. Gino must have returned. Who else would be looking for her? But then she