Dario’s stomach tightened. ‘Scusa?’
‘You must promise to keep it between us, Dario. I want it to be a surprise.’
He raised his eyes heavenward and tutted inwardly. Of course, Elena’s birthday! Friday was Elena’s birthday. What an idiot to think Lucy was asking him out.
‘Dario? Are you still there?’
He drew a restorative breath. ‘A secret. Of course.Ho capito.I understand.’
‘See you on Friday then. Five o’clock.Ciao!’
‘Ciao.’
Dario threw his phone down onto the kitchen table, just as the smell of burnt pasta hit him.
‘Fanculo!’ he yelled, leaping towards the stove, as a curl of black smoke rose up to the ceiling.
Elena had been dreading her first birthday without Giancarlo. Padre Paulo had assured her it was normal to feel like this, but that Giancarlo would want her to eat cake and raise a glass to life.
She’d woken this morning with a smile on her tear-streaked face, recalling the vivid memory of last year’s birthday, when he’d served her breakfast in bed, wearing nothing but an apron and a goofy grin, while dancing to ‘Sexual Healing’. How she missed his boyishness, his sense of fun and daring.
Now, it was Stefano, as man of the house, who was leading her by the hand, out onto the balcony that evening. Standing on a chair, he carefully untied her blindfold.
Elena gasped. She blinked a few times, tears of joy mixed with sadness lining her eyes. Multi-coloured, twinkling fairy lights were strung around the railings, red balloons, tied to chairs, danced with the sea breeze, and a handmade birthday banner fluttered between two potted olive trees.
Stefano pulled out her chair and flicked her napkin open.
‘Grazie, signore,’ she said, sliding onto the seat next to Lucy and smiling proudly as he draped the napkin over her lap. A small pile of brightly wrapped gifts stood at her place, their ribbons flapping gently.
The table was beautifully laid, with Nonna’s embroidered tablecloth and crystal glasses, a floating candle with scattered pink and white rose petals as the centrepiece.
‘Four places?’ said Elena. ‘Who is the extra guest?’
Stefano put a finger to his lips and shot Lucy a sideways glance. A look of intense concentration then crossed his face as he lifted the chilled bottle of prosecco with both hands. He slowly filled Elena’s glass, letting the foam come to the top, then letting it fall,just as Lucy had taught him. He then poured a glass for Lucy, and one for himself.
‘Not so much, Stefano,’ warned Elena, reaching for the bottle.
‘Buon compleanno,happy birthday, Mamma!’he cried triumphantly, taking a huge gulp. His cheeky grin quickly disintegrated into a look of disgust, as the sharp taste hit the back of his throat and the bubbles went up his nose. Coughing and spluttering, he ran back inside for a glass of water.
‘I told you!’ called Elena, shaking her head in amusement.
All at once the wind chime jangled as the front door swung open and shut. ‘Who can that be?’ said Elena, glancing sideways at Lucy.
‘Buonasera!’
‘Dario! Dario!’ Stefano jumped up to meet him.
After carefully setting down wine, flowers and a box of Baci Perugina chocolates on the table, Dario gently lifted the boy onto his shoulders and headed for the balcony.
The two women abandoned their conversation, jaws scraping the floor.
‘So, Dario, you are our mystery guest!’ said Elena. ‘And look at you!’
Lucy fired Stefano a knowing wink and raised her hand. ‘Mission accomplished, comrade. High five!’
In his black dinner jacket, white winged-collar shirt and bow tie, Dario reminded Lucy of one of those romantic heroes in a Nicholas Sparks’ novel.
‘I know it’s my birthday, Dario, but I feel a little underdressed next to you,’ Elena quipped. ‘Anyone would think you were waiting for a hot date to turn up, not shepherd’s pie.’
