“If poor timing.”
Marco noticed Sandro was better dressed than usual. “For once, you bathed.”
Sandro smiled. “Yes.”
“And a fancy scarf?”
“They wear them at La Sapienza.”
“I assumed. Very nice.”
“Thank you. But I didn’t sing, like you. A serenade, of all things!”
“I know, I’m more direct these days. Unfortunately, I didn’t have a guitar. I should have, since the song is about a guitar.”
“Yes, but you brought flowers. That was a good move.”
“Ah, but you gave her a book. She loves books.” Marco flushed, knowing he couldn’t compete on that level with Sandro. Marco was curious about the book, but didn’t want to ask. “So are you wooing Elisabetta now? Is that what I’m to understand?”
“Yes, and you are, too? Albeit off-key?”
“How dare you.” Marco chuckled. “I sang beautifully.”
Sandro nodded. “Just like an alley cat.”
Marco recoiled in mock offense. “I sing with gusto.”
“You do everything with gusto.”
“Exactly! That’s what’s so great about me!” Marco threw up his hands, exulting comically, then turned abruptly serious. “But what are we going to do, brother? We’re best friends—and we want the same girl.”
“What’s there to do?” Sandro shrugged.
“It’s obvious.” Marco shot him a sly look. “You need to move along. Elisabetta is taken.”
Sandro chuckled. “Sorry, but no. My heart is set on her.”
“You really can’t court another, Sandro?”
“I’m not interested in another. Only Elisabetta.”
“Since when?”
Sandro shrugged.
Marco asked, “Did you kiss her by the river that day?”
“Yes, and she kissed me back.” Sandro winked. “Come on, what about you, Marco? Why don’t you court another? You can have your pick. Angela is crazy about you. They all are. They swoon.”
“Elisabetta’s the one I want. I suggest you step aside before further embarrassment.”
Sandro’s eyes widened theatrically. “Me?”
“Yes, sacrifice yourself on the altar of love. That would be so like you.” Marco clapped. “Bravo, noble Sandro!”
“Do you want to be the one to tell her that we made her decision for her?”
“An excellent point.”
They walked along, quiet for a moment until Sandro spoke. “Our friendship is strong enough to withstand a test, don’t you think?”
Marco thought it over, for it was a serious question. “Absolutely,” he answered, after a moment.
“I don’t mind a friendly competition, do you?”
“No. If I have to compete for Elisabetta, so be it. You’re worthy of her. If it isn’t to be me, I’d want it to be you.”
“I feel the same way. May the better man win.” Sandro extended his hand, and Marco shook it firmly, then grinned.
“You know she’ll choose me. How could she not?”
“Incredible.” Sandro chuckled. “I was just thinking the same thing. About me.”
Marco smiled. “You know, we have so much in common, we should be friends.”
“Agree!” Sandro threw an arm around him, and they walked home together.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Elisabetta
January 1938
Elisabetta waited for Marco, checking her reflection in a window. She looked pretty enough, in her dark blue cloth coat and one of her best dresses, paired with brown pumps that had looked worn until she had wiped them with a damp cloth. She had on reddish lipstick borrowed from Paolo’s wife, Sophia, which made her feel grown-up. She had curled her hair and even used some French perfume that her mother had left behind, called Habanita. The scent made her a little sad, but she dismissed that from her mind.
Piazza Navona was alive with a nighttime crowd, bigger than any in Trastevere. Elisabetta never came to Rome proper and had forgotten how busy, exciting, and cosmopolitan life was on this side of the Tiber. The women wore fashionable felt hats with long feathers, and the men had suits so well-tailored they looked as if they had been born in them. She overheard an array of languages, a reminder that her hometown was a world-famous capital, and she wondered if she could ever live on this side of the river, among the upper class. She would need a better coat and shoes, to be sure. She would have to mold her life like dough, as Nonna had told her, but Elisabetta didn’t know if that was realistic. She couldn’t afford to quit waitressing, so she didn’t know how she could afford to be anything but a waitress.