‘Of course.’
‘We’re just taking Nonna over to the shade.’
I nod and watch them go, save for Dante, who lets out a huge sigh.
‘That bad, eh?’ I say.
He shakes his head. ‘Would you object if I go and swim in a vat of grappa?’
I laugh. ‘Only if you don’t leave me to deal with this alone.’
‘Families, eh? Who’d have one?’
‘Not me, that’s for certain.’
He eyes me and I feel the question burning, the one that comes out at every family function from young relations and old alike. I head for the bar before he has a chance to ask it. I am, after all, forty-two, and showing no sign of settling down any time soon.
‘Now, about that grappa...’
He chuckles after me and we join Tyler’s parents at the bar. I do the introductions and, as they talk, my eyes go back to the path, searching, anticipating... And then I see it: a flash of red on the sloped path that runs from the house to the pool. I catch glimpses between the trees: a red kimono blowing in the breeze, long, tanned legs, a straw bag under one arm, fashionably large shades and a wide-brimmed sun hat. My pulse picks up; my eyes are transfixed.
I follow her progress until finally she’s at the other end of the pool, surveying her surroundings. Her eyes behind her shades meet mine. I know they do, as her head dips just a little and her lips curve up. Is she wearing red lipstick too, or is it a trick of the light, the sun reflecting her bright kimono?
I get a nudge from behind and a murmured, ‘Who’s Red?’
I flick Dante a look and see his eyes fixed on her, as well as the intent behind them. Just as I predicted. And my blood fires with it.
It? What’s it?
It’s not jealousy. I don’t get jealous.
‘She’s the maid of honour.’
‘Really?’ He gives a low whistle close to my shoulder, discreet enough for only me to hear. ‘This wedding just got a whole lot more interesting.’
I have the overwhelming urge to call dibs.
To call dibs. Gesù!
I reach past Dante to take up the freshly poured grappa he’s just been served and throw it back.
‘Hey...’ He’s not watching her now; he’s frowning at me. ‘Get your own.’
‘Don’t worry, there’s plenty more where that came from.’ I’m already crossing the poolside...
Getting there first isn’t quite as obvious as calling dibs.
It’s merely polite behaviour befitting the host—even if no one knows I own this place. No one except the woman in red inspiring all manner of illicit thoughts.
* * *
I’m staring intently at Dani as I arrive, but every fibre of my being is aware of Rafael. He’s moving in the same direction, his eyes pinned on me, burning into me, and even if the sun were behind a cloud I’d feel just as on fire.
He’s changed out of his clothes from earlier and into a light shirt, unbuttoned, and a pair of—I swallow—swimming briefs. Holy fuck. He’s like a swimwear model and he’s coming straight for me. I struggle to draw breath, struggle even more when a breeze threatens to take my hat with it, and I pin it back in place, which frees my kimono to open up around me, instantly calling attention to every exposed inch. Mesh panel, or not.
I pretend not to notice the slight falter in his stride, the flare in his eyes, or the fact that I feel more eyes drawn to me from the bar, and from the blonde that I know to be Harry’s date for the week.
Why, oh why, did I buy this thing?