next part, i kind of jumped from her in the hospital to her back at the hotel.

The dark haired women dropped her off outside her hotel with a promise to check up on her the following day. As her car drove away, the café across the street was revealed, with the Frenchmen sitting in his usual spot. Truly stood there and stared at him quizzically for a few moments. He looked just the same as ever, as if having saved a girl’s life the say before had not affected him at all. He sighed a deep sigh, his broad shoulders rising and falling with apparently great effort. She could not stand it any longer, she had to see what made a man that overwhelmingly depressed, and she and the perfect excuse. He had saved her life, she had to thank him.
Looking both ways very carefully this time she crossed the cobblestone street. As she approached him, she felt a little nervous. She was a very outgoing person, never afraid to tell anyone what she thought or how she felt about them. However for some reason the thought of actually taking to the man she had been so curious about for so long scared her. He looked up as she approached, nothing changing in his haggard visage. She did not feel worthy enough to talk to him. She did what she usually did in these situations, pushed the bad feelings aside and pulled up a chair to his table.
“Mind if I sit here?” she asked, as confidently as she could muster. He shrugged, and she sat down, taking that as a “yes”. They sat in silence for a moment as she gathered her thoughts and she just stared down at his hands.
“I just wanted to come over here and thank you for saving my life yesterday, since I did not get a change to then. You have no idea how surprised I was to see your face when I came to. I remembered you from this café; I am staying at the hotel across the street. You have no idea how grateful I am…”
“It was no problem,” he said, interrupting her, “I just did what anyone would have done.” Relived that he had stopped her fast talking ramble, she smiled and tried to keep the conversation going. She could tell that he would rather she would go away, but he was not getting off the hoot that easily. She still wanted to know why he was so depressed.
“My name is Truly, Truly Gattuso, but my friends call me Tru. Weird name, I know, but I like it alright. My mom is really into virtues, which is where Truly came from, and my dad is Italian, which is where Gattuso comes from. What’s your name?”
“Henri,” he answered simply. She could see that small talk was not going to open him up.
“Neat name, how do you spell it?” she asked, taking out a notebook. “I remember names better when I write them down.” His eyes caught the pink paged Andy Warhol journal she pulled out of her bag. She thought she saw the smallest change in his face, but she could not define it.
“H-E-N-R-I, Henri,” he said, “The H is silent.”
“Just like you,” said Truly with a friendly smile. His face stayed the same. So jokes were out too, better skip straight to the questions, or she was not going to get anything out of him. She looked around for inspiration. She glanced down at his hands and noticed he was playing with a gold band around his finger.
“Are you married?” she asked.
“I was.” He replied.
“Oh, so are you divorced?” she did not care if it sounded like too personal of a question; perhaps it would shock him out of his silence. It had the opposite effect. “This is the perfect place to look for new love, if that’s the case. Rome is beautiful…”
“She died.” He said, cutting her off. Her words got caught in her thought. As awkward as she felt, at least she found what she was looking for.