A Mother for His Daughter

Luca’s next smile was warm and enveloping and Gracie felt the odd desire to wrap her arms about herself.

The conversation seemed to have come to a natural end. Gracie felt the moment arrive where she could slip away gracefully. Yet she could not make herself say polite goodbyes. Her tongue would not form the words. She just stood her ground, her gaze lingering on this stranger’s lovely, lovely face.

He seemed as disinclined to leave as she was. Then she understood why. He said, ‘I am sorry to have to ask, but I simply must. Mila says you were upset when she found you.’

Gracie blinked in mortification. While she was mentally cataloguing the guy’s gorgeous bits, she must have looked a mess with dark rings of exhaustion under her eyes, in her borrowed jacket, dirty shoes and scruffy hair.

‘I am all right now,’ she said, taking a step back and running her spare hand through her thick curls, hoping to at least make a move towards looking less like a crazy woman.

‘But you weren’t before. May I ask what is troubling you? I would like to help. Somehow to repay you for helping Mila.’

‘No. Thank you. Please, take advantage of this beautiful day and show Mila a good time.’

Gracie blinked as a sudden light mist of spring rain swirled about them. So much for it being a beautiful last day in Rome. Nevertheless…

‘The last thing you want her to remember of this day is marking time whilst her dad listened to the ramblings of some self-indulgent stranger.’

Luca looked to his daughter, who was still holding on to each of them, tugging as she chased a pigeon that had strayed too close. But as soon as she reached the limit of their arm reach, she bounded back.

Gracie watched as a slow, wondrous smile grew upon his face. He was in awe of every movement and decision his daughter made. Something deep and lingering twisted painfully inside her.

‘She is everything to me,’ he said, almost beneath his breath.

It tugged at Gracie’s heart. They were both just too perfect. A perfect man and his perfect daughter. And it only managed to hit home what she had missing from her own life, and what she had failed to uncover on her expedition to Rome.

‘It was Mila who helped me already. Truly. I should go,’ Gracie said, purposely, steadfastly breaking the warm, mesmerising spell that this man and his daughter were unwittingly weaving around her.

Luca looked her way, his devoted smile enduring. And Gracie felt the backs of her eyes pricking uncomfortably with the cruel echo of tears that she knew would never fall.

Gracie blinked to break the tormenting eye contact and crouched down to Mila’s eye level. ‘Mila, it was lovely to meet you. I think you are very lucky that your papa has chosen to show you his favourite places in the city.’

Mila looked up at Luca, her intelligent eyes squinting through the now heavier mist of rain into the bright sunlight. ‘Papa loves me very much,’ she said as though that explained everything.

Gracie grinned. ‘Of course he does. You are a seriously lovable little girl.’

She gave Mila a neat tickle in the ribs, sending her squirming in delight, then stood, extracting herself from the young girl’s affectionate grip. ‘It was lovely to meet you too, Luca.’ She held out her hand.

Luca clasped his spare hand around hers. It was warm and comforting.

‘Lovely,’ he agreed. And he kept a hold of her hand.

Gracie’s eyes flickered up to meet his. There was more than thanks going on behind those eyes. There was unanticipated interest. So, he had felt it too. Pity, since their timing could not have been worse.

Gracie cleared her throat in an effort to dislocate their budding awareness. ‘I’ve kept you from your outing long enough,’ she said. Needing a touchstone to ground her, Gracie pulled her hand away and reached into her jacket pocket for the key to her hostel room.

She found the key, but her wallet, which should have been in the same pocket, was gone. Her eyes wildly scanned the crowds for a furtive figure huddled against the stonework, going through her wallet. But no. The thief was long gone.

It was the last straw. She began to laugh. Loud, uproarious, exhausted laughter turned heads her way. It racked her so hard she had to clutch her stomach to settle the straining muscles within.

Luca watched her in obvious confusion. But it took several moments for Gracie to be able to gather her breath. ‘My wallet has been stolen,’ she explained.

Luca took her by the arm and did the same wild search for the culprit she had done. ‘Please, my family owns a restaurant near by; let me take you to a telephone so you can cancel your credit cards immediately.’

