Page 58 of Giovanna

Relief takes the tension out of my shoulders when I look out into the back garden to see that despite the raucous noise there are only a handful of Marino soldiers lounging in the sun, drinking beers.

Massimo is in the centre of the outdoor sofa looking up at Bluey who is poised to leap off a bar leaner into the pool.

He is pointing at Tiny, Fat Tony’s son, and shouting, “How can you even have a stag-do without strippers?”

Tiny is getting married soon. His bride-to-be is a cousin of the Marinos, Sarah. Cute couple and it sounds like Tiny knows what side his bread is buttered on if he is declining strippers. Good. These men could do with spending time with men who respect the women in their lives.

“Well, I’m not bothered if we don’t do strippers,” Massimo shrugs with a smirk.

“Not helping, Massi. Be an ally to straight blokes!” Bluey flips off the high table dodging the empty plastic water bottle Massi throws at his head.

I haven’t seen this ‘lad’ version of Massimo. It was just us and whoever we partied with when we were in London.

Seeing him hanging out with the guys and engaging in all the masculine banter gives me a knot in my stomach. Insecurities make their way to the surface and panic claws at my airways.

If this is his scene, hanging out with me must be a total drag.

The thought occurs to me that I might be feeling like this because I am already feeling paranoid about what he has known about my arranged marriage. I don’t have much room for reason and logic right now though.

“Hey Cheska,” Bluey calls out from the pool and the other guys call out hellos as well.

“Massimo, can I speak with you please?” I ask him after a half-hearted wave to the others.

“Sure, what’s up?” he smiles.

“Like, privately…please?”

His smile disappears and his brow creases. Standing and draining the last of the beer in his bottle, he nods and follows me into the house.

I lead him over to the window seat in the far corner, diagonally as far from the back garden as possible. He sits and looks confused when I put enough space between us to prevent any touching.

We don’t do personal space. Not with each other.

“Ches, what’s going on?” he can’t hide the real concern in his voice.

Taking a big breath, I just blurt it out. “When did you know we were going to leave London? A-and that I was going to be…married off?”

Resignation dawns on his face and I know in a split second that Stefan was right. Maybe he is just looking out for me. Being a big brother. Better late than never, I guess.

“Look, Ches -”

“I don’t want to hear any bullshit, Massimo. I’m already ODing from your brother.”

“I knew we were going to get brought home,” he drops his head. “But there was no point trying to fight it so I didn’t want to ruin our time by worrying you…”

“That wasn’t your call to make. We could have made a plan or something. We could have hidden!” We could be living in a quiet Spanish village right now. Or somewhere in the Swiss Alps. We had the time and means to avoid this clusterfuck, but we didn’t because we aren’t on the same side like I thought we were.

Massi furiously runs a hand through his golden brown locks in a gesture that is infuriatingly like the one his eldest brother makes regularly. “You don’t think our families don’t have the ability to track us down? Come on, Francesca!”

“We - We had money and we’ve made friends all over Europe…”

He looks at me with a mixture of pity and disdain at my naivety. “That money would be turned off like a tap and they know every single place we’ve visited every single contact…”

“You were reporting back this whole time?” It is meant to be a statement, but it comes out more as a question. Or was it vice versa. I don’t know. The bottom is falling out of my world and I am in agony.

Massimo nods sadly, eyes cast down and my hand itches to reach out and slap him across the face.

“Why were you in London?” my voice is dead, and my heart is already breaking.

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