Rome in Love by Anita Hughes Page A

head.
    “Why not?” He raised his eyebrow.
    “I’m quite shy, I’d rather everyone didn’t know who I am,” I mumbled.
    He looked at me carefully and his face broke into a smile.
    “Miss Hepburn, after this movie comes out everyone from Athens to Beijing will know your name.”
    Oh, Kitty, what if I’m the biggest failure since Charlie Chaplin tried to do a talkie? I must go. Mr. Wyler knocks on the door at ten P.M. to make sure I’m asleep. He gave a long lecture on the importance of rest and exercise. As if I’m going to get time to exercise when he works us around the clock!
    Hugs to Mimi and Ondine. I’ll write more soon.
    Amelia held the letter up to the light. The paper was so old she was afraid it would crumble in her hand. She glanced at the signature and her heart hammered in her chest. It was signed with one word.
    Audrey

 
    chapter eight
    Philip hung his shirt on the clothesline on the balcony and gazed down at the alley. It was mid-morning and the sun streamed onto the cobblestones. He saw the butcher’s door hung with sausages and garlic. He saw the greengrocer’s window full of ripe strawberries and peaches. He watched a man climb the stairs to his apartment. He wore a yellow T-shirt and blue jeans and sneakers.
    “What are you doing up so early?” Philip asked when Max opened the door. “You don’t usually rise from your beauty sleep until lunchtime.”
    “I need a cup of coffee and a raw piece of meat,” Max groaned, sitting on a wooden chair.
    “What happened to your face?” Philip peered at the purple welt on Max’s cheek. “You look like you got into a street fight.”
    “I was fastening Alessandria’s earrings in her ears and my hair got stuck in her collar. It was perfectly innocent but the countess walked in and saw us.” Max rubbed his cheek. “She threw her Prada clutch at me, luckily she wasn’t carrying her Hermès bag. That thing has more hardware than a Brink’s truck.”
    “I’m surprised she didn’t tear you apart limb from limb.” Philip raised his eyebrow. “She invested more money in you than a college education.”
    “It was time I left anyway, the dolce pears in brandy sauce were making me fat.” Max sighed. “I will miss the private art gallery and indoor swimming pool. The countess looked exceptionally good in a bathing suit.”
    “I’m going to the outdoor market in the Campo de Fiori.” Philip stuffed his wallet in his pocket. “You can help me choose a picnic.”
    “Do you have a date with Amelia?” Max asked.
    “Something like that.” Philip rubbed his brow. “I got tickets to a concert at Hadrian’s Villa.”
    “Romantic music, a soft breeze, dinner under the stars.” Max nodded, eating a banana. “We’ll stop at Café Eustachio. Their espresso is so strong it could turn Clark Kent into Superman.”
    *   *   *
    Philip stood in the Campo de Fiori and gazed at the baskets of white truffles and porcini mushrooms and radicchios. There were stands filled with thick sausages and prosciutto and artichokes. He walked through the aisles and saw a dozen kinds of cheese and bottles of olive oil and dried pasta.
    “Do you think you’re in junior high, preparing an after-school snack for the cute girl in algebra?” Max glanced at the head of lettuce and slices of bacon and red onions in Philip’s shopping basket. “You need to buy sexy food—plump red cherries, a jar of caviar, miniature vanilla custards.”
    “How is food sexy?” Philip frowned, studying the rows of purple asparagus and romanesco broccoli and Japanese eggplant.
    “Vegetables aren’t sexy unless they’re sautéed in butter. Fruit is sexy.” Max took a bite of a plum. “If she gets any on her fingers, you can put them in your mouth.”
    “I’m not sucking the fingers of a woman I just met,” Philip protested.
    “You have three weeks to ask her to marry you.” Max shrugged. “You at least want food you can feed each other—a crusty baguette, some soft