Page 20 of Italian Weddings

“ I S SOMETHING HAPPENING WITH Raf?” she asked Francesco, as soon as they were alone. The rest of the family were standing around the table, talking, laughing, and Gianni had just taken a seat at the piano, to begin the traditional post-dinner karaoke session.

All night, any time Raf’s name was mentioned, she’d become aware of the way glances were exchanged, and silence fell, so she’d started to wonder if her being there was constraining conversation.

“Why do you ask?”

Frustration zipped through her. “Because everyone’s acting weird when his name comes up.”

“Are they?”

She sipped her wine, aware she was well into her third glass, and starting to feel a little fuzzy around the edges.

“Don’t do that,” she muttered, glancing away, careful to keep her voice lowered.

He expelled a sigh. “It’s personal.”

The pain cut deep. It was a rejection without even trying to disguise it. “Right.”

“I don’t mean—I promised him I wouldn’t break his confidence.”

“But everyone here seems to know.”

Francesco’s lips were lined with white from the force of how hard he was clamping them together.

“Forget I asked,” she said, sipping her wine. “But FYI, I looked like an idiot tonight.”

“You really didn’t.”

“Fine. I looked like what I was—someone on the outside.” Her voice cracked, so she sucked in a deep breath and tried again. “If this was real, you would have told me about Raf.”

“I told him?—,”

“Everyone knows that kind of promise doesn’t apply to couples.”

He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “I hate to state the obvious, but we aren’t in fact a couple.”

“I know that,” she snapped witheringly, ignoring the pang in her chest. “But we came here pretending to be, and a little heads up about whatever’s going on with Raf might have been nice.”

He opened his mouth to say something but then, surprised her by nodding. “You’re right.”

“I am?”

“I should have told you.”

She waited, silence stretching between them, as Francesco appeared to choose his words with care. “His marriage is over.”

“What?” she hissed, slopping wine onto the tiles as she gestured her surprise with her hands. “But…”

“But what?”

“They’ve been together ages. I was at their wedding. I thought—they seemed?—,”

“It came as a surprise to all of us,” Francesco admitted. “She is not my favourite person, but I always presumed she loved Raf and made him happy.”

“And she doesn’t?”

He considered that a long time, and then answered, simply, “No.”

“What happened?”

“I won’t go into that.”

And even though he didn’t move a single bit, it felt as though his hands were pressing to her chest, physically pushing her away. She blinked rapidly, ignoring the feeling of acid wash in her throat.

They were friends. They’d been friends a long time.

But that didn’t entitle her to know all his secrets, nor his brother’s.

This wasn’t real, and their friendship wasn’t one that included long heart to heart talks and deep and meaningful revelations.

Why would she be so upset that he hadn’t told her this?

Because it left their ruse exposed, she realized. He’d made it harder to sell the idea of them as a couple.

“That’s your prerogative,” she said with a lift of one shoulder. “But just so you know, it makes it seem like something’s off with us.”

He glanced towards the table, his features held tight. “They love you.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’ve known your family a long time. They accept me. But there’s no way they’re going to buy me as your girlfriend now.”

“They’ll buy this for what it is: short term and casual, not the kind of situation in which we bare our souls to one another,” he corrected, turning back to face her. “And given my track record, it will not surprise anyone to know that’s all this is.”

Her heart gave a little stutter and whimper.

She looked away. Her heart wasn’t involved.

The closest she’d ever come to falling in love with someone was Tom, and even that she now saw for what it was.

Being in a relationship with him had been safe.

It hadn’t threatened her heart at all, because he’d never really had it.

“Okay, fine,” she said, like it didn’t matter at all. “It’s your family, your choice.”

He nodded once, but then grimaced. “I’m sorry you felt blindsided.”

She shook her head, dismissing his apology and the affect it had on her. “Is Raf okay?”

“Not right now, no. But he will be.”

“You’re sure?”

He shook his head. “He has to be.”

Willow wanted to help. She wanted to ask Francesco for more details, but she knew he wouldn’t share them. There were two people working to keep this relationship contained, and that included holding secrets close to the chest.

“Is there anything else I should know? Anything that’s likely to come up over the weekend?”

He dragged a hand through his hair. “Not that I’m aware of.” His eyes latched to hers. “Look, I’m sorry about Raf. I probably should have flagged it with you. It’s just, all kind of fucked up, and he asked me not to tell anyone. I don’t even think anyone here knows the full story.”

