Page 20 of Giovanna

I have never dreamed of much. Just that. Just to be loved and to love. Family and motherhood.

“You decide,” I mumble, propping my head up with my hand, elbow on the Marino’s dining table.

It is a conscious decision not to make this easier on anyone involved. I won’t fake enthusiasm to make the people forcing me into a loveless marriage more comfortable.

“Francesca,” my mother snaps, flapping two essentially identical wedding invitation samples across the table at me. “You are getting married, behave like an adult!”

“Let’s cancel the getting married bit and I’ll continue to be immature then?” I’m not usually this belligerent, but being amicable and well-behaved has not served me well.

Dragged and dumped from one end of the world to the other and back again.

Naturally, I think I am quite easy-going, a nurturer. A lover, not a hater. But it is difficult to be sweet when your life has never been your own.

The two invitations land on the table with a slap and my mother shoots an exasperated look at Peta who is sitting across from her.

Peta gives her a sympathetic smile, but then turns it to me as well. Not for the first time I wonder how she ended up in this family and in love with a gruff mafia man so much older than her. She is too good, too wholesome for any of this.

“Ness, I think what Francesca is trying to say is that she trusts your judgement on the wedding invitations,” her words are gentle and placating. And a very generous interpretation of what I am saying and thinking.

It works to soothe my needy mother’s irritation. She sets the embossed, and probably perfumed, pieces of card aside and scribbles something in her leather-bound Wedding Planner Notebook. She bought it from her favourite Swedish stationery shop.

“Right. Elio will obviously have Matteo as his best man and Massimo as a groomsman - “my mother begins, but before I can check myself and maintain my cool air of disinterest I interrupt.

“- No. Massimo will be my maid of honour. Or man-of-honour. Call it what you want.”

“Absolutely not, Francesca!” she is as appalled as if I have suggested ceremonial granny tossing at the reception for entertainment.

Poor Peta must be about ready to bang her head on the table. She looks between us as if she is watching a live enactment ofJudge Judy.

“What are you three plotting?” Just as my mother and I are locked in a death stare-off as Peta’s eyes dart between us, Giovanna strides into the kitchen.

I wrench my gaze from Mum and glare at Giovanna.Enabler.

“Wedding planning,” Mum replies in a treacle sweet tone at the exact time I say, “exploring new forms of torture”.

Giovanna snorts and the water she just gulped comes spraying out of her nose. I laugh maniacally and Mum snaps at me again.

“Actually, Giovanna, you could be Francesca’s maid of honour…” Mum thinks she’s had a fucking brainwave.

“Absolutely fuckin’ not,” Giovanna says and I follow her up with vehement agreement. Not a snowball's chance in hell.

It would be a final slap in the face to have to stand next to Giovanna while I marry her brother. They will have to carry me down the aisle kicking and screaming.

“Oh, why not?” Mum begins, but Giovanna quickly reminds her of where she stands in the pecking order.

“Vanessa,” she warns. “No, and that’s final.”

Why can’t she just say ‘no, and that’s final’ to the whole thing? She is letting me be thrown into a miserable life and doesn’t even care.

I look down at my hands in my lap. Relieved that Giovanna won’t be my maid of honour, but dejected that there is no one willing to protect me from all the other strategic games of my family.

One day, I always thought, I would have someone who would be willing to stand up for me. Who would put me first. Love me like I’m precious. That love would make up for the lack of it from my parents and the vulnerability I have always felt.

But no. No chance for that now. Elio doesn’t love, he lusts. I can’t imagine him protecting anything but his own ego. I’m on my own.

Chapter Ten

Giovanna

---