Lucy Gordon - The Italian’s Cinderella Bride

He was forced to laugh at her determined humour.

‘I’m safe now, honestly,’ she continued. ‘I’ll come back to the shop later, and if you’re not there I’ll make my own way home.’

He agreed but reluctantly, and when they left Florian’s his eyes followed her across St Mark’s Piazza until she vanished.

It was as well that he returned to the shop, for his part-time assistant didn’t show up, and it was a busy afternoon. Late in the day Ruth slipped quietly inside. To his relief she looked calm and cheerful.

He called the palazzo, giving Minna the night off preparing his meal, and on the way home he stopped in several food shops buying fresh meat and vegetables.

‘Tonight I do the cooking,’ he told Ruth. ‘And if that doesn’t scare you, nothing will.’

‘But Gino said you were a wonderful cook.’

‘Compared to him, I was. I enjoy it. And I enjoy surprising people who don’t expect me to be able to do it.’

Toni came to meet them as soon as they entered, paying particular attention to Ruth, whom he seemed to consider his particular concern after having guarded her on the first night.

There was a note from Minna on the table, to say that she had taken Toni for a walk and seen him settled before going out for the evening.

‘I’d better give him his medication before I start cooking,’ Pietro said. ‘Can you hand me the little brown bottle on that shelf behind you?’

Ruth glanced at the label before handing over the bottle, and without thinking, she said, ‘Good stuff.’

‘You’ve come across these pills before?’ Pietro said quickly. ‘When?’

‘I-don’t know. I just know them. You give them to a dog who has petit mal , mild epilepsy.’

‘That’s right. Perhaps you had a dog of your own?’

‘No, I don’t think so. My aunt didn’t like animals. How often does he have these?’

‘Just one a day. Perhaps you can give it to him while I start the food.’

He retreated to the kitchen, but lingered in the doorway, watching as Toni nestled against her, clearly content to trust her. In a few seconds the pill was down.

Her offer to help with the meal was met with lofty dismissal. Women, Pietro gave her to understand, did not belong in the kitchen. While she was still trying to puzzle this out he indicated the china and gave her permission to lay the table.

‘Cheek!’ she said amiably, and got to work.

Ruth had to admit that he served up a fabulous meal, starting with risi e bisi, rice with peas, assuring her that it had been a big favourite with Giovanni Soranzo.

‘Oh, yeah!’ she said sceptically.

‘Listen, you’re not talking to Gino now. If I say it, it’s true. Well, sort of. Traditionally it was the starter on the Doge’s lunch menu every year, during the feast of St Mark.’

‘Ah,’ Ruth said cunningly, ‘but is there any evidence that he actually liked it?’

‘He ate it, and it never killed him,’ Pietro hedged. ‘Why don’t you open the wine?’

Although she’d known him such a short time Ruth was coming to treasure these moments of bantering, which took her mind away from problems. She wondered if it did the same for him.

The meal continued with pasta in olive oil, followed by cream cod mousse and sweet biscuits, washed down with light, delicious wines.

Suddenly she said, ‘I was going to ask if you’ve been in touch with Gino since I arrived. But you must have been, and, since you haven’t mentioned it, I guess he doesn’t want to know.’

Pietro was taken by surprise, but realised that he shouldn’t have been. He was getting used to her sharp wits.

‘It’s not quite like that,’ he said cautiously.

‘Which means it’s exactly like that.’

‘He doesn’t remember the last evening exactly as you do. He thought you wanted to break up.’

‘But how could he?’

‘I don’t know, but he says you broke up with him.’

She stared, clearly thunderstruck.

‘But-but I didn’t,’ she stammered. ‘We had a lovely evening-he said he loved me.’ But then her shoulders sagged. ‘At least, that’s what I remember. But maybe I’m wrong.’

‘Maybe you’d had enough of his silly face and wanted something better,’ Pietro said kindly, trying to make light of it.

‘It doesn’t make sense,’ she said firmly. ‘If I’d changed my mind about him why didn’t I tell him on the phone before he ever came to England? Why wait until then?’

‘Perhaps you needed to see him to be sure?’ Pietro suggested.

‘And when I saw him in the restaurant that night I decided against him? But instead I remember how close we were. So I’m imagining that? I’m delusional? Well, there you are. I must be madder than I thought.’

‘I told you not to call yourself mad.’

‘Well, don’t tell me! If I want to abuse myself, I will. Who has a better right?’

He didn’t make the mistake of answering, but looked at her wryly until she calmed down and gave a little laugh, aimed at herself.

‘I warned you it would be tough,’ she said.

‘I can take it,’ he assured her.

‘Which version do you believe?’ she challenged. ‘His or mine?’

‘We both know he didn’t always stick to the truth. Look at this.’

He took out the photo albums and went through pages until he found the picture he wanted her to see. It showed Gino with a middle-aged woman. She was wearing an apron, and was busy in a kitchen.

‘That was his mother,’ Pietro said.

Ruth said nothing for a moment, then, ‘Did she work here?’

‘Yes, she was our cook for several years. That’s how it happened that he grew up here.’

‘So he’s not your cousin, not a Bagnelli?’

‘No, I’m afraid that was one of his fantasies.’

‘But I don’t understand. I thought you were both descended from the same Doge.’

‘That’s true, but Doges were elected. It wasn’t a hereditary position. There were over a hundred of them, from different families. Almost every true Venetian is descended from one Doge or another.’

‘But being a Bagnelli was another of his “fantasies”. Or shall we call them lies? When was he going to tell me the truth-if ever? Perhaps Gino himself was an illusion.’ She gave a laugh that was almost bitter. ‘Maybe he was just a hologram, and if I stretched out my hand it might have gone right through him.’

‘I think you’ve summed him up fairly well,’ Pietro said grimly. ‘Perhaps it’s useful that you’re beginning to see him more clearly.’

‘But it doesn’t change anything. I still need his help, even if I don’t-’

‘Don’t what?’ he asked. When she didn’t reply he said tensely, ‘Do you still love him? Ruth, try to tell me.’

‘T ELLme,’ Pietro urged again. ‘I know you’re trying to be very realistic about everything, but sometimes feelings aren’t realistic. After all that’s happened-is it possible that you still love him?’

He checked himself, sensing that his voice sounded too intent. Emotional pressure was bad for Ruth. He must try to remember.

‘ Can you still love a man who’s treated you in such a way?’ he continued more calmly.

‘Treated me how? That’s what I don’t know.’

‘He didn’t stick around, you know that.’

‘But maybe I told him not to, like he said.’

‘Maybe.’ He didn’t sound convinced. ‘But what do you feel now?’

She shook her head helplessly.

‘How can I tell “then” and “now” apart? I remember how totally I loved him then.’

‘And you feel that love now?’

‘Yes-no-maybe, but it’s really just another hologram. Press a switch and it would probably vanish. Oh, hell! What’s the point of talking? I’ve got to discover the reality and look it in the eye.’ She smiled with a hint of mischief that disturbed his heart. ‘Maybe then I’ll spit in its eye.’