Page 9 of Giovanna

I am aware of Elio flitting around like the social butterfly he is, though I would rather die than be caught staring at him. He certainly hasn’t let something trivial like the fact that it is his engagement party stop him from flirting up a storm with practically every woman in the place. Even the nonnas aren’t safe from his charms.

“Have some self-respect,” I mutter to myself, but Massimo hears.

“Who, Elio?” He nods in his brother’s direction.

“No, I know how highly he regards himself. I mean those women. Look at them throwing themselves at a man at his engagement party.”

The look Massimo gives me is sympathetic, but it also says ‘You better get used to it, honey’.

Sipping from perhaps my fourth prosecco, I am now drunk and give significantly fewer shits than I did when we arrived a couple of hours ago. Massimo and I are catching up with his other, much less arrogant, brother Matteo and I’m enjoying myself finally.

Matteo appears grumpy like Giovanna, but he has always been sweet to me. He is three years younger than Elio at 33 and just slightly shorter. He has the same buzz cut and there is no doubt whatsoever that they are brothers. The only real difference is in how their personalities are expressed on their faces. Where Elio is enigmatic and charming, Matteo is dark and brooding. Both draw the attention of a room when they walk in.

Massimo mentioned that Matty spent a lot of the time I was away in prison and I can tell that something haunts him. He is more broken than I am, I think. Curiosity pricked, I am tempted to ask questions about it, but his shuttered expression suggests he doesn’t talk about his time behind bars.

Matty gives me a reassuring smile and I realise that Elio would be my last choice of the four siblings.

That sobering thought is interrupted by the arrival of the final Marino sibling. The one who would be my first choice. The one who I have been desperately in love with since I was twelve years old. Giovanna.

Chapter Five

Giovanna

26 Years Old

“Little Miss Rossi? What are you sulking about?” I venture to ask the glowering 12-year-old sitting cross-legged on the floor in her damp swimsuit.

Massimo sits next to her, distracted by his iPod and disinterested in whatever emotional crisis his best mate is experiencing. The pair of them should have already showered and be in their pyjamas by now, but apparently, their ears are painted on.

“I’m fine,” she mumbles, elongating the end of the word sarcastically. These kids were so much easier to look after before they discovered eye rolling and developed attitude problems.

“Hmmm,” I crouch down so that my eyes are more level with her morose angelic ones. “I don’t believe you. What’s going on?”

“Nothing!” She shouts and pulls her scrawny legs into her chest, wrapping her arms around them.

“Do you think I’m an idiot?” My question causes her to lift her head in confusion. After a beat, she shakes her head sadly.

“But you must think I’m an idiot if you expect me to see your tear-stained face and believe there is nothing wrong!”

She remains silent.

The sobs she thought wouldn’t escape the bathroom walls were clearly audible and I know something is up. The poor kid doesn’t have anyone to give a shit about her, well apart from Massimo. Her parents are the very definition of useless.

I just can’t pretend that I don’t know she is so upset.

“Okay, so you won’t tell me what’s wrong…” I cast around for ideas. “Okay, okay. How about you choose a song on Massi’s iPod that like…reflects how you’re feeling? Yeah?”

Her light brown eyes peek over her knobbly knees. She’s contemplating it.

“Go on! Gimme a song, Cheska!”

Massimo scoots closer to Francesca and offers her his iPod and after a moment of wordless communication, she sighs and grabs it from his hand.

Massi wriggles his eyebrows at me comically as the clicking sound of Francesca scrolling through his playlists fills the space. She is concentrating and I am just beginning to wonder how long this process is going to take when she attaches the iPod to the aux cord and the opening bars ofChasing Carsplay through the lounge speakers.

It is certainly an emotive song.

Francesca makes herself into a ball again and listens to the music passively without looking at Massi or me. Fuck. Maybe this is just making the situation worse. I just wanted her to express herself.

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