Lucy felt a hot flush coming on. ‘I’ll just check on the food.’
She scurried off to the kitchen and leaned against the marble counter, grateful for the cool air from the open window.
‘Just another ten minutes.’ Lucy took a slurp of bubbly as she resumed her place at the table.
‘Mmm. It smells good.’ Elena sniffed the air appreciatively.
‘Mamma, open your presents now!’ cried Stefano, jumping up and down.
‘Aspettate.Wait.’ Dario disappeared momentarily before coming back with an armful of roses, wine and chocolates.
Elena opened her gifts, amid excited oohs and aahs, until she reached a large box, inside which were smaller and smaller boxes.
‘Very funny, Stefano.’ She wagged her finger at him. ‘You like to tease your—’ She stopped mid-sentence, having noticed a cream, parchment envelope nestled amid mounds of tissue paper.UN INVITOwas scrolled across it in gold ink. She picked it up and removed the red ribbon wrapped around it. Flipping it open, she caught her breath, eyes growing wide as she pulled out the two tickets. She looked at each of them in turn, tears pricking her eyes.
‘La Traviata! My favourite opera.’
Lucy breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Funnily enough, it’s Dario’s favourite too.’
Elena spluttered. ‘Dario’s? Dariohatesopera, don’t you?’
Shooting Lucy a boyish, aw-shucks grin, Dario protested unconvincingly, ‘I don’thateopera, Elena – not exactly.’
Lucy was all at once struck by his good-naturedness, at agreeing to go along with her surprise plan, when she now knew he’d rather stick pins in his eyes, than spend nigh on three hours watching and listening to a sick woman dying of tuberculosis in the arms of her wailing lover.
Elena re-examined the tickets. ‘Tonight? But who will take care of Stef—aah, Dario! Of course.Mille grazie.’
‘No, Mamma,’ piped up Stefano. ‘Lucy will stay home with me. We are going to play Wizards and Muggles and readFantastic Beasts.’
‘Veramente? Truly? The opera? Dario? Are you crazy?’ Elena tapped her forehead and smothered a laugh.
‘Happy birthday!’ Lucy clinked everyone’s glasses, heart quickening as she caught Dario’s sly wink.
‘Buon compleanno!’ they all chorused.
‘Anyone for shepherd’s pie?’ Lucy stood up, looking around the table. ‘Made with real shepherd?’
There was a long, incredulous pause while Stefano processed this information.
‘Yes! Me!’ he yelled.
Everyone had two helpings of the pie. Knowing how passionate Italians are about food, Lucy felt a surge of relief and pride that her go-to recipe had been such a success. Having persuaded Stefano that she wasn’t some kind of Mrs Lovett pie maker after all (much to his disappointment), she did however wish she had a juicy backstory to accompany the dish. Eighteenth-century peasants discovering it as a thrifty way to use up leftover meat wasn’t exactly mystifying.
Checking her watch, she turned to Stefano, giving him the secret signal that it was time to light the cake. But something was wrong; his chin was trembling, and his innocent, little face crumpling up in tears.
‘Stefano,’ said Elena gently, lifting him onto her knee. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘I want my daddy,’ he sobbed. ‘Why did he leave us?’
‘He didn’t leave us, sweetheart,’ said Elena, lovingly stroking his hair, voice wavering. ‘I know we can’t see him, but he’s all around, watching over us, keeping us safe.’
Tilting back her head, she squeezed her eyes tightly shut, determined not to cry.
Dario quickly untied the balloon from behind his chair. ‘I havean idea, Stefano. Why don’t you send this balloon to Daddy, up in heaven? Then he will know you are thinking of him.’
Stefano looked up slowly, his hands rubbing his eyes.
‘But how will he know it’s from me?’
