Page 41 of Good Girl
‘Ciao, bella,’Francesco murmurs smoothly, stepping towards her and kissing her lightly on both cheeks. I can tell from his body language that he finds her attractive. Too fucking attractive for my liking. ‘And who are you?’
‘I’m Juno. I’m a friend of Sandro’s.’ She says this so easily, I know in my heart that’s exactly how she thinks of me. Just a friend—with benefits, sure, but still just friends.
‘Hey, have you guys visited the Bargello while you’ve been here?’ Francesco asks.
When we both shake our heads, he says, ‘You must! I’m the curator there now and we’ve been doing wonderful things. You were always interested in art, weren’t you, Sandro?’ Before I get a chance to reply, he carries on speaking, looking directly at Juno, to my utter fucking annoyance. ‘Come. I’ll show you aroundpersonally. We have some amazing exhibits at the moment. You’lllovethem.’
‘That would be wonderful, but I’m not going to be in Florence for much longer,’ Juno says sadly.
‘What? No, you must stay!’ Francesco says, giving it the full works: big, sad eyes and a covetous hand on her shoulder. I recognise the move. It’s one I’ve used myself to good effect.
‘Maybe I’ll make it back some day soon,’ she says, clearly buying in to this crap.
I want to punch something. Probably him.
‘I need another drink,’ I mutter, and before either of them can say anything I stride away to the bar and order a double shot of whisky.
Turning back with the glass clutched in my hand, I watch them from a distance, feeling my heart hammering in my chest.
What the fuck is happening to me?
Whatever it is, I don’t like it.
Francesco moves his hand to brush an eyelash off Juno’s cheek and shyly she smiles up at him.
Out of nowhere a veil of blinding rage descends over me. I bunch my hands into fists and drag in a ragged breath, feeling as if someone’s just ripped my fucking guts out. I don’t want anyone else touching her like that, seeing that hazy look in her eye, making her smile. I want it to be all for me, only me.
Not for Francesco—and definitely not for that fucking lecturer asshole back in England.
Unfortunately, she chooses that moment to look over towards where I’m standing and the smile fades from her face.
I see her excuse herself from Francesco and start to move through the crowd towards me.
Forcing a neutral expression onto my face is pretty fucking tough, but I think I manage it, because when she makes it over to me she gives me a tentative smile.
‘Are you okay? It looked for a second like you were annoyed about something.’
‘I’m fine,’ I say, swatting away her concern and staring over her shoulder at a small group of women by the bar.
She turns to follow my line of vision and I sense her tense as she spots what, or rather whom, I’m looking at.
‘Do you know them?’ she asks. Her voice sounds high-pitched and accusatory, as if she thinks I have a nerve to check out other women in the room. This riles me. She has no right to police what I do, not when she clearly thinks it’s okay to make eyes at my friend in front of me.
I shrug. ‘I’ve seen them around at parties. I may have slept with one or two of them.’
This is a lie, and I feel a sting of shame as I see her visibly tense at the insensitivity of my answer.
‘It looks like you’re not finding it hard to handle attention from men today either,’ I add, feeling the need to defend myself. I wouldn’t have been looking at those women if she hadn’t been fawning over Francesco the wonder kid. Even as I think this, I know what a fucking tool I’m being. She’s just testing her new-found abilities. Life has suddenly opened up to her and she’s enjoying treading new ground. I get that.
But I also hate it.
I notice a photographer spot us from the other side of the room and start to head our way, his camera held up ready to take our photo. Panic shoots through me. I don’t want to have to deal with that right now.
‘Come with me,’ I whisper into her ear, taking her by the elbow and quickly leading her out of the room. There’s a sweeping staircase to our right that leads to more function rooms and the roof terrace. A good place to hide out for a while.
‘Where are we going?’ she pants as I urge her to climb the stairs in front of me. It reminds me suddenly of following her up the stairs at the party in Chelsea and I feel a pang of nostalgia for the life I had before we embarked on this crazy folly. But only for a second. What I have in front of me now is worth so much more. I’ll never regret agreeing to help her. Never. Even if it does end up tearing my fucking heart out.
‘I’ve never had sex on a roof,’ I murmur as I come up alongside her on the landing. She looks at me with shock in her eyes.
