Page 26 of Italian Weddings

T O SAY HE GLOWERED through the rest of the night was an understatement, but in a testament to how sickeningly happy Rocco and Maddie were in each other’s company, they were too wrapped up in their own little love bubble to notice. Which suited Francesco brilliantly.

After dinner, he caught a cab to a bar, ordered a whisky, and contemplated starting something with one of the many beautiful women he could see. In his experience, it didn’t take much effort to charm someone into coming home with him.

Despite that, just the thought of it seemed to represent a monumental effort, so he polished off his scotch, threw some money on the bar and left again, choosing to walk the kilometre or so to his place rather than hail another cab. He needed to blow off steam.

What he wasn’t expecting, when he got to the front of the building, was to find Raf, leaning against one of the pillars.

“This place is like fucking Fort Knox,” he snapped. “And don’t you ever answer your phone?”

He’d turned it onto flight mode after Willow had left, to stop himself from calling her to explain. The truth was, he had no idea if he needed to explain, or where he’d even start. He just knew he’d messed up tonight, but he couldn’t begin to process why.

“What are you doing here?”

“I got bored of New York.”

Francesco raised a brow, as he moved towards his brother and wrapped him in a hug. He felt slim. Too slim.

“Come upstairs,” he muttered, even when it was the last thing he felt like doing. He wanted to be alone.

No, that wasn’t true. He wanted to be with Willow, but that was a dangerous thing to want so he refused to feel it.

“You’re not busy?”

“Do I look busy?”

“That’s no reason to think you won’t be entertaining later.”

A muscle ticked in Francesco’s jaw. “I wouldn’t have invited you if I didn’t mean it. Come upstairs.”

He flicked his phone and the security doors opened.

Once inside Francesco’s penthouse, Raf looked around, so Francesco realized his brother hadn’t been here. “Nice place,” he said, echoing Willow’s words, that first time she’d come.

His heart thumped slowly, painfully. He stalked to the bar. “Drink?”

“Is that even a question?”

“How are you?”

Raf dragged a hand through his hair but his obsidian eyes were focused on Francesco. “I feel like that’s something I should be asking you.”

“Why?”

“You look like shit.”

Francesco barked out a short laugh. “Thanks.”

“You look…angry.”

“I’m not.”

“Or upset.”

“Jesus, Raf. I’m fine. You’re projecting.”

“If you say so.” Raf took the proffered drink then moved to the large windows, with their stunning view of the park. “Where have you been?”

“Dinner with Rocco and Maddie.” He omitted Willow’s name on purpose. Raf wasn’t aware of the ruse, and he wanted to keep it that way.

And yet, a moment later, Raf asked, “And Willow?”

Francesco’s heart thumped faster, as he whirled around to face Raf.

“Maria mentioned it.”

Guilt, and something else, sliced through Francesco. “Did she?” He hesitated. “When?”

“A couple of days ago.”

Francesco closed his eyes on a wave of something far too complex to comprehend.

“I thought it strange that you hadn’t mentioned it. Maria says you’re good together.”

Francesco pulled a face, then drained his glass, before replacing it on the kitchen counter. “Looks can be deceiving.”

“What does that mean?”

And despite their ruse, and their promise to maintain it, with Raf, who’d been through so much, and been so open with Francesco, he felt a pull towards absolute honesty.

“Just that. It’s not always what it seems.”

Raf grunted. “Don’t I know it.”

Francesco winced.

“Did Willow lie about being pregnant to trap you into marriage too?” he asked, sarcastically, his voice grating with hurt. Francesco reached out, putting a hand on his brother’s shoulder.

“Sorry,” Raf grunted. “We weren’t talking about me.”

“We don’t have to talk about me.” Then, with a shake of his head, “There’s nothing to talk about, as far as I’m concerned.”

“Don’t do that. I hate that you didn’t tell me about Willow.”

“It’s not a big deal. It’s casual.”

“You’re dating one of our oldest family friends—that can’t not be a big deal.”

Francesco’s gut twisted. “It’s casual,” he repeated.

“Does Willow know that?”

He thought of Willow, and how she’d been that night.

When he’d pulled her into his arms and kissed her, and she’d held onto him like she never wanted to let go.

His insides churned with a strange and horrible tangle of feelings.

“Yes,” he blurted out, hoping it was true.

Hoping that he hadn’t hurt her. Hoping that she didn’t hate him.

He couldn’t bear that.

