The moon shone brightly over the Italian piazza. The cobbled square, hemmed with stylish boutiques, cafes and bistro tables, was abuzz with people enjoying the late summer evening. In a pocket of the old quarter, a woman sat alone, hidden behind a newspaper and a glass of sparkling wine.
It should have been a night of celebration: a one-year anniversary of meeting the love of her life. But instead, Maria was picking over a pasta dish, drowning her sorrows, surrounded by romantic couples and happy families. Maria had been planning it for weeks; a grand gesture, a weekend in Rome to celebrate her and Tom’s anniversary.
She’d arranged a romantic dinner at their favourite restaurant. The waiter delivered the tickets on a tray. “Wow,” said Tom, staring down at the tickets, his eyes scanning the flight dates and hotel information.
“That’s really...
unexpected.” His voice had a tight, awkward tone to it. Nausea pinched her stomach.
She leaned forward, lowering her voice. “I thought you’d like it – you always said you wanted to go to Italy..
.” Tom’s brow lined. “I did.
I do...
it’s just...
” He rubbed his hand through his hair. “I’m so sorry, Maria. I was going to tell you tonight.
.. I’ve met someone else.
” Maria almost didn’t board the flight. How could she enjoy a weekend in Italy when she still felt as if she might burst into tears at any moment? Yet as the taxi dropped her outside a charming hotel set on one side of the Italian piazza, she f.
