Page 44 of Good Girl
CHAPTER NINE
Juno
IFEELDREADFUL. My head’s a cloudy mess and my body is tense with mortification.
I’d not meant to sound so critical when, for the first time ever, Sandro had come before I’d had a chance to. But I’d been so close to orgasm, with him hitting the perfect spot inside me, it was extremely frustrating when he suddenly stopped.
Not that he hadn’t made it up to me.
But now there’s a strange, fractious sort of atmosphere between us. It hums in the air like a dangerous swarm of insects just waiting to strike. My heart races as we make the short drive home, with Sandro sitting tight-lipped beside me, his powerful body rigid and his concentration fully focussed on the road ahead of us.
Perhaps he’s deliberately withdrawing from me now our time together is nearly up.
My heart contracts painfully at the thought of leaving Florence. Of leaving him.
How can I even think about going back to my steady, closeted life in London when I know there’s so much more for me out here? With him. Not thatthathad ever been on the cards. He’s been pretty clear all the way through that he’s not interested in having anything serious with me. And why would he choose me anyway? I’m nothing like the women he’s dated in the past. I don’t have the pizzazz or street smarts he seems to go for.
I wonder whether he’s beginning to worry that I’ve become too emotionally attached to him and that’s why he’s going cold on me—to make it easier on us both when I leave. It wouldn’t surprise me. He’s incredibly intuitive like that.
In fact, now that I’ve finally grown up, I realise he’s actually the kind of man I’d like to spend the rest of my life with. Someone who excites and inspires me, brings me out of my shell, encourages me to explore new facets of myself without judgement. There’s so much more depth to his character than I’d given him credit for when we first met. I’m actually ashamed of myself now for judging him on such superficial terms. Clearly there’s a lot going on with him that he’s not been able to express because of the strictures of his family’s expectations of him.
‘Sandro?’ I ask tentatively. ‘Is everything okay?’ I’ve already asked him this once but he ignored the question.
This time he gives me a nod, but it’s terse, and so unlike the warm responses I’m used to getting from him.
Tears burn at the back of my eyes, but I’m determined not to let them fall. I don’t want him to think I’m trying to emotionally blackmail him. That wouldn’t be fair at all. Not after what he’s done for me—without ever asking for anything in return.
I suppose I should start to get used to the idea of letting our time together go. But it’s such a horrible thought I immediately push it away.
Not yet.
Luckily, there’s a free parking space right outside our building and Sandro pulls into it and we both get out of the car.
I’m still so deep in thought I don’t realise what the bright flash of light that nearly blinds me is for a second.
‘Fuck off!’ Sandro shouts at the photographer who’s just run up to stick a camera right in our faces, pushing me behind him to try and shield me from the lens. ‘Leave us alone, you piece of shit!’
The guy just leers at him with a contemptuous expression. ‘You’ve changed your tune. Last week you were begging me to take photos of the two of you. What’s this meant to be—some kind of stunt to eke out your popularity in the gossip columns?’
‘I said fuck off!’ Sandro says again, this time stepping menacingly towards the guy.
The photographer takes a step back, dropping his camera to his side, as if he’s afraid Sandro’s about to snatch it. ‘You fucking celebrity socialites make me sick.’ And he spits on the ground at our feet before stalking away.
I stand rooted to the spot, paralysed with confusion. All through that shocking incident I was mostly upset by the blatant disregard for our privacy—it brought back all those old feelings of humiliation from my teens—but now the guy has gone his words begin to penetrate my brain and a heavy feeling of dread sinks through me.
‘Sandro?’ I say shakily. ‘What did he mean by that?’ My heart’s thumping a heavy, painful beat against my ribs.
‘Nothing. Don’t worry about it,’ he says gruffly. But I’m not going to let him fob me off. I reach up and put my hand on his jaw, turning his face towards me so he has to meet my gaze.
‘What aren’t you telling me? Why did he accuse you of asking him to take photos of us?’
There’s a guilty look in his eyes now and cold panic spikes my chest.
‘Didyou call him?’ I demand, with a sudden rush of fearful anger.
‘Yes,’ he replies hotly, turning away from me so I can no longer see his eyes.
I stare at his rigid back as he strides towards the door to our building.
