From Rome with Love: Escape the winter blues with the perfect feel-good romance!. Jules Wake
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chair and sit down.
‘It’s Derby della Capitale, Roma v Lazio.’ His eyes gleamed with amused fervour. ‘Life or death! You don’t mind, do you? It’s the Italian way.’
Lisa shook her head with a good-natured smile, despite the distinct sinking of her heart. This was not how she’d imagined spending her first night in Rome.
But Giovanni was her host. She had free accommodation and it was only one night. Besides, she was good at making the best of a bad job.
She sat down opposite him, amused by his stalwart attempts to chat to her, despite the terrible distraction of the TV screen above her head.
Will brought the drinks, tall glasses of golden lager, with condensation sliding down the outside. Brilliant, just what the doctor ordered. Long and cold.
As with every other man in the place, his head slid like a magnet seeking due North – towards the screen.
‘Who’s playing?’
‘Roma.’ Giovanni grinned and reached for his drink. ‘And Lazio.’
‘Ah.’ Will raised his glass in a toast and stared up at the screen.
‘Thanks,’ said Lisa, making an unnoticed toast too. Boys were boys whatever nationality. It was a wasted gesture as neither of them even noticed.
Her stomach grumbled at the first hit of cold beer, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten all day. Her own fault for letting her stupid nerves get the better of her and skipping breakfast before the flight, and then on the plane, deciding to give her bucking bronco of a stomach a break and save her appetite for some delicious authentic Italian pizza or a nice safe pasta dish this evening. The prospect of which was fading with every cheer at the TV. Once the game kicked off, the noise levels ratcheted up.
Watching Giovanni and Will’s rapt faces, she contented herself with thoughts of what Nan might have said in this situation. No-holds-barred Nan’s tongue. Half of Lisa’s life had been spent smoothing the bulldozer tracks of Nan, overcompensating for her rudeness, as if going out of her way not to give offence might balance the cosmic scales. Unfortunately Nan believed that age conferred the absolute right to say whatever she thought, to whomever, whenever. It could be cringingly embarrassing. Like the time she’d informed the lady in the chemist, in front of a queue of people, that she was wasting her money buying Preparation H. According to Nan, the best cure for piles was apple cider vinegar, which she explained at full volume before proceeding to give precise instructions as to how she should soak cotton wool balls in the vinegar and apply them to the area. Despite the poor woman’s hunch-shouldered attempt to impersonate a tortoise, Nan went on to ask how big they were before informing everyone that her own were like bunches of grapes.
At this exact moment, Lisa could imagine Nan’s view would have run along the lines, ‘I haven’t flown a thousand flaming miles to watch a bunch of overpaid big girl’s blouses chasing a bit of leather around a well-mown lawn.’
Lisa sighed quietly to herself. She glanced at the little figures dodging and sliding across the screen. Did she mind that much? She hated people who made a fuss about something when they didn’t get their own way. This wasn’t the end of the world. She had beer. She was in Italy. It was warm. But she was hungry, boy was she hungry. Even the scabby-looking pizza would do.
Will looked up as if he’d heard her sigh and gave her one of his lopsided, cynical smiles. Was it commiseration or amusement? It was hard to tell.
Two goals in, thankfully to Roma, and Will stood up, offering to buy a second round of drinks. Giovanni, unable to peel himself from the action on the screen, held up his glass.
‘I’ll come with you.’ She wanted to check out the pizza. A slice would keep them going until dinner.
‘Pants!’ Damn. The chiller cabinet was now utterly bare. Lisa stared at it, hoping that something might miraculously appear.
‘Double pants,’ said Will, his lips turning downward. ‘I’m ruddy starving. I was hoping there might be a bit of that dodgy-looking pizza left.’
Lisa gave him a surprised look. ‘You must be desperate.’
He gave her a pitying smile. ‘Yes, but not to worry. I can leave lover-boy and bugger off to find somewhere to eat. Whereas you …’
‘Thanks. You’re all heart.’ She looked up at him. ‘You wouldn’t do that, would you?’ Her stomach growled at the very thought.
‘Er, hello. Yes, I would. I’ve come here on a food pilgrimage. I’m here, basically, to eat. Challenge my taste buds and treat them to some authentic Roman specialities. Not to sit in this dump and drink lager that is freely available back home. You, on the other hand,’ he said with mocking amusement, ‘are a guest. Ever so slightly beholden to your host. See, this is where inviting myself gives me the ultimate get-out clause. I notice you got the spare, spare room.’
‘Yes!’ She pouted. ‘How come? I should have had your room.’
‘Lisa, Lisa, Lisa,’ Will shook his head at her naivety as it suddenly dawned on her.
‘Oh.’
‘Oh? Come on. Surely you realise the price of a free holiday? I suspect young Giovanni is assuming you’ll move into the master suite at some stage.’
Lisa narrowed a glare at him, looking superior and smug as always. ‘He’s not that much younger than you and some men are gentlemen.’ She paused with great deliberation. ‘Sorry, forgot … not a concept you’re familiar with. You don’t have a gentlemanly bone in your body.’
Will grinned. ‘Do I need one?’ He looked down at himself and Lisa couldn’t help herself following his gaze. The well-washed t-shirt, featuring some band she’d never heard of, hugged his broad shoulders and skimmed his torso. It had shrunk at some stage and only just touched the top of his low-slung jeans. When he moved it lifted to reveal lean hips, the top of his jersey boxer shorts, which were unaccountably a brilliant turquoise blue and that damned trail of dark-blonde hair that stirred her up every time she caught a glimpse.
‘I’m quite happy as I am.’
She forced herself to look back at his face, a hot, unwelcome flush racing through her to meet his pale-blue eyes dancing as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. Lisa closed her mouth tight, fighting against the silly giddy pulse of her heart. Saying what she thought about him would make him think that she gave a toss and she bloody didn’t.
‘Another beer?’ he asked.
‘Yes please, although I’m going to need some food to soak it up at some stage.’
‘The Italians eat late, I’m afraid.’
And they didn’t have a crisp culture either, thought Lisa, scanning the back of the bar for any signs of snacks.
Will ordered three more Peronis and gave her two to carry back, while he settled the bill for a second time. ‘Can I get these?’ she asked.
‘No, you’re fine.’
Lisa wound her way back to the table, the noise almost taking off the roof as a unanimous cheer went up. Clearly someone had scored.
Taking a sip of Peroni, she pulled out the pocket guide to Rome, dislodging the small bundle of Euro notes, a begrudging gift from Nan, who’d muttered with her usual tart discontent, ‘Ancient history is best left alone. If that man wanted his ring back, he could have got in touch at any time and he’d have done so by now and he’d never have left your mother high and dry the way he did.’
She tucked the money into her purse and picked up the guide book, fingering the edge of the photo sandwiched between the cover and first page. Something bounced off the cover of the book as Will flicked a packet of pistachio nuts at her.
‘All they had, I’m afraid.’
‘Thank you.’
He nodded and gave her one