‘No,’ she said back to him, clasping her hand over his to draw his attention. ‘It’s OK. All the poor guy would have found is a train ticket, less than one euro in coins, a photo of my friend’s scruffy Maltese terrier, Minky, a couple of cappuccino receipts and a video rental card. My fortune is stowed back at my hostel.’ Her remaining fortune consisting of some laundry that was overdue for a wash.

‘Your passport?’

Gracie slapped her thigh. ‘Tucked away in a hidden pouch with my airline ticket. Thanks to my clever friend Cara from back home, who expected nothing less from me than having my wallet stolen.’

Gracie’s body shook with the last of her dog-tired laughter. Luca took her hand; his palm felt so warm and strong and steady it made her feel suddenly weak in comparison. If she didn’t eat, and soon, she would likely not make it back to the hostel.

‘I was serious about the restaurant near by,’ Luca said, as though reading her mind. ‘I was about to take Mila for some lunch. I would be honoured if you would join us as our guest.’

Gracie’s mouth dropped open. She was ready to say no; she knew she should say no. She had to get back to the hostel to phone the airline, to call Cara for a lift from the airport when she got back to Melbourne and to scrounge up money from her fellow backpackers for a replacement train ticket. But she was starving. She hadn’t had anything more substantial than a cappuccino all day.

‘Come with us. Please,’ Luca insisted, his voice warm and encouraging, his smile even more so. ‘Let me buy you lunch.’ He shrugged his coat higher on his shoulders. ‘And soon. I fear I am beginning to get rather wet.’

He was right. The rain was coming down harder.

‘OK,’ she said, looking to the heavens. ‘I guess someone else made the decision for me. Thank you.’

Luca nodded, his dark eyes still upon her, and only then did he let go of her arm, his hand slipping away, leaving a tantalising trail of warmth where his sure fingers had been. Mila brought Gracie back to the present by chattering away to her father in staccato Italian.

‘Yes,’ he answered in English for Gracie’s benefit. ‘I am hungry too, as is Gracie. So we are going for lunch together.’

‘Yippee!’ the little girl squealed, pirouetting like a ballerina on the end of her father’s hand before pulling him away from the fountain and towards lunch.

As they wound their way through the ever-evolving crowd, Gracie caught Neptune’s eye and thought for one curious moment that he had a smile on his face that had not been there before.

Gracie shook the rain from her navy hooded jacket and Luca from his immaculate black coat as they ran the last few steps into the loud and busy trattoria. Several customers drank their espressos standing at the serving counter, thus saving themselves the exaggerated price of a drink-in coffee, but Luca showed Gracie to a booth deep inside the cosy restaurant.

Pictures of an Italian movie star Gracie could not put a name to lined the walls, and a television tucked high in the corner played the Italian version of an American reality TV show. It only reminded her how disjointed she felt so far from home; everything was at once familiar but just out of reach.

‘Your family owns this place?’ Gracie asked as Luca helped her remove her utilitarian jacket then hung it over a hook on the wall.

‘My late wife’s uncle, actually.’

Gracie remembered Mila saying her mother was in heaven and it felt cosmically unfair that the perfect man had lost his perfect wife.

She didn’t quite know what to say. She knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of constant sympathy and thus had no intention of bestowing the same. It was half the reason she had come to Italy, to distance herself from the burden relentless pity had brought into her life.

Before Gracie gave in to the overwhelming urge to regurgitate the fairly useless ‘there, there’, a large man in a tomato-splattered apron hastened to their table carrying a bottle of Chianti and two wine glasses. He placed them on the table before gathering Luca in a bear hug and bubbling away in effusive Italian. Gracie had the feeling they had not seen each other in some time; Luca’s cheeks even reddened under the obvious chastisement from the older man.

When he had finished berating Luca, he descended upon Mila, lifting her from the ground and hugging the life out of her. She finally wriggled free of his grasp and tumbled over Luca’s knees until she was safely ensconced between her father and the wall.

‘Gracie,’ Luca said, ‘this is Giovanni. Mila’s great-uncle. Giovanni, this is Gracie. She is from Australia, though she is half-Italian.’ He offered her a wink with his last comment and she could not help but smile.

The elder man blew Gracie an air-kiss and gabbled in Italian. She picked out enough words she recognised to know she was being favourably compared with Venus, the Roman goddess of love.