AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Silly ass,” I grumbled. “Whatever that means. Get your phone.”
I turned to leave, feeling Ashira not too far behind.
ChapterSixteen
Part III
June | Three Years Later
As hot expresso was placed in front of me, I marveled aloud, “You have to miss this.”
Bella, the head chef on the yacht we’d been living on since leaving the Amalfi Coast, took a deep breath, dark-arched brows lifting. “Oh, I do. Roma is where my heart rests.”
“But do you get lonely on the road when you’ve been away for long stretches?” I glanced around again to the aged concrete buildings, colorful graffiti and roping vines on some of them, small dinner tables, and mopeds parked all around. The view was just as captivating as theColosseum,Forum, andSaint Peter’s Square. “I’d miss all this history and culture.”
“Yeah.” Bella, who I’d recently learned the yacht we’d been using was named after, paid a cursory glance around our small table outside a small restaurant, too. “But home for me is Italy.” Her eyes crinkled as she smirked, peering at Francesco.”
“Grazie,” I murmured to the owner of the delicious restaurant Francesco and Bella brought Jas and I to for dinner tonight. We were docked and exploring again. “I still can’t get over how I missed you two were a couple.” I was slightly embarrassed, actually. They were older. I’d give Francesco late sixties, and Bella, though spare in frame, quick and light in motion, and femininely gracious out of uniform, couldn’t have been much older. “How long have you been married?”
“Oh!” Bella palmed her salt and mostly peppered hair pulled back into a ponytail. “No. Francesco and I aren’t married. His wife and family live about forty minutes north of here.” Her accent, thankfully, wasn’t as rich as his.
It was my time to parrot, “Oh.” Confused, I turned to Jas subconsciously in search of answers.
The day after we debarked from the Isle of Capri, I’d just left the gym from working out and ran into Bella and Francesco. They were in close proximity, leaning into the boat railing, necking each other with closed mouths over a cup of coffee. I was quite embarrassed then, too. It was clearly an intimate private time between lovers, something unpolluted and without lechery. Their chemistry screamed pure and seasoned in just those brief seconds I’d witnessed. The two didn’t seem to be hiding it as they both greeted me good morning before going back to their nuzzling. It was cute.
And I was…jealous…
Francesco, a robust, intimidating, brute-looking figure with a balding crown, scoffed and whispered something to Bella in Italian I couldn’t understand.
“Yes,” Bella giggled, too. “He said I must explain to the American princess who likely romanticizes a love like ours.”
“Me?” Dismissively, I pushed air from my lips while going for my expresso. “I’m not a romantic.”
Francesco laughed at me, a sign of warmth from the thuggish man. “Cazzate!”
Even Jas laughed at that. I wasn’t sure of the word, but confident in the sentiment. Bella reached across the small table and caressed my hand encouragingly. “I hope you do. Love is the best gift God has given us.”
A fuzzy sensation rocketed through me. “I believe that,” my voice lacked confidence, but I did believe it.
“Good.” She sat back. “With Francesco’s permission, I’ll share our story with you.” Bella looked at Francesco as though he was the king of her universe, and he granted her permission in the same fashion. “I adored him when we were kids. He was a knucklehead, and I was the fool in love with him. I packed extra lunch food for him, and he beat up boys who liked to tease me for the gap I used to have in my teeth and the boobs I developed prematurely.”
I snickered at that, suddenly entranced by the story time.
“So,” Bella continued. “We go through the rest of our schooling that way until it was time to make adult decisions. I wanted to go away to America for my formal education. Francesco wanted to stay here at home to help his father with the family business. I hated the family business and wanted him all to myself.” Francesco snorted and spoke again in his native tongue. Bella echoed his sentiment. “Yes. Iwasa stubborn girl. As the Americans say, I want my cake and have it, too.”
I tried not to laugh at that.
“So, anyway, after mi mamma and papà begged me not to go,” Bella explained. “his mamma and sisters then begged me not to go. And all the while, I begged Fran to come with me. We didn’t need much money. I only needed him and him, me, but…” Her thin lips turned up. “Let’s just say he chose his destiny, and so did I. But…”
“But…” Gripping my coffee mug, I needed her to fast-forward this tale. Coincidentally, I now understood her ability to speak English better than Francesco.
“I soon learned opportunity and money aren’t everything. I went to America and completed my schooling. I traveled all over, good at what I do.” Bella’s head bounced with emphasis.
“Ashira,” Jas sat up in his seat, addressing me. “When they had big, fancy ass parties back in the day, Bella used to cook for people like Whitney Houston, Michael Jackson, Sammy Davis Jr., Sugar Ray Leonard…Quincy Jones and elite Blacks like that. She cooked for whites, too, but you know… Just to give you an idea of the Black palettes she’s satisfied.”
“Whoa…” I breathed out loud.
With pride, Bella smiled. Francesco’s big arm squeezed her thin frame to his side. “I had lots of success in America. Canada, too. I love cooking. Mi mamma taught me the love of food, and schooling gave me the knowledge to express it. But I was lonely. Francesco came to visit me twice, but it wasn’t enough. I wrote him hundreds of letters.” She shook her head. “He may have written back once, and the letter said, ‘come home now,’ and I wouldn’t do that. I loved my career.” She paused for a sip of her expresso.
