Page 24 of Good Girl
‘Hey, no need to look so serious,’ he says, his smile dropping away. ‘It was a long time ago.’
‘Yes. But even so. It must have really knocked your sense of self-worth. And I’m guessing that’s probably had repercussions ever since.’
He shrugs and looks away across the piazza, as though it’s not a big deal.
‘Sandro,’ I say quietly, and wait for him to look at me again. ‘What she did to you was awful. Wrong. Criminal, almost. You know that, right?’
He just raises an eyebrow at me. ‘I guess it wasn’t a great way to behave.’
‘Have you talked to anyone else about it?’
He shakes his head. ‘Only my father at the time, and he brushed it off like it meant nothing, so I’ve not told anyone else since. What’s the point anyway? It was years ago.’
‘So I’m the only other person that knows?’
I feel privileged that he’s trusted me with something so personal, but also keenly aware I should try to help him recognise the effect it might have had on the choices he’s made in his life ever since.
‘Yeah, well, it’s not something I’m particularly proud of so I don’t go shouting about it to everyone I meet.’
‘You have no need to feel guilty about it.’ I stare into his eyes, trying to express how serious I am about that. ‘You were young and she took advantage of you in the worst way possible. It wasn’t your fault, or a case of you not being smart enough.’
He just gazes at me for a moment and I think I see something shift in his eyes. ‘Well, thanks. I appreciate you saying that. But let’s not talk about it any more. It’s done with. I’m fine.’
I want to argue, but I can see from the closed expression on his face now that he really wants to change the subject.
So instead I reach across and gently stroke my thumb over his cheek to let him know I’m on his side.
Out of the corner of my eye I see a flash of light, as if the sun just caught on something reflective, and I turn to look towards where it came from. There’s a group of people milling around a couple of stalls there, but I can’t see what would have caught the light.
‘You know, it’s weird, but I keep feeling like we’re being watched,’ I say, shaking my head at how ludicrous that sounds.
‘Really?’ Sandro says, glancing over to where I was just looking. ‘Perhaps you’ve had too much coffee and sugar and it’s making you twitchy.’ He turns back to face me, his eyes gleaming with seductive mischief. ‘Perhaps we should think of a way to burn off that energy. They have large bathroom stalls in this place, big enough for two.’
I can’t shake the discomforting knowledge that he’s using sex to distract me from something he doesn’t want to face.
‘Not right now,’ I say, giving him an awkward smile.
‘Okay, then, perhaps we should just go for a walk,’ he suggests, looking a little miffed that I’m failing to respond to his flirting.
Tamping down on the feeling of unease that’s swirling through my stomach, I give a nod of agreement. ‘Sure, that sounds like a good idea.’
Sandro stands up and tosses some money onto the table for our breakfast. Is it my imagination or are his movements more jerky than usual?
We take a stroll down to the grand Piazza Duomo and once we’re in front of the magnificent cathedral Sandro tells me from memory the fascinating history of the artwork as we walk around it. I soak it all in, aware that only a small part of everything he’s telling me will stick in my brain.
His voice is so wonderfully animated and warm, I feel myself sinking into the pleasure of listening to him speaking. He has a seemingly encyclopaedic knowledge of the works of art and architecture of the buildings, and his interest in and respect for the artists is glaringly apparent. A warm glow of admiration builds in my stomach as he becomes more and more animated, his eyes shining with excitement. He’s such an engaging person to listen to when he’s on his subject.
And I thought it wasn’t possible for him to be more attractive than he already was.
‘How do you know all this?’ I ask, gazing into his eyes, which are sparkling with exhilaration.
He shrugs. ‘I guess I remember it because it interests me. Maria, my father’s mistress, is an art historian and she talks to me a lot about it. We’ve toured the city a few times together when I’ve made trips here.’
Looking at the pleasure in his eyes, I have a sudden mad urge to reach up on my tiptoes and kiss him. And then, just as suddenly, it occurs to me that we haven’t done that yet—kiss on the mouth, that is. He’s had his mouth pretty much everywhere else on my body, just not my lips.
A slow roll of heat makes my skin tingle, and I feel myself flush, so I turn away and pretend to study the statue we’re standing next to. ‘And what about this one?’ I ask.
He launches into its provenance but, despite my interest in the history of it, I can’t stop my mind from wandering back to the story he told me about his experience at school—how the teacher had used him and has probably made him feel as if the only worth he has is in taking women to bed. My heart squeezes in distress at the thought of this and I’m aware of a disconcerting swirl of shame growing in the pit of my stomach. Am I not reinforcing this belief for him by appearing only to be interested in him in a sexual way? The idea of that fills me with horror.
‘You know, I really should get back soon. I have so much work to do,’ I say determinedly, shooting him a look of regret. I don’t want to cut our time short here, but the unease I’m feeling about our agreement is making me antsy. I need some time on my own to process how I’m feeling about it.
He frowns at me, clearly a little taken aback by my sudden withdrawal, then shrugs. ‘Okay, if you want. That’s cool.’
But I know itisn’tcool. None of this is. And I need to figure out what to do about that.
