Page 48 of All Mine (The All Mine #1)

Isabella

Isabella looked ahead at her empty calendar that she’d intentionally cleared to focus wholeheartedly on Tutto Mio until opening. Then she turned away with a sigh. That meant no chance of running into Etienne and although that was probably a good thing, her nipples didn’t think so.

She glanced at her ridiculously long to-do list; the closer they got to launch day, she only seemed to add items, rather than tick them off.

She’d started her social media posts, steadily building likes and followers and promoting the opening event on TikTok. The most important thing was that people give the restaurant a try. Because hopefully if they tried it once, they’d be back again in the future.

She’d already visited each of her suppliers and now had to put in final orders for meat, vegetables, pastas and condiments. Plus, she needed to get her membership at the local cash and carry for alcohol and stock the bar.

The vintage tables and chairs she had ordered would be arriving in the next few days and she couldn’t wait to dress them with candles and flowers.

Menus were at the printer’s. Aprons and napkins and tea towels hadn’t yet arrived, and she needed to chase the delivery.

The list went on. And on. And on.

Well, at least she had lots to do to keep her mind off a certain French man who was good with his hands.

Nonna was cooking rum biscuits by the tray load. She was always in a good mood after making a batch, probably because she sampled the rum every time.

‘Right on time,’ Nonna said and pushed the still-hot tray to Isabella.

‘Not for me,’ said Isabella, shaking her head.

‘But they’re so good,’ said Nonna, reaching for one herself. She took a bite and closed her eyes. ‘ Bellissima! Why would you deny yourself pleasure like that?’ She set about transferring the biscuits to a cooling tray, helping herself to another sip of rum as she went.

Isabella watched her grandmother thoughtfully as she worked.

Perhaps she was right. Why would she want to deny herself pleasure?

And she wasn’t thinking about biscuits. Even if she had caught a case of the feels for Etienne, that didn’t change the deal they currently had on the table.

They could enjoy no-sex fun until her sex ban was up.

Then, if they had sex and it was of his usual one-night variety, it would be the last time she got to enjoy the pleasure that was Etienne Martin.

So, shouldn’t she enjoy it as much as she could before then?

She marched back out of the kitchen and up to the window. The Bistro was closed; it was too early for the lunchtime serving. But it was not too early for the type of snack she had in mind.

Her to-do list could wait. She glanced at herself in the mirror, her shining eyes and full lips smiling back at her. She pulled her hair from its messy bun and let the waves fall down her back.

‘See you later, Nonna,’ she called back to the kitchen, pulling on her coat and throwing a scarf around her neck. ‘Errands to run.’ And she meant run too, as she speed walked across the square, one thing and one thing only on her mind.

It wasn’t until she got to the door of The Bistro that she saw the taped-up handwritten note there that stopped her in her tracks.

Closed today. Personal circumstances.

She bit her lip. That put a spoke in her plan.

Now what? She put her hands to the glass and peered in.

There were no lights on but the tables were already dressed for the next sitting.

She scanned the room. The restaurant was empty, apart from one person in the corner.

Head in hands, with a bottle of red wine in front of them. Etienne.

The feeling inside her flipped to concern. The slump of his shoulders. The wine at this time of the day. He literally looked like a study in sadness. She didn’t think about what she was going to do, she just did it. She knocked on the door, loudly.

He lifted his head towards her. She watched indecision cross his face before he stood up and came to open the door, holding the wine bottle by its neck.

‘We’re closed,’ he said flatly.

‘I can see that,’ she said, indicating the sign. ‘I wanted to check’– she paused and nodded at him– ‘are you okay?’

‘I’m fine, thanks,’ he said, starting to close the door again. She leaned on it, propping it open.

‘You don’t look it,’ she said, eyeing the wine bottle in his hands.

‘It’s for a toast,’ he said, defensively. But the bottle was more than half empty already.

‘Has something happened?’ Isabella asked. ‘The sign says personal circumstances. . .’ She knew she was being pushy now, but somehow suspected he needed to be pushed.

Etienne blinked at her, then took a swig from the bottle. Suddenly he looked exhausted. He pushed a hand through his hair.

‘My parents died,’ he said.

Isabella dived inside the door and grasped his arms with both hands. His eyes widened.

‘I am so sorry,’ she gasped. ‘What? When?’

He stepped away, freeing himself from her.

‘Five years ago today actually.’ Etienne sighed and pressed his mouth together, as though stopping himself from saying anything else.

‘God, that must be so hard,’ Isabella said, trying to imagine a life where her parents didn’t FaceTime her all times of the day and night and get her to show them how she was getting on with the restaurant.

The other day, Mamma had even demanded she show her the new sinks they’d had fitted in the ladies’ toilets.

Even though her parents weren’t nearby, they were still a major support, a daily part of her life.

Her chest hurt to think about it. She reached out for Etienne’s arm again. ‘I’m so sorry.’

He sighed and rubbed his hand through his hair.

‘Have you not slept?’ she asked, as he sank down again at the nearest table. His shirt was crumpled and his stubble longer than usual.

‘I’ve got a lot on my mind.’

‘Do you want to talk about it?’ She hovered nearby, unsure as to how to help.