She bit into her lip, genuinely worried for Francesco’s brother now.

“And I need him to know he can trust me. If I tell the family, and they go running over to him…”

“Yeah, okay,” she said, nodding, feeling a little ashamed of how much she’d put her own feelings ahead of Raf’s.

“I was with him last week,” he said, lifting a hand and hooking her hair behind her ear, then dropping it to the small of her back, guiding her to a wrought iron bench that overlooked the pool. “When I called you, that night.”

Willow remembered the way he’d sounded. Like something was weighing on his mind. And like he’d been drinking a bar dry.

“I didn’t know.”

“It was spur of the moment. Gianni and Maria had mentioned he wasn’t doing too well. I thought I’d go check in.”

She sat down on one side of the bench and tried to control her fluttering nerves when he took the seat beside her, a little too big for the chair, but so pleasingly close to her. Warmth flooded her entire body.

“Is that what you called to talk about?”

“Yes,” he said, but in a way that almost sounded uncertain. To underscore that, he frowned. “Honestly? I just wanted to?—,”

“To what?”

He looked as though he was fighting an inner battle. Pulling himself back from a ledge. “I wanted to hear your voice.”

Her insides seemed to drop all the way out of her body.

“Everything with Raf and Marcia, it’s so messed up. And all I could think was that you’d know what to say. You’d know how to fix it.”

“Oh, Francesco.” She wished his words hadn’t done this. That she wasn’t feeling as though she was flying way above cloud nine. It was way too much trust to put in someone who minutes earlier had vowed that this was short term and temporary.

“But you were with Tom.”

Ice flooded her veins. “Yes.” It was barely a whisper.

She felt Francesco’s eyes on her and knew something important was happening.

Something that would require her to bring her A game, because if she wasn’t very careful, they’d step right through those carefully erected boundaries, and everything would get all messed up between them.

When she didn’t elaborate, though, he spoke instead. “The thing is, I was worried about Raf, and furious with Marcia, and I wanted to talk to you, because you’re my friend. I don’t want to do anything that will mess that up.”

She felt as though her whole body was being put through the ringer. “You won’t.” She made herself smile. “Neither of us will.”

“I’ve never been in your room before,” Willow said, ignoring the butterflies in her stomach as she stepped over the threshold into Francesco’s bedroom and glanced around, taking in the large, spacious room with a set of French doors opening out onto a small terrace.

“And what do you think?”

“It’s different to what I expected,” she admitted.

“What did you expect?” he asked, lifting his polo shirt over his head, exposing a rippling abdomen and deep, caramel tan. Willow’s mouth went dry, and she jerked her gaze towards the bed, simply to distract herself. Which didn’t work at all , because bed was suddenly all she could think about.

It had been a matter of hours since they’d slept together, in her London home, yet her libido seemed to think it had been weeks. Desire flared in the pit of her stomach, sending her pulse haywire.

“I guess I didn’t give it too much thought,” she tried to backpedal, only realizing as she said it that it wasn’t completely true. She’d thought about Francesco. She’d thought about his room, his life, his string of high-profile romances.

“We only spent holidays here, at first,” he said, looking around. “This started off as a guest room. But as dad became less and less able to take care of us, holidays became weekends, then some weeks, as well. Before I knew it, we were spending most of our time at the Villa, with Gianni and Maria.”

“It explains why you’re all so close.”

He nodded. “Perhaps we always would have been. I know that’s what Gianni and Maria wanted. But yes—being raised virtually as siblings…”

“I can’t imagine what that would have been like,” she said, lifting one shoulder.

“You don’t seem close to the twins.”

“They’re younger than I am.”

“Only by six years, right?”

“Yes, but it’s a vital six years.” She frowned. “Though, even at nineteen, I was…different.”

He made a grunting sound of agreement, and her smile was lopsided. “I remember.”

“Do you?” her heart pitter pattered in warning. She ignored it. Silly, silly. “What do you remember?”

He seemed to appreciate the danger, too. He took a small step away from her, half-turning towards the French doors and looking out at the velvety night sky. “That was around the time you moved to London.”

She nodded, unevenly.

“I ran into you at that bar.”

She moved across the room, coming to stand beside him. “As I recall, you were surrounded by a group of impossibly beautiful friends, including one rather stunning actress who was draped all over you.”