Page 95 of Giovanna

Mine. Mine. Mine.

My brain tortures me with images of the pussy being discussed, shiny and wet for me. I know how it smells and tastes and the thought of anyone touching her again makes me feral. But theFamiglianeeds this marriage and I swallow my pride and say, “No, but you’ll need to start treating her with respect if you think she’s going to let you back between her legs.”

This is so fucked up. If I didn’t know he’d been whoring around last night, I’d feel guilty about sleeping with his fiancee.

I turn my attention to Matty, “Have we still got eyes on David Rossi too?”

“You think he’s involved?” he responds.

“It’s the type of shit he loves and he is hanging around like a bad smell even though I gave him his marching orders.”

He nods, “I’ll make sure we have him tailed.”

“It’s all on us now, brothers,” I stare at them both and the hollowness I get back worries me.

Chapter Forty-Two

Francesca

Sixty-six days to go and this morning I lay in bed wondering if I should just stop fighting it. Just switch off my brain and allow the Marino Famiglia and my parents to push my shell of a body around their chessboard.

Now that I know that Giovanna doesn’t want me beyond the night of sex we had, there isn’t much point in resisting the marriage to Elio. Whether I marry him or anyone else I will be miserable because it won’t be her.

I may as well give up on my dreams of a loving marriage and focus on the second part of my dream - motherhood. All I have to do is lie there and let him fuck me without birth control for a few months, maybe more, and then I can focus the rest of my life on my children.

Elio will have his mistresses, but so long as I don’t know about them and he doesn’t knock them up, it won’t matter.

Massimo drives me to my wedding dress fitting. We pick up Sammy on the way and the pair of them try their best to lift my mood, but even though I’m not putting up a fight, I feel like today is all an elaborate sham designed to make me choose the outfit I’ll be buried in.

Mum and Peta are already waiting at the boutique, each holding a glass of champagne. Their heads are huddled together and they’re talking in hushed tones, but I’m a robot now and no longer have any curiosity about what they could be talking about.

Eyes straight ahead, I walk stiffly into the exclusive establishment and take a seat on the ornate pale pink lounge seat situated facing the grand changing room and modelling platform.

Sammy follows me immediately like the good friend she is. She sits next to me, as close as she can, and picks up my hand, squeezing it tight.

Behind us, Massimo kisses his mother and I hear mine ask him if I’m in a ‘mood’.Well, if you consider deleting all your feelings and becoming an ice queen a ‘mood’, then yes, I’m in a mood.

“Good morning, you beautiful people!”

Great. An over-exuberant retail assistant is exactly what we need.

“I’m Penny,” she gushes as she sashays towards us in a pale pink suit jacket and skirt. The skirt is tight and I’m not sure how she is going to bend down and fluff my skirts and whatnot.

With a flick of her Bondi blonde hair that sends her liberally applied perfume wafting toward us, Penny stops with her hands on her hips. “Now which one of you lucky ladies is our bride?”

“Me,” I state with no emotion and barely a flicker of expression.

“Oh,” she is taken aback. I guess she was expecting squealing and for me to jump up and show her my engagement ring.

“It’s an arranged marriage,” I tell her matter of fact and my mother hisses at me. “What? It’s the truth?”

“Let’s just get going shall we?” Penny thankfully leads me through to another room where she has hung up a selection of dresses in roughly my size. I indicate for everyone else to stay behind and wait.

Silk, satin, lace, organza. I trail my fingers through the hanging white garments. They’re beautiful. All of them. Dresses I would love to wear in different circumstances.

I think back to my Pinterest board. For years I collected photos of dresses, venues, party favours, cakes, and floral arrangements. Before Pinterest, I had my notebooks full of carefully cut-out pictures and badly drawn designs. I know exactly what I want.

My dream dress is pure white flowing silk. Sleeveless with a high subtly-draped neckline and a low scooped back. So low it is bare until just above my bum. It flows to the floor, molding to my curves like water.

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