Page 37 of Friends Who Fake It

“I thought everyone had to be here,” Willow said. “I had some very strong arm twisting to come for this weekend.”

“Raf couldn’t make it,” Francesco reappeared at their sides, his eyes meeting Rocco’s, so Willow frowned.

“Is he okay?”

Francesco forced a smile. “Did anyone offer you a drink?”

“What do you take us for?” Portia asked, in mock offence, but in a way that also had Willow wondering: was she covering something? Were they all?

That sense of not being wanted, not being included—of being a perennial outsider—came out of nowhere, wrapping around her so hard and so fast, she almost lost her breath.

“They did,” she murmured, “but I think I might go top up my wine.” She glanced down at her glass, that had a few sips remaining and quickly drained it. “Excuse me.”

And just like that, her eyes stung as though she were going to cry, and she had no idea why.

ChapterTen

“IS SOMETHING HAPPENING WITH Raf?” she asked Francesco, as soon as they were alone. The rest of the family were standing around the table, talking, laughing, and Gianni had just taken a seat at the piano, to begin the traditional post-dinner karaoke session.

All night, any time Raf’s name was mentioned, she’d become aware of the way glances were exchanged, and silence fell, so she’d started to wonder if her being there was constraining conversation.

“Why do you ask?”

Frustration zipped through her. “Because everyone’s acting weird when his name comes up.”

“Are they?”

She sipped her wine, aware she was well into her third glass, and starting to feel a little fuzzy around the edges.

“Don’t do that,” she muttered, glancing away, careful to keep her voice lowered.

He expelled a sigh. “It’s personal.”

The pain cut deep. It was a rejection without even trying to disguise it. “Right.”

“I don’t mean—I promised him I wouldn’t break his confidence.”

“But everyone here seems to know.”

Francesco’s lips were lined with white from the force of how hard he was clamping them together.

“Forget I asked,” she said, sipping her wine. “But FYI, I looked like an idiot tonight.”

“You really didn’t.”

“Fine. I looked like what I was—someone on the outside.” Her voice cracked, so she sucked in a deep breath and tried again. “If this was real, you would have told me about Raf.”

“I told him?—,”

“Everyone knows that kind of promise doesn’t apply to couples.”

He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “I hate to state the obvious, but we aren’t in fact a couple.”

“I know that,” she snapped witheringly, ignoring the pang in her chest. “But we came here pretending to be, and a little heads up about whatever’s going on with Raf might have been nice.”

He opened his mouth to say something but then, surprised her by nodding. “You’re right.”

“I am?”

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