One Night in Italy Read Online Free PDF

sparkle on the breeze, unable to be pinned down by them or anyone else?
    Okay, so she was not the good little daughter they’d hoped for, even after all the riding lessons and dance tuition and piano recitals they’d bombarded her with, not to mention the awful girls’ school she’d suffered, packed wall-to-wall with snobby princess-types who’d looked down their noses at her for being ‘new money’. Being an only child sucked, she had often thought, wishing for a sibling so that the weight of her parents’ expectations could have been borne equally. As it was, she’d thrown their expectations right back in their faces. Get over it.
    She had been away eight years now: eight years of extraordinary adventures, of bustling foreign cities and white sand beaches, finding jobs, homes and friends in umpteen different countries. She had even been sent spinning by the love affair to end all love affairs, not that it had lasted, unfortunately.
    And here she was now, with bright Mediterranean sunshine streaming through the window, with beach life and bella Italia and her beloved passport. Not tied down to any person or any place. Not working in a dreary grey office saving a pension as her parents would no doubt have liked. I win, she thought.
    ‘ Signorina . Signorina! ’
    Oh Christ, someone was clicking his fingers at her. Actually clicking his fingers. Rude bastard. She raised an eyebrow and sauntered over with pointed slowness to the man in question, who seemed to have lost his manners on the way in. He rattled off a lunch order without a single please or thank you, addressing her breasts throughout the entire list of dishes. Then, as she turned in the direction of the kitchen, he grabbed her bottom and gave it a hard squeeze.
    ‘ Mi scusi! ’ she cried, yanking herself away as he and his friends sniggered behind her. It was all she could do not to brain the lot of them with the nearest menu.
    Trembling with rage, she went into the kitchen to pass the order on to Vito, the chef. ‘Feel free to spit in any of it,’ she added in Italian afterwards.
    Well, okay, so perhaps not absolutely everything was perfect, she thought, taking a few deep breaths before returning to the café area. Still, it was a small price to pay for freedom. And that, at the end of the day, was what she valued above anything else.
    Home these days was a small flat in an apartment block overlooking the bustling Piazza Torquato Tasso. Her budget hadn’t stretched to a sea view, but from her window you could see the passeggiata every evening, the leisurely stroll enjoyed by locals and tourists alike as the sun sank in the sky. She had her own titchy bathroom with a dribbling shower, a single bed, a few changes of clothes, her laptop and a temperamental fan to stir up the soupy air. She didn’t need much else.
    When she’d arrived in Sorrento eight months ago, she’d envisaged herself settling down here, making the city her home. Her Italian was pretty good, and she thought it would be an easy matter of blending in with the community, making friends, getting to know her neighbours. Who needed family anyway?
    Unfortunately, it hadn’t really worked out like that. She knew Vito from the café, sure, and the manager, Federica, and both had always been friendly enough, but there wasn’t the same camaraderie there as other places she’d worked in. No shared drinks after work, no out-of-hours socializing. The one time Federica had taken pity on her and invited her along to a family party, Sophie had felt completely out of place, her choppy blonde bob and green eyes immediately marking her as an outsider.
    Oh well. Being alone every night wasn’t the end of the world; she liked her own company, had always been an independent sort. She checked in with Facebook now and then if she felt lonely. She had books. She had the blogging community too, a whole host of virtual friends around the world who followed her adventures on the travel blog she’d written