“We’re really fucked up, aren’t we?” Raf said, his lips twisting in a ghoulish smile. “I mean, I know we’re like him, but I didn’t realise how like him until now.”

Ice seemed to trickle down Francesco’s spine.

“I suppose it would be impossible for us to have normal relationships with women, after seeing the way dad was.”

Francesco grunted. He’d thought the same thing a million times but hearing it out of Raf’s mouth made a part of him want to fight it.

“Rocco’s happy,” he pointed out.

“He can be the exception to the rule.”

Francesco moved away, refilling their glasses generously. He felt like getting drunk tonight. He felt like drinking to the point of obliterating his ability to think. To miss her. To do something stupid and promise her things he knew he’d never be able to deliver.

“Can I ask you something?”

Raf made a noise that Francesco took for acceptance.

“How come you stayed with Marcia so long?”

Raf took the drink then went to the sofa, sitting on the edge of it, long legs spread wide. “What do you mean?”

“Let’s say you and I are the same,” Francesco said, cradling his own drink as he took the seat opposite Raf and stared at his brother. “That because of dad or whatever, we’re never going to be able to commit to a woman. That we’re just not interested in that.”

Raf grunted.

“I always thought the best way around that was to keep things light. I’m hardly a monk, but I’ve never made a woman a promise. I’ve never made her think I want more than a few nights.”

“And Willow’s okay with that?”

Francesco’s blood went from ice to arctic sheet frozen. “She knows what I’m like,” was the closest he could come to agreeing, because he had no idea if she was okay with anything that had happened between them. Hell, he had no way of knowing if she was okay, period.

Raf sipped his drink. “Marcia knew what I was like, too.”

Francesco sat back, waiting for Raf to continue, somehow just knowing he wasn’t done.

“Right from the beginning, I was honest with her. Marriage was off the table. I told her— fuck, ” he shouted, as he dragged a hand through his hair, his features tortured.

“I fucking told her I would never get married except for the sake of a kid. After the way dad was, I knew that was non-negotiable. I’d want my kid to have a stable home.

Maybe she thought I’d change my mind. I don’t know. But she clearly got tired of waiting.”

Sympathy was a rushing wave inside Francesco. “But why didn’t she try to fall pregnant before this?”

“She probably did,” he muttered. “I always believed her when she said she was on contraception. Even then, I never took chances. I was careful, too. Except for one night, when we’d been to a friend’s party.

I’d been drinking. I barely even remember it, but the next morning, she told me we hadn’t used a condom.

That was three weeks before she told me she was pregnant. You know the rest.”

Francesco felt absolute hatred then, for the woman who’d used Raf so shamelessly to get what she wanted.

And yet, loving someone who didn’t love you back had to hurt like a bitch.

He couldn’t condone what she’d done, but he had no doubt she did love Raf, in her own way.

And seeing the rest of the family marrying off, one by one, knowing Raf would never give that to her…

“Do you miss her?” Francesco asked, leaning forward, wondering why the answer meant so much to him.

Raf’s eyes sliced through Francesco, causing him to shiver. “That’s the weirdest thing. I don’t. It’s like learning what she’s capable of obliterated any good feelings I ever had for her. She’s dead to me. I just can’t believe I spent so long thinking we had this thing that worked.”

Francesco nodded slowly. “Did you love her?”

“I was kind of happy,” Raf said, with a frown. “I was comfortable,” he corrected. “I didn’t realise how much more she wanted from me. How much she was starting to resent me, for holding out on her. I should have ended it a long time ago.”

Francesco nodded, but it wasn’t really Raf he was agreeing with, but himself, and his decision of a few hours ago.

He’d never be able to give Willow what she wanted and deserved, and if they kept seeing each other, and he kept holding himself back emotionally, she’d come to resent and hate him too, like Marcia had Raf.

The best thing he could do was to stay out of her life, and that’s just exactly what he intended to do.

Her text came through the next day, just before lunch, when Francesco was midway through sharing a greasy pizza with Raf, neither of them feeling that fresh after the night before.

It’s done. Thanks for everything. Take care of yourself.

Which made his gut drop to his feet, never mind the amount of scotch he and Raf had drunk.

He had to fight an urge to call her, to ask how her dad had taken the news. And a protective instinct to make sure she was okay, because he knew Meredith wouldn’t have taken the news lying down. God, he hated that woman.

But he did neither of those things. He slipped his phone back in his pocket and kept talking to Raf like nothing had changed. Because while she might have gone through with their fake break up, for some reason, he didn’t feel like doing the same thing.