Page 36 of Replay
“When you offered to come here and help us out, it wasn’t so you could chain yourself to my leg and pay your dues. You’re not punching a clock, and we’re not going to accuse you of not caring the minute you don’t log forty hours!”
“I know that.”
She clutches her belly firmly, her nostrils flaring with determination. “Then don’t use me as an excuse for your fear.”
I inhale sharply at her very pointed words. She must take pity on my shock because she reaches forward to touch my leg soothingly. “I just want you to see that we are doing quite well here. And we love having you here. I have greatly enjoyed the experience of living with a sister, but none of that should come at the expense of your own happiness. You’re quite capable of having it all, Smarty Spice.”
She shoots me a very Freya-like wink, and I expel a soft laugh. “All that may be true, but I’m not sure Santino is the man to take that gamble with. A leopard doesn’t truly change his spots.”
“If you say so.” Freya huffs and hits me with a knowing look. “Although, you somehow managed to change yours, didn’t you?”
I groan exhaustedly. “It’s not the same thing.”
“It’s not that different, Smarty Spice! It’s not unheard of for people to change. You’re sober now, so the idea that Santino might not be the Lord Voldemort manwhore we all took him to be could be a faint possibility.”
I bite my lip as I ponder that thought for a moment and then quickly shake it away. “Well, it doesn’t matter anyways because we’re just friends. And I’m only going over there for a quick chat because he did a lot for us with this deal and I don’t want to be a total cunt. Just a quick apology, then I’m out of there.”
“If you say so,” Freya replies with a sneaky smile. “Where should I tell your brother you ran off to?”
I swallow nervously. “Just tell him I went out to the markets. I’ll probably shop on my way back, so it won’t be a complete lie.”
Freya nods excitedly. “I’ve got your back, sis.”
I drive my car over to the building I remember Santino pointing out the other night after dinner. I could text him and tell him I’m coming over but after being such a prat, I think this warrants a bit of an unexpected gesture.
That is…if he’s home in the middle of a Sunday. I mean, it’s just venturing on one o’clock. If he has a date for the night, surely it wouldn’t start until later, right? Unless he had someone sleepover last night. And she’s still there now? Oh my God, that would be humiliating.
My hands tighten around the wheel, and I wonder if I should turn back now and save myself all the trouble. But then I remember how thoughtful he was to draw up that contract and how thrilled Freya was to sign it and scan it over to them right away. Santino didn’t have to help us, but he did, which means I didn’t have to be such an arse to him when he simply wanted to celebrate.
I find Santino’s building with ease. The enormous floor-to-ceiling windows make everyone inside look like they’re in a fishbowl. I stand at the entrance, searching for his buzzer, and then see P beside his name.
“Of course he’s in the penthouse,” I grumble and lift my finger to press it.
“A little help please,” a young female calls out as she attempts to push a buggy out the door.
“Oh, of course.” I rush over to hold the door open as she scoots her way out with a giggling baby cooing from within.
“Cheers for that. After lugging this thing down two levels, I’m spent.”
I laugh and watch her walk away, looking the picture of a flustered new mummy. Funnily enough, I could never see myself with kids. Or pregnant, for that matter. I just never inherited that maternal instinct so many women have. Being the cool aunt is a vibe I feel much more capable of handling. And very soon, Freya and Mac will be giving me that title.
I realise I’m still standing there with the door open, so I bypass the buzzer and make my way up the four levels to the top floor. I take the steps slowly, trying to mentally prepare myself to see Santino again.
The reason I was such a twat when he asked to celebrate was because all I wanted to do at that moment was kiss him right there in that boardroom. That would have been horribly awkward of me, not to mention highly unprofessional. But the way Santino was looking at me with pride and genuine happiness all over his face was overwhelming. That job offer—that moment in my career—felt like something I never thought possible. I was so struck with emotion that I got swept up in those feelings I have struggled to keep quiet. And those feelings were fixating on Santino’s brooding pout that I can faintly remember the taste of.
But…Santino and I are just friends. I know that. He knows that. Which is why this visit will be just two mates toasting with a couple of platonic fizzy drinks.
When I reach the top floor, I can hear classic Italian music coming out of the flat with a large P on the door. I hesitate and consider tucking tail and leaving because the thought of Santino entertaining a guest hurts me on some deep, dark stupid level that I have no right to be offended by. Moreover, even if he does have a guest over, that doesn’t mean I can’t stop by to say thank you. I just need to say what I came to say and let him get on with his day.No more running, Tilly.
With a deep breath, I knock on the door and prepare myself for some beautiful woman to answer in a slip of a dress and freshly fucked hair because that would be just my luck. However, when the door swings open, I’m shocked to find an old, white-haired woman standing on the other side. She’s wiping her hands off on a white apron splattered in red sauce, and she’s staring at me like I’m interrupting a very important meeting.
“Oh, I’m sorry…I must have the wrong flat,” I choke out, my voice drowned out over the loud instrumental melody. I feel a semblance of relief as I turn to leave, but before I do, my eyes catch sight of something behind her that causes me to nearly drop the glass bottles in my hands.
It’s Santino.
In a kitchen.
Cutting up tomatoes?