‘I can’t,’ he muttered and she heard the worry in it.

‘You listened to me, when I was upset about Daniel. I could listen to you,’ she said, pulling out a chair and facing him, but he shook his head, not looking at her.

She bit her lip. Etienne obviously didn’t want to tell her what was bothering him, but it didn’t feel right to leave him on his own like this.

‘So, you’re going to stay in here drinking all day?’ she asked and he lifted a surprised face towards her.

‘Probably, yes. It’s what I do every year to remember them,’ he drawled sarcastically.

‘Why don’t you go to their graves? Are they in France?’ she asked and he flinched.

‘No, they’re in London. In Kensington Cemetery.’

‘Why don’t you go there then?’ she asked simply.

He let his head roll back on his shoulders and closed his eyes before answering.

‘I went the first year after they died,’ he said.

‘I used to go there with someone else. But now they’re not here, I can’t face going on my own.

’ His breath shuddered and he took another swig of red wine.

Isabella couldn’t help but wonder who that person was.

Someone in his past that he had relied on.

Someone he had trusted. It gave her a sharp, stupid stab of jealousy.

She purposefully pushed it away and did what she thought was right.

She checked her phone for timings and directions.

As she did, she saw the list of things she was supposed to do today and decided they’d have to wait.

Some things were more important. They could be there in an hour and a half if she drove, which would give Etienne time to sober up. They could buy flowers on the way.

‘Come on,’ she said, pulling him to his feet. ‘I’ll take you.’

The entrance to the cemetery was through an imposing grey stone archway.

Leaves fell from the avenue of trees as they walked through.

Row upon row of headstones and memorials surrounded them as Etienne led the way to the left-hand side of the grounds.

He’d changed his shirt before they left and drunk a large coffee in the car.

He hadn’t talked, looking silently out the window.

The landscape changed as they left the countryside and neared London, brown fields turning to suburbs and then city.

Isabella stopped once on a high street and Etienne chose a large bouquet of bright yellow sunflowers.

The last of the season according to the florist.

‘There were fields of these in France where Mum grew up,’ he’d said as she pulled away again.

Now, he hesitated. An old man looking cold in an ageing black leather jacket and with slicked-back white hair shuffled past, glancing in their direction on his way to a visit of his own.

‘My parents are there,’ Etienne said, nodding at a gravestone across the way.

Isabella sat on the bench, knowing she’d come as far as she should. She pulled her scarf tightly around her neck and ducked her chin into its warmth.

‘I’ll wait here for you,’ she said and he nodded, seeming to pluck up some courage as he turned and approached the grave.

Etienne was far enough away that she couldn’t hear what he was saying as he spoke to them.

But she could see the care with which he laid out the flowers as he talked.

He traced the stone with his fingertip and pulled tiny bits of moss from the monument.

Doing what he could to make things nice for them, even after their death.

She texted a message to Mamma and Papà. Suddenly wanting to have that contact with them, having seen the grief of someone who had lost it.

Isabella : Ciao, Mamma and Papà. I just wanted to say I love you.

A few seconds later a reply came in.

We love you too.

Her heart swelled with love, and she slipped her phone back in her pocket in time to see Etienne put his lips to the headstone on one side and then the other, in the French way of kissing both cheeks.

Her heart hurt as she blinked a tear away, only to spot a robin sitting on the grave next to him.

She’d heard the sentimental stories about how a robin’s visit is meant to signify a loved one reaching out from the other side.

‘Etienne,’ she called, pointing out the bird when he raised his head. The bird cocked its head. Etienne did the same. The bird tweeted. Etienne smiled. Something moved inside Isabella, seeing him so vulnerable. She saw the old man was watching too as the bird flew away.

‘Thank you,’ Etienne said, returning to the bench. ‘I don’t think even I knew how much I needed that.’

His eyes were brighter, his shoulders back.

‘Sometimes you just need to let other people help you,’ she said.

‘Maybe,’ he said, not looking convinced.

‘You’d do anything for your friends,’ she said. ‘They’d do anything for you. You don’t have to do everything on your own.’

‘You’re a fine one to talk,’ he said, with the first real smile of the day.

‘Ms Successful and Single.’ They turned to leave.

‘Anyway, thank you,’ he said and pulled her in for a hug.

She felt her stomach turn over as he held her against his chest for a second, warm and briefly protected from the wind.

The old man in the leather jacket was still watching them from his graveside.

Maybe he was wishing he had someone with him.

‘You’re a real friend,’ Etienne said as he let her go and she had to remind herself that he was right. The wind whipped around her face again and her heart sank, but she managed to hide her disappointment in a smile.

Mia Famiglia WhatsApp group

Mamma : We’ve been offered an off-road camping trip with a native guide!

Papà : And we’ll get to trek with elephants and follow the jungle trail.

Mamma : It’s the only time to go because of the weather.

Papà : But it’s the week of your launch. . .

Isabella : Follow your dreams! That’s what you always tell me to do!

Mamma : But we feel like we’re letting you down.

Isabella : Not at all. There will always be a table for you at Tutto Mio.

Papà : Thank you, my darling.