Page 113 of The Start of Something Wonderful

‘Thank you!’ I say, leaping up and taking them from him.

He mumbles something under his breath and shuffles off down the corridor.

I rip open the envelope …

In bocca al lupo!

Amore mio, ti voglio sposare.

Un caro abbraccio ~Francesco.

How sweet!Good luck! My love, I want to ? you.

Sposare? I haven’t a clue what this verb means.I want to ? you.The random, wild translations that are teasing my imagination cause me to blush profusely. I grab my pocket Italian dictionary, sitting amongst my good luck cards, put on my glasses, and flick through the pages:

sportivo

sporto

sposa

sposalizio

sposare ~to marry; to espouse.

The dictionary falls to the floor. I feel like all the air has been sucked out of my lungs. I catch sight of my reflection: face flushed under my beret, eyes the size of pizza pies. This wasn’t on my write-it-down-make-it-happen list.

‘Miss Forsyth, this is your call.’

Jelly-legged, I make my way downstairs to prompt corner, dizzied by the crazy, jumbled-up emotions spinning aroundmy head. I collect my string bag of bread and lettuce from the props table, and take up position in the wings, waiting to make my first entrance, heart battering my rib cage.

I love Francesco, of that I’m sure; I think about him constantly; he’s funny, generous, supportive, and kind, makes me feel alive, special, desired, respected, and I hate being parted from him; but if I were to marryhim that would mean moving to Italy to live with his father and daughter, whom I have no doubt are lovely too, but I’m just not ready. I’ve worked so hard to get to this point and am not prepared to give up my dream again, just when I’ve been granted my first West End break. All the hardships, the sacrifices I’ve made, I owe it to myself to keep on this road and not allow my judgement to be cloudedover by my emotional need to be loved, and my fear of this possibly being the last-chance saloon.

Whilst I don’t want to end up like some old Norma Desmond with only memories and faded reviews for company, I know I must keep on this path for now, wherever it may take me. Maybe it’s time I accepted that you can’t have it all.

Is it fair to keep Francesco hanging on? Family is everythingto him. He deserves a loving, devoted wife to make the Rossi unit whole again.

They say if you really love someone then you should set them free …

‘Miss Forsyth to the stage, please. Miss Forsyth to the stage.’

From the darkness of prompt corner the stage manager mouths, ‘Break a leg!’ and points his thumb upwards.

I flick away a tear and force my quivering lips into a smile. Mustn’tmiss my cue. Here I go … I inhale deeply and move towards the light …