Page 8 of Giovanna

They call it the ‘Big Room’. Or at least they did last time I was here. The name is an understatement though. The multipurpose living area takes up almost the entire first floor of the house. It is an entertainer’s dream, but it is also so open that there is nowhere to hide.

MarinoFamigliasoldiers traipse in and out of the Big Room constantly throughout the day and night, but they know not to venture beyond into the family’s living quarters. They enjoy Peta’s famous cooking at the huge wooden table with bench seating and often have a few beers in the evening out by the pool.

The house is part family home and partFamigliahome.

My heels click on the polished wood flooring and I am taken back to the obstacle courses Massimo and I used to set up in the Big Room when we were children. We would wear socks so we could slip and slide on the polished floor.

The entire back of the room is glass windows and French doors that open out onto the back garden complete with a pool and outdoor entertainment area. More strangers mingle out there, wine glasses or beer bottles in hand.

Outside the air is warm and close and inside it borders on oppressive. I resolve to try to get Massimo to jump in the pool with me at the end of the night. Just like we did when we were kids.

“Francesca,bella!” My father’s voice is magically filled with affection now that he has an audience. Retrieving a glass of prosecco from a waiter, I trail after my parents putting as much haughty sass in the sway of my hips as I can.

An older Uncle Sandy stands next to Dad and Auntie Peta next to him, she still looks as fabulous as ever. I give Peta a big smile and she wraps me in the first genuine hug I’ve had since arriving in Australia. Massimo gets his warmth from her.

Uncle Sandy clasps both my hands as he presses a kiss onto each of my cheeks. “Bella, bella, bella! Elio is a lucky man, Francesca. You have grown into a beautiful woman.”

Trying to hide my cringe at the reminder that I am here to be given to a man twelve years older than me, I give Sandy my most dazzling smile. Mum nods approvingly at me and it makes me want to stop smiling immediately and do anything to rebel, anything.

“Did you miss me?” A warm breath tickles my neck and I turn to find Massimo looking dashing in a perfectly fitted dark navy blue suit.

“More than you could imagine. Why can’t I marry you?” I whisper wistfully back to him as he wraps me in a big hug.

“I would do it if I could, you know that right?” He’s suddenly serious. “I’d happily pretend to be straight with you for life, but I’m just the youngest son.”

I squeeze his hand and nod. I know he would and we would probably have the happiest sexless marriage there ever was.

As we stay wrapped in our embrace, trading whispers, I hear Sandy call out to Elio and a bolt of panic shocks me. I don’t think I’ll ever be ready for this.

“Elio, come say hello to your bride,” his voice drips with the kind of self-satisfaction one can only have when they have the power to play God in the lives of others.

“I’m really not interested, Pop. Thanks for the party, but I’m not getting married.” Elio sounds as shitty as I feel. I’m comforted knowing he hasn’t been desperately wanking over photos of me and is as reluctant as I am to enter this marriage.

Massimo lets me go and Dad tugs me forwards by the wrist as Mum gives my lower back a push. I half stumble and find myself standing in front of my future husband.

He is just as tall as Massimo, about 6-foot-4, and equally as handsome. However, where Massimo has perfectly styled caramel hair swept into messy tufts, Elio still has the same dark buzz cut he had when I last saw him. His eyes are dark brown and framed by thick lashes and his bone structure can only be described as perfectly chiselled.

Elio is so good-looking that under different circumstances I certainly wouldn’t kick him out of bed, that is if I wasn’t being made to marry him.

I look up at his scowling face and shrug. “Hi,” I say.

He snorts and looks me up and down, assessing me head to toe. Then, completely deadpan, he looks over at his father and sneers, “Okay fine, she’ll do.”

“I beg your pardon,” I keep my voice quiet and attempt to make it menacing.

He smirks in response. “Take it as a compliment.”

“Do you think I want to marryyou?” a shrill, forced laugh escapes me and I poke his chest with my index finger. “Do you think I am happy that I have been plucked from the other side of the world to chase around after you?” The volume of my voice is rising and I can see the anxiety radiating off my parents and Sandy. “Have you considered that maybe I might want to marry someone else?”

Elio takes my chin in his thumb and forefinger and tilts my face up to look at his. “I don’t care, princess. I really don’t give a shit.” He presses his lips ever so lightly and briefly to my temple and then turns on his heel and marches away.

After a second of processing the utter disaster that is this potential marriage, I turn and hurry in the opposite direction. Massimo follows me outside and wisely allows me to down my glass of prosecco and take some deep breaths before he attempts to speak with me.

“Well, that went better than I expected!” He says brightly and he is being dead set serious. “I expected at least a little bloodshed.”

“The night is still young, Massi. Don’t give me any ideas.”

We hide outside for as long as we can get away with and then are dragged around to say hello to relatives and friends who have either pretended I don’t exist for eight years or who I have never met. I am in my own personal hell.

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