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I bury my nose in my pillow. It smells like her perfume; fresh, androgynous, jasmine, and patchouli. The sheets smell like our sex and I love that too.

I stretch out and try to keep the anxiety that threatens to steal my joy at bay. The bed is cold and Giovanna is nowhere to be seen. I wish I could have woken up in her arms. We could have had some lazy morning sex. Not that we didn’t have plenty last night; I’m just pussy drunk I guess.

I should get up.

The longer I lie in bed, the further my thoughts descend from innocent and explainable reasons why Giovanna is gone to worst-case scenarios. Maybe she wants me to leave, but couldn’t wake me up. Has she run from her own bedroom? Rapidly I’m destroying the memories of a perfect night of sex and intimacy with paranoia about what it all means this morning. Eventually, it feels like I’ve woken up the morning after the world cup win to find out there was a mistake and I didn’t win after all.

Shower. I need to disrupt my spiralling mood. Turning the dial to the coldest setting, I take a deep breath and step under the stream. My body immediately comes out in goosebumps and I shiver. The shock calms me and I take my time washing my hair and body in the freezing water. I hope Giovanna doesn’t mind me using her stuff, but it's not like she is around for me to ask permission.

After changing the dressing on my neck, I twist my hair into a towel turban and steal a hoodie from Giovanna’s wardrobe. It is super baggy and covers my bum so I don’t bother stealing any underwear or shorts. I only need to get down the hall to the guest bedroom I’m using after all.

I make the bed, even though the sheets need changing. I just don’t want to leave it messy and have her think I’m rude. What should I do with my blood-soaked dress? Can I just chuck it in the bin or do I need to dispose of it more…thoroughly? I leave it next to her laundry hamper; she’ll know what to do.

With nothing else left to do, I slowly open the door that leads to Giovanna’s office and poke my head, damp and unbrushed hair and all, around it.

She’s sitting at her desk, reclining slightly in her chair and she looks up at the sound of the door opening. My heart skips a beat. She’s even sexier now I know how it feels to be fucked by her. She raises her eyebrows, but she is distracted by the phone.

Closing the door behind me, I lean back against it, suddenly nervous and awkward. I wait for a few minutes, but it is obvious that the conversation is an important one. She’s talking to someone about what happened last night. I’m just contemplating whether I should just give her a wave and leave when she beckons me over and pats her lap.

A small trickle of relief soothes my anxiety. She wouldn’t want me to sit in her lap if she was trying to run away from me.

“Hold up a sec, Matty. Just getting my earpods.” She quickly pops them in and leaves her phone on the desk so she has both arms free.

Back in her arms, the trickle of relief becomes a tsunami. She cradles me against her chest and kisses my forehead. Her conversation with Matty resumes, but I’m not paying attention. I’m distracted by the hand she’s running up and down the outside of my thigh.

When she finally hangs up, I get nervous all over again about talking to her. She is back in boss mode, and I’m scared the woman I spent last night with is gone.

“We don’t know who they were exactly. But we know they’re bikies. Affiliated at least. We need to find out who paid them though,” she talks into the top of my head and it takes me a moment to realise we are talking about the guy who had a knife to my neck last night. It’s like anything that happened before Giovanna kissed me doesn’t matter anymore.

“Oh…okay, do you think this was like a one-off? Or…should I be scared?” I ask.

She sighs. “Honestly don’t know at this point, hon. My guess is that there are others involved so we are upping your security.”

Hon. I’ve heard her call her friends that. Last night I was ‘baby’. I love it when she calls medarlin’ too because she always has and she doesn’t call anyone else that. But ‘hon’’ sounds like she is talking to a friend and after last night I don’t want her to see me like that.

She continues talking to me about my security for a while and it’s obvious she would rather talk about this than deal with what has happened between us. Finally, I just interrupt her quietly, “you regret it,” I say, barely above a whisper. It is a statement, not a question.

There’s silence and she goes completely still. I’m not sure that she is even still breathing. I move to get off her lap, but she holds on to me. “Hey, where are you going?” she asks softly.

“Pull the bandaid off, Giovanna. Just don’t lie to me,” my stupid fucking voice cracks and ruins the facade of stoicism I was trying to cultivate.

“Francesca,” she lowers her voice and it sounds like a warning. “Stop it.”

“I’m not wrong though. Am I? Tell me I’m wrong.”

“I don’t fucking regret it,” she hisses. “But, -”

“Here we go. There’s always a ‘but’,” I interrupt.

She fists my damp hair in a bunch at the back of my neck and turns my head so we are staring directly at each other. “I don’t regret a single fucking thing about what we did last night. But yes, there is a fucking ‘but’ because I have the entireFamigliato think about. You are engaged to my brother, Francesca, and the politics around that are fuckin’ complicated.”

“You still want me to marry him?” I gasp, the sharp pain of betrayal stabs my gut and a weight settles on my chest.

“Of course, I don’twantyou to marry him.”

“But you’ll stand by and let them force me to anyway?” My voice raises. I am so stupid. What a naive little girl.La cucciolotta. Always the pathetic puppy.

This time when I stand she doesn’t stop me. “There is a lot more going on than you’re aware of,” she barks and runs a hand through her hair.