‘You go ahead,’ Marco said chivalrously.
‘I was going to ask how the movie’s coming along,’ Gina smiled.
‘It’s going to be pretty spectacular, from what I can tell.’
‘I wouldn’t expect anything less from Brad Redford.’
‘Exactly. The man’s a perfectionist. He’s incredible at what he does.’
‘You’ve worked with him before, right?’
‘Yeah, a few years ago. He’s a great guy – he wants the best, and doesn’t take any crap, but he’s incredibly professional and makes everyone feel important on set, from the director to the most junior runner.’
‘It’s a shame he had to leave early,’ Gina mused. ‘He must have been exhausted.’
‘I’d never have believed it – he always has so much energy, so much stamina. But I guess even Brad needs to rest sometimes.’
‘I’m sure Issy will take good care of him. She seems to have everything under control.’
‘Who does that remind me of?’ Marco grinned, as Gina sat back in her chair and stared at him, narrowing her eyes in thought. ‘What?’ Marco asked suspiciously.
‘You know what? When it’s dark, and I really squint, you do look a little like Brad Redford,’ Gina teased. ‘But only a bit. And only when the lighting’s really low.’
‘Yeah, but when the lights are on, I’m even better-looking,’ Marco said, and Gina burst out laughing, enjoying his sense of humour.
Marco peered out of the window, noticing the shrieking groups rushing past, and the couples huddled together beneath umbrellas. ‘It doesn’t look like the rain will be stopping anytime soon. Shall we order cicchetti? I’m starving.’
‘Mmm, I’d love to.’
‘What do you like?’
‘Everything,’ Gina said honestly, making Marco laugh.
‘I’ll choose then,’ he said, speaking to the waiter. A few minutes later, two more Spritzes arrived, followed by little plates of fig and ricotta wrapped in prosciutto, grilled polenta topped with sardines, deep-fried meatballs, and marinated stuffed olives. Venice was famous for its cicchetti in the same way Spain was known for its tapas; both were traditional savoury dishes, made with local produce.
‘This is delicious,’ Gina groaned.
‘It’s not bad at all,’ Marco agreed. ‘But not quite as good as at L’Ombra. That place does the best cicchetti in the whole of Venice.’
Gina looked offended and shook her head vehemently. ‘No, Osteria del Portico, just off Campo Santa Margherita – when you taste their salted cod, it’s as though you’ve died and gone to heaven.’ Gina closed her eyes, her expression blissful at the memory.
Marco shrugged, looking unimpressed. ‘Any half-decent chef can make baccalà. At L’Ombra they serve the most exquisite mussels, baked with breadcrumbs and garlic and lemon, all washed down with a perfect glass of Soave from a tiny, family-run vineyard just outside Verona. There’s an idyllic view over the canal, out towards the lagoon. Whatever the season, it’s the most perfect place to lose yourself for an hour or two.’
‘It’s sounding more appealing by the minute,’ Gina smiled. ‘I think you might have convinced me.’
‘I’ll take you there one day,’ Marco promised, his eyes never leaving hers.
‘I’ll hold you to that,’ Gina told him boldly, the alcohol flowing through her blood and making her fearless.
A moment passed between them, a crackle of electricity in the air, before the people beside them got up to leave, breaking the moment as they squeezed past with profuse apologies.
‘Tell me all about yourself, Gina Bellini,’ Marco began, sitting back in his chair and staring at Gina. ‘Are you a true Venetian?’
Gina shook her head, ignoring the pangs of anxiety that always surfaced whenever she was asked about her background. She felt relaxed with Marco, and as though she didn’t want to have to hide herself from him. ‘I grew up in a village, in the mountains north of Milan.’
‘Why did you leave?’
‘Why did I leave my tiny, boring village for the most beautiful, exciting city in the world? Hmm, let me think …’
‘All right, point taken,’ Marco smiled. ‘Why Venice?’
‘I don’t know, exactly. I’d always been fascinated by the city, even as a child. It seemed like the most magical, incredible place. Perhaps I wanted to see for myself that it really existed. That there could really be so much beauty in the world.’
‘And was it everything you’d hoped for?’
‘Yes – and more. The city’s been very good to me. I sometimes wonder when my luck will run out.’
Marco’s forehead creased in confusion. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Oh, nothing,’ Gina waved away his words, worrying that she’d revealed too much. ‘Anyone would think themselves lucky to be here. Now it’s your turn.’
‘What do you want to know?’
Everything, Gina longed to reply. Tell me your hopes and dreams, your fears and passions … I want to know everything about you, Marco DiMaggio. But instead, she said, ‘How on earth did you end up as a stuntman?’
‘Fell into it by accident, if you’ll excuse the pun. I started off as an extra, then found I had a knack for jumping over cars. It’s thrilling, no doubt about it, but it’s all really down to planning and timing …’ Marco trailed off, taking a long slug of his drink.
‘What was the best job you worked on?’
