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Sloshing the maroon liquid into big globular wine glasses, I take a seat next to her. She has her feet tucked underneath her and suddenly looks very young and innocent. Like a little girl wearing her mum’s suit.

She is breathtakingly beautiful and I just can’t fathom what is going on in my brother’s head. He could have come home and taken this absolute stunner to bed. What could he possibly have to do that would top that?

“I wish I didn’t let him fuck me. I just thought it would make things easier,” she almost appears to be speaking to herself rather than me.

Fuck. What do I say to that?I hate that they fucked, but theoretically, they have a lifetime of it ahead of them. I clear my throat but can’t think of how to respond so I just stare into my wine glass, swirling it like I’m at a tasting.

She fills the silence instead. “Are you going to get married?”

“Ha! Not anytime soon,” I laugh shakily.

“So your Dad doesn’t think you need a wife?”

“Nah, I keep myself in line these days.” I shrug.

“And there’s no one you want to marry?”

“God, you’re still bloody nosy,cucciolotta.” I lean towards her and nudge her with my shoulder. “Nah, never did end up with the girl of my dreams. Kissed plenty of frogs though.”

“If I recall you were never short of options,” she casts a cheeky sideways glance my way. I bet I can guess what she is remembering. I am a bit embarrassed that I used to let myself get carried away in front of the kids. It inspired many a painfully awkward Q&A session with little Massimo and Francesca.

“Well, you always did keep a close eye on me,” the corner of my mouth tugs up, and I can’t help but smirk.

I am just teasing her, but she covers her face in her hands and groans. “Was I really that bad?”

She was. She looked at me like I was the most glorious thing she had ever seen. Like I invented eating Nutella straight out of the jar or something. Everyone put it down to hero worship, including me until just before they sent her away. She would have been 16 and I caught her watching me a few times with a look on her face that told me she didn’t want to be me, shewanted me.

“No, you were cute. Curious, nosy, and asked waaaay too many questions. You were a kid, darlin’.” I splash some more wine into both of our glasses and lean my head against the back of the sofa.Darlin’.Little darlin’was what I called her back then.

Francesca has chucked her purple blazer on the floor and the strappy, silky white camisole against her olive skin is driving me wild. The way her chest rises and falls as she laughs at my shitty jokes is distracting. I can just make out the shape of her nipples and it is physically painful to look away.

I’m fuckin’ giddy. One of the most powerful people in this fucking city and I’m tittering and giggling over my brother’s 24-year-old fiance.

Jesus Christ, now she’s stretching. This is slow torture. The white silk slides up over her taut tanned tummy. Help. SOS. Bring in the fucking chopper and get me outta here.

“Massi told me you’ve found a job. Congrats,” I steer the conversation into safer territory.

“It’s just a part-time thing at Strive Fitness. Mostly just helping out around the gym, but I’ll get to run a few classes each week for an organisation that brings in patients for rehab. And I made a work friend already!” She’s a bit coy and downplays the gig, but seems genuinely thrilled to have made a friend.

“That’s great, Cheska. You should be proud of yourself. I know you didn’t want to come home, but you’re doing good.”

Smiling, she gently pushes my leg with a perfectly manicured foot and I catch it. “Thanks, G.”

I should let go of her foot, but I don’t. I do the exact opposite of what I should do and start massaging it. She bites her bottom lip and stretches her leg out so it is sitting on my lap. My self-control is hampered by the bottle of wine we have all but demolished.

“That feels ridiculously good,” she groans and I feel it deep in my cunt.

I’m about to respond with something that I most definitely shouldn’t when we are both saved from our poor impulse control by Massimo. He waltzes in from upstairs frowning at his phone, giving Francesca time to slide her dainty, perfectly painted foot off my lap.

“Matty says Stefan has shown up atPeacocksand Elio is wasted.” He looks up at me. “Check your phone.”Peacocks.The strip club we've owned for three generations.

Francesca sighs and holds up her empty wine glass. “Massi, can you grab another bottle? I need to forget that I’m marrying an arsehole.”

Massimo pretends to be a waiter with a tea towel over his arm as he tops our glasses up, then he pours one for himself and collapses in the plushy dark brown armchair perpendicular to our sofa. “What’s he done now, babes?”

“Just couldn’t get away from me fast enough when we got back from dinner and now I hear it was because he was gagging to get to the strip club he spends half his life in any way.”

Massimo’s eyes briefly meet mine and I grimace subtly. We both know our brother and we will have to lie in order to bring her comfort at this point. Regardless of how charming and fun he can be. He is never going to be a faithful husband. He is selfishness personified and poor Francesca is going to be miserable if she doesn’t reset her expectations.