He laughed. “And Two Gentleman of Verona, but of course that one is less known. You know your Shakespeare.”
Marcello clearly did, too. Maybe that went with the territory of being an actor. She’d never actually met an actor before. Evan likely didn’t even know that Romeo and Juliet was set in Verona . . . and probably didn’t even care. He’d hated Shakespeare. She stared at the ticket, feeling her heart skip with excitement. “I’d love to. Tonight?”
“Today. At three in the afternoon sharp. You’ll be there?”
“Yes. Of course. I am sure I will enjoy it.” She thought about asking for more tickets, for Lily and Bea, but she didn’t want to be pushy. Besides, she didn’t know what time they’d arrive. And if the girls wanted to take in a play, which she wasn’t really sure they’d even enjoy, since they were more like their father in that respect, she could always buy them tickets later. “Thank you so much.”
“You’re welcome.” He leaned forward and his eyes drifted from her to the window, dancing a little. “Ah. See that little hill?”
She followed his gaze out the window to a small, rising slope, where several sheep were lazily grazing under the bright sun and a sky dotted with cotton clouds. “Yes.”
“Beyond that, in that valley, is my home. It is good to be back there. And I know you will love it. Maybe you stay? Perhaps tomorrow, after the performance, I might have the pleasure of meeting you again?”
The thought had never occurred to her. To stay? Luckily she’d brought her large carry-on bag with her rather than leaving her things in Florence, so yes, she supposed she could change plans and stay in Verona overnight, if the situation called for it. But . . . would her obsessively ordered planner’s mind let her do that, simply on a whim?
As she stared into Marcello’s dark eyes, she didn’t care.
She nodded, her breath taken away as she thought of the bucket list item she’d written on the train. Fall in love in Italy.
Beyond that hill, a charming city came into view. Maybe there, that dream would come true.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Diana walked down the cobbled streets of Piazza delle Erbe, gazing in the windows of the shops. As she did, the words kept running through her head: Fall in love in Italy. Fall in love in Italy. Fall in love in Italy.
Marcello was nice. Handsome. Charming. When he’d left her in front of the train station, where he’d helped her hail a cab to the Piazza, he’d winked at her and told her that he would be looking for her in the audience.
She shivered at the memory, then reminded herself to chill out, as Bea would’ve said. The last time she’d gotten all googly-eyed over a man had been in Versailles, when she’d danced with a man who turned out to be not only married, but a jewel thief. He’d also been murdered later that night, and she’d been a suspect. You don’t exactly have impeccable taste in men, she scolded herself as she stepped along the concourse.
Marcello was right. It was a lovely place to go shopping. The square was bordered on all sides by historic buildings, some of them cafes with outdoor, umbrellaed seating. The smell of roast garlic hung heavy in the air. There were many old Roman sculptures, as well as a large fountain in the center. People were sitting at its edge, basking in the sun.
Diana wasn’t exactly hungry, though. Well, perhaps she was, but it wasn’t for food. There was a strange sense of yearning inside her, one she couldn’t quite define.
As she walked by the shops, peering in the windows, her phone began to buzz in her pocket. She didn’t recognize the number, but she answered anyway. It was Lily. “Mom. Just wanted to let you know we’re at the train station in Florence. We’ve got tickets for the two o’clock.”
“Oh, great! I’ll see you tonight. I’m going to a show. Would you want me to try to get you tickets?”
“A show?”
“Yes. A Midsummer Night’s Dream.”
“Ew. Why?”
So that was a no. Diana burst out laughing. That was exactly what she thought Lily would say. “Contrary to your belief, some people actually enjoy Shakespeare’s plays.”
She laughed, too. “Doubtful. With who?”
“What?”
“Who are you going with?”
“No one. I’m going by myself, of course,” Diana said, wondering what happened to solo travel. Why was it so shocking to people? “But the town is beautiful. You’ll love it.”
She sighed. “I loved Florence. I could’ve spent the next week there. As it is, Mom, we only have three days. And until this little wrench, we were thinking about going to Rome.”
“Oh. Sorry about that,” she said. “If you’d rather, you can—”
“Mom. Stop making it sound like you’re trying to get rid of us!”
“I’m not, love,” she said. She wasn’t, but she hadn’t expected to see her kids. She’d said her goodbyes two weeks ago. To see them so soon was lovely, but it she’d mentally prepared herself for a much longer time away from them. “But this is my trip, and I want to—”
“I don’t get it. Who are you and what have you done with Diana St. James?”
“What are you talking about, darling?”
“You’re being so . . . weirdly . . . spontaneous. Need I remind you that you were the one who scheduled us down to the minute during that Disney vacation? What happened to that woman? Because picking up and changing locales on the spur of the moment was really—”
“Necessary,” she said. “I didn’t make the choice lightly. But I’m learning that sometimes it’s better to pay attention to one’s heart than what’s posted on my planner.”
“Oh. My. God.” There was a pause. Likely, she was discussing this newest revelation with Bea. “I wish you’d have learned that twenty years ago, when I wanted to go on Dumbo twice but you just had to get us to our appointments at the Bibbity Bobbity Boutique.”
“You wanted those makeovers,” Diana pointed out.
“Forget it,” Lily grumbled. “Anyway. I’ll call you when we get to Verona. Enjoy the play. We can go to dinner.”
When she pocketed her phone, she knew exactly what the yearning was when she peered into a shop window and saw a sky-blue dress with flutter sleeves.
Yes, that was what she wanted.
She’d been so embarrassed, wearing that black travel dress, which was now in a ball in the bottom of her carry-on. Not only had it made her look like wallpaper, she’d felt that way, too. What she needed was something that would help her stand out. Feel pretty, feminine. Something for tonight.
A bell over the door jingled as she went inside. The place was dark, the walls and floor covered in royal-red carpet and wallpaper, and choked with displays of an array of clothing. It was a secondhand shop, yet all of the mannequins were dressed so beautifully, Diana had a hard time believing anyone would part with the clothes.
A woman came out from behind a glass case. “Ciao,” she started, and began speaking in very fast Italian.
“I’m sorry,” Diana said. “I don’t speak Italian well and I’ve lost my translator, so could you please speak slowly? Per favore parla più lentamente?”