“Mariella Holmes.”
“Holmes? Are you from around here?”
Mariella shook her head. “Rome originally. Most recently, New York.”
“Ah, there they have fine restaurants that are appreciated by everyone.” She looked around a bit and shook her head. “Cozy. Who wants cozy? Tell your father I want to talk to him. Or your sister. Perhaps Isabella would be easier.”
Cristiano smiled slightly. “I’ll make sure they know.”
She gave a wave and headed back outside.
“Wow, a whirlwind,” Mariella said.
“She actually owns the restaurant next door. Even though she’s my father’s sister, they have barely spoken to each other in years. I wonder what she wants.”
“Maybe she appreciates the family she has. I wish I had family somewhere, besides Dante, of course.”
“He’s lucky to have you. Many people would not consider the child your responsibility. It’s such an awesome one.”
“Don’t you want children?” she asked. “I mean after you marry and all.”
He did not want to go there. On the surface, he looked normal. Only he knew what turmoil lurked inside his mind. He could not subject anyone to that. Fearful of what the flashbacks could lead to, he had to make sure no one came in harm’s way. How could he enter any kind of intimate relationship with a woman if he could go off the rails without warning?
In fact, it was a risk to be away from the isolation of the cottage for this long.
Not that he’d had a problem since the night of the fire. Twice he’d thought he was coming close, but one look at Mariella and he’d staved off the threatening flashbacks.
For a moment he hoped he was recovering. Maybe he would be able to go back to work before long. It was still too early to say with complete confidence, but he might touch base with his commander in the next week or so.
“Maybe, if I marry,” he replied.
“I’m so surprised you didn’t go into this business. A ready-made family affair that you could take over when your father retires,” Mariella said a short time later when savoring the first bite of her rigatoni. The sauce had a piquant flavor that she relished.
“It’s my sister’s thing. My brother and I couldn’t wait to leave. It always felt too settled here, I guess you’d say.”
“So you two chose the opposite extreme. You with your job, he with his races. Why do you both put your lives on the line like that? At least your actions are for some greater good, but just to challenge the laws of physics and risk death in car races seems a bit reckless.”
“Ah, but there is that awesome feeling when he succeeds. Can’t be measured.”
“Is that how you feel about fighting fires?”
“It is always a challenge. No two fires are exactly the same.”
“Scary.”
He shrugged. He wouldn’t admit it, but he had felt fear a few times. Overcoming it to come out on top was another kind of high. One that he could not achieve with the aftermath of the bombing.
“Enough about me and my family. Tell me about New York.”
“It’s so vibrant. I worked as an usher at theaters to get in to see the shows for free. Spent many rainy or snowy afternoons roaming the museums. I majored in marketing at university. I was not the only non-American in my classes. There were also students from the UK and Japan.”
“You would have more chance of a high-paying job if you didn’t have the baby.”
“My entire life would be different if I didn’t have Dante. I was set to partner with a fellow student in New York in a marketing firm.”
“Must have been tough to give that up,” Cristiano said.
“The reality turns out to be different from my dreams. I love Dante. I am gaining a bit of confidence. It’s not forever. When he’s in school, I can try something else, use the education I have. There are a lot of single moms out there. They all manage.”
“And single fathers, but it still works better if there are two.”
She fell silent. A moment later she looked up.
“I’ll see if Signora Bertatali can watch Dante when we take a run up to Rome.”
He’d take her to the cemetery, then swing by the station and talk to the commander. Check on his own apartment, which had stood empty these last months. He had held onto it with the intent of returning if he could lick the PTSD. And he’d go to see Stephano’s widow.
He’d like to see where Mariella and Dante lived, too. He’d take her there to get her clothes. Then they could have dinner on the way back. For the first time in a long while, he felt the stirring of anticipation.
“We’ll leave early.”
She grinned at him. “How early is early?”
“Seven?”
“Fine. Are you going by the ministry to talk about the award?” she asked.
He’d forgotten about that. He shook his head. “No.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Why not?”
“People died in that bombing. Good people. Men who tried to rescue others. I was luckier than most, I got out alive. But there were many more who didn’t.”
“You saved seven people. Including two children.” She reached out to touch his arm. “It must have been terrifying as well as horrific. So many people lost their lives.”
Including Stephano. Cristiano began to feel the stirrings of a panic attack. His vision was growing dark around the edges. His heart began pounding in remembered fear.
Her hand slipped into his and he gripped it, focused on her silvery eyes. And that dusting of freckles across her nose. What would it be like to kiss each and every one? She looked like happiness personified. He knew she’d had some hard knocks herself, but they didn’t get her down. For a moment he envied her. He’d give anything to turn the clock back. To be the man he once was.
The moment passed. Another. The restaurant came back into focus—people enjoying the good food, the laughter and conversation conveying their pleasure. He drew a deep breath.
“Did you want dessert?” he asked, withdrawing his hand. Mariella was like a lifeline. Was that the clue? Not lock himself away but be with her all the time?
He’d give almost anything to do just that.
They decided against dessert. Soon they headed back to the car, glad the rain had stopped—if only temporarily. The dark clouds showed the storm had not completely passed.
She remained sitting in the car when Cristiano stopped in front of the Bertatalis’ home. Dante was asleep in his car seat, the stroller folded in the trunk.
“It’s been a nice day despite the rain. Thank you for lunch,” she said.
“My pleasure.”
“Your family’s restaurant is so nice. I really like it. You’re lucky to be a part of that, even if you don’t work there.”
That might change. If he couldn’t return to firefighting, what would he do? Join his sister in the restaurant?
No public job. If he got that bad, he would never be able to be certain he wouldn’t have another flashback. He gripped his hands on the steering wheel. Better he’d been killed in the bombing instead of injured. No one would ever have known about the reactions he couldn’t control.
He