Page 216 of Modern Romance January 2025 5-8
‘It’s Valentine’s Day in Lucca—there’s a lot of love and music to be made.’
She looked up as Juliet came in. She was also dressed in black, her red hair up in a chignon and pearls in her ears, clearly in for a busy day also.
‘But no love for us today...’ Louanna sighed. ‘We just get to watch other people be romantic. I’ll get packed up.’
‘I didn’t wake you, did I?’ Juliet asked as Louanna went to sort out her cello.
‘I was up anyway,’ Susie said, and smiled, deciding not to take her grumpy mood out on everyone else. ‘You sounded incredible.’
‘“Una Ve Poco Fa”,’Juliet said. ‘“A Voice I Once Heard”. It’s a gorgeous piece.’ Then perhaps she saw the strain on Susie’s face. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Of course.’ Susie nodded, then shrugged. ‘I just found out my parents aren’t coming next week.’
‘I’m sorry... I know you were so looking forward to it. You’ve been quiet for a while, though, and you are very pale.’
Susie saw a flicker of concern in Juliet’s eyes and did not want it to be there. Juliet didn’t know about Dante, no one did.
‘I’m honestly fine. It’s just the new job, all my course work...’
‘If you ever want to talk?’ Juliet offered, before she and Louanna headed out.
Susie didn’t know how she felt, let alone what she might say.
It wasn’t Juliet’s early practice sessions, nor was it even that her parents were no longer coming.
She kept waiting to feel okay—to wake up and know she was over Dante.
It was the first time she’d been alone in the flat in for ever. Mimi was busy today, so there would be no walking on the walls. And, yes, she had homework for class, but for now it could wait.
Two minutes into her peaceful moment her phone rang.
It wasn’t Dante.
And it wasn’t her mum, saying she’d thought about it and they were coming next week after all.
Nor was it a florist staggering under the weight of red roses, calling to be buzzed in...though she briefly flared with hope.
‘Susie!’ It was a frantic Pedro. ‘Can you come in early and help with prep? We have a function—a last-minute booking.’
‘Sure.’
‘And I know you won’t be happy, but after prep we need you to do some waitressing...’
‘Pedro...’ She did not want this, but of course it was a feeble protest. Her apron-flinging moment had been a brief one. ‘When do you want me to come in?’
‘Now.’
Even though Pearla’s wasn’t yet open, the restaurant was hectic on this special day. The pastry chefs were all frantic, and Cucou barely looked up—just pointed her to a mountain of parsley.
‘Prep that, then help Phillipe with thearancini.’
But, as busy as it was, Cucou still found time to teach.
‘Susie...?’ He called her over and she gazed upon hissofrito—buttery, silky, salty perfection. ‘Do you see the gloss?’
‘Yes...’
She put in her tiny little spatula and took a taste, and then she looked at Cucou, about to tell him she knew his secret, for she could taste anchovies.