For so much of his life he had been the lonely outsider looking in, although he had hidden it well with a veneer of confidence polished by his boarding school and his grandfather’s expectations. Charlie had made him feel alive, really, truly alive, for the first time in his entire life. It was shaming how quickly he had taken that for granted, to remember that when she’d left he had told himself that they were too different after all, that for her living in his world was like imprisoning some beautiful wild bird in a cage, a gilded luxurious cage but a cage nonetheless.
He shook himself impatiently. One comment, one surprise from her past and he was immediately dwelling on all the things that had gone wrong, all the things he’d done wrong, all his fears. This trip to Rome was about making new memories, about reminding her how good it could be between them, about starting the process of winning her back, and that wasn’t going to happen while he strode along brooding as if he should be on a windswept Yorkshire moor instead of on the streets of one of the world’s most enticing—and romantic—cities.
He squeezed her hand. ‘Are you hungry? Do you want to head straight for dinner or get a drink first?’
Charlie bit her lip thoughtfully. ‘I am hungry,’ she said. ‘But I wouldn’t mind walking around for a little bit first. Maybe we could have a wander, stop for a drink and maybe some olives and then go and eat?’
‘Excellent idea,’ he said as they reached the bridge that took them over the Tiber River. It was early evening now and, although the city was still busy, it was less hurried, with a relaxed meandering air as people headed out for an evening of pleasure, not the buzzing busyness of work or tourists ticking another thing off their must-see list.
The route Matteo chose took them to the busy, bustling Piazza Navona and onto Campo di Fiori, where all the market traders had packed away, their colourful wares sold out long before. Now the graceful old square was filled with tables and chairs and so they stopped for beers and delicious bread dipped in fresh olive oil, watching the world wander by.
‘Show me the sights,’ Charlie said and so he did, taking her to the Pantheon and then the Trevi Fountain, where she insisted on throwing in a coin to ensure her return. Rome was as beguiling as ever. One moment they were on a wide paved street full of designer shops, the next in a twisting alleyway emerging into a square filled with people, full of cafés and gelaterias and shops selling everything from one-euro souvenirs to handbags costing thousands.
He’d planned a circuitous route, so they ended up back near the Piazza Navona again. This time Matteo led them through the bustling square to a side street where a group of people were queueing to get through the door of a small, unpretentious café.
‘What’s this?’ Charlie asked, and he smiled.
‘Dinner.’
‘Here?’ She looked through the window at the long oilcloth-covered tables in surprise.
‘This is one of the most famous pizzerias in Rome,’ he told her. ‘A real local hotspot, as well as a destination for thousands of tourists in the know. But most will pass it by, not knowing that inside this very unassuming place is the best pizza in Rome. So good that there is nearly always a queue.’
It wasn’t too long before they reached the front and were soon sitting at one of the long tables alongside other patrons to enjoy the most delicious pizza Rome had to offer. It was the kind of place Matteo would never usually choose for a romantic date, wanting to impress with an expensive, exclusive restaurant, all hushed voices and fine dining, but he knew Charlie would be charmed with this slice of Roman life and he was right. She quickly struck up a conversation with the family next to them, and then when the Americans left did her best to practice her new Italian phrases on the young fashionable couple who took their places.
‘That was amazing,’ she said, practically skipping as they left the restaurant. ‘I’ve never eaten anything so perfect in all my life. I’m spoilt for all other pizza now for ever.’
Pizza was followed by gelato from one of Rome’s oldest and most celebrated ice-cream shops and they wandered through the streets, eating the deliciously cold dessert. ‘I love Rome,’ Charlie said, her eyes filled with dreams and stars. ‘I always knew I would. Have we got time to visit the cat sanctuary? Oh, and Shelley’s grave?’
‘If we don’t then we’ll come back.’
‘Promise?’
‘Yes.’ The words felt like a renewal, a promise of a future. Matteo looked down at Charlie and his heart beat painfully as he saw the hope written all over her face, mirroring his own hope, love and desire for this vibrant, beautiful, caring girl.
The past wasn’t a prophecy for the future. He had messed up, he knew that, but things could be different, they would be different, he vowed. Taking her hand, he drew her to him, slipping one arm around her waist and tilting her chin up to look down into the beloved heart-shaped face he
