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Massimo’s singing grows louder as he dishes himself up a huge slice of lasagne. His movements are angry and the lyrics talk of booty calls and feeling used.

Recognising the song asWhy'd you only call me when you're high?I join in with him.

He dances his way over to the huge dining table in time to the beat of the song and points to me as we both shout the question central to the song.

We’re grinning at each other like idiots when we notice Matty and Bluey have appeared from the internal garage stairs. Matty shakes his head at us.

“Something smells, unreal in here,” he says sniffing the air.

“Cheska made lasagne,” Massimo says with a mouthful of hot pasta. He swallows it and continues humming theArctic Monkeys. He repeats the line from the chorus quietly, his eyes following Bluey who is fetching himself a plate from the cupboard.

I’m starting to think Massimo might have a thing for him. My poor bestie. Bluey is second only to Elio in being a giant friggin’ manwhore. He is a ranga lothario.

The guys are just depositing their empty plates in the dishwasher when Giovanna trudges up the stairs from the garage, her footsteps heavy and tired. She stops at the top and raises her eyebrows at them before her eyes sweep the room to settle on me sitting at the dining table nursing a glass of red wine in one of her hoodies and some sleep shorts.

“Smells good, Ches,” she says, stepping out of her shoes and kicking them out of the way.

“Tastes fuckin’ unreal too, boss,” booms Bluey over his shoulder as he grabs a couple of glasses and a bottle of whiskey from a cabinet. “League kicks off in ten minutes,” he says to Massi and heads off to the TV room. They’ll be preoccupied with rugby league for the rest of the night.

Giovanna sits down opposite me with a healthy portion of lasagne and salad. She takes a bite and groans exaggeratedly. “Yummmmmm. Darlin’, this is delicious.”

I can’t explain what makes me respond the way I do, but I guess it is reflexive. “You’redelicious,” I shoot back cheekily, shocking myself with my brazen flirting.

Her fork stops mid-air on the way to her mouth.

“Francesca,” she warns, shaking her head.

“I don’t know why I said that,” I tell her honestly, my cheeks growing warm and pink.

“We can’t, Francesca,” she says with a pained expression on her face.

“We already have though.”

She chuckles softly. “Yeah we have, darlin’ and it doesn’t mean I don’t want to do it again. We just…can’t.”

“You said you need me,” I whisper, embarrassed.

She groans. The look she gives me is full of heat. Her eyes darken and I can almost see the battle playing out behind them. When she doesn’t say anything, I stand quickly and take my plate to the dishwasher. My cheeks are burning and the sting of rejection bites.

Sitting at the table, Giovanna’s back is to the kitchen and I take a moment to run my eyes over her broad body. Her dark hair is pulled up into a small bun at the back of her head and I appreciate the sexiness of the buzzed undercut she maintains. It just makes her look so fucking gay and that is a serious turn-on. Her strong jaw moves as she chews and I’m mesmerised by the muscles in her neck flexing slightly.

I wish I understood my obsession with this woman. It is as old as I am. I can’t remember ever not thinking she was the most amazing human on earth. She is under my skin. Even eight years on the opposite side of the world did nothing to dull it.

Ugh. I’ve made a complete tit of myself.

My hands are wrinkling in water that is almost too hot and I use a scouring pad to scrape at the empty lasagne pan. The leftovers have been cut into even portions and popped in the fridge for my family of hungry mobsters to reheat later.

I feel like one of those perfectly put-together ‘Pinterest Moms’ who labels everything and only feeds her children organic food. I wouldn’t mind that, to be honest. Perhaps because of how loveless my relationship is with my parents, I have always craved a family of my own making. I dream of showering my children with love, and security, and being the parent that I so desperately needed.

Foolish dreams for a woman who is engaged to a man who can’t manage even the pretence of monogamy and is in love with a woman who is committed to ensuring she marries the aforementioned man.

But it does get me thinking that if I want to feel more in control of my life maybe I should start carving my own role in this family. My own place. Rather than sitting and waiting for everything to happen to me, I can contribute in ways I want to. Create my own power. Running away proved to be a pointless and painful endeavour.

Deep in thought about enacting my Pinterest fantasies, I jump when a warm hand slides under my hoodie and along my stomach just above the waistband of my sleep shorts. The warmth of Giovanna’s body, as it crowds my back, sends my pulse racing and my breath hitches as hers tickles the skin behind my ear.

“Thank you for dinner,” she murmurs and kisses the side of my neck gently. It sends a shiver up my spine and the hand against my stomach pushes me back against the muscular body behind me.

A smile creeps across my face. Looks like she’s changed her mind.