I lower my gaze and step back, opening the door wider, but I can’t find my voice, can’t even breathe as he enters and his scent engulfs me. I count to three. There are so many thoughts racing through my brain, so many possibilities. Is he here to apologise or is it something more? I don’t dare let the hope take hold, not again.
‘Faye.’ He sounds as if he’s talked himself hoarse, the rasp in his voice making it barely recognisable. I feel his hand on my shoulder and I duck away, turning to face him, my eyes wide.
‘Please, don’t touch me.’ I can’t stand the contact after two weeks of nothing, no call, no message, no email even. Just something, anything, to tell me I wasn’t alone in my suffering.
‘Sorry.’ He pockets his hands deep within his designer coat and his throat bobs; the lines bracketing his mouth deepen. He looks so grey beneath the deep bronze of his skin, and now he’s up close I can see those dark smudges under his eyes. He looks...broken.
I walk round him to the kitchen and throw the ice cream in the bin. It’s past saving now and I need something stronger. I reach for the wine I opened earlier and pour myself a glass.
‘Would you like one?’ I’m on autopilot now. ‘It’s nothing like the Chianti on your estate but it’s pleasant enough.’
He’s watching me. I feel his eyes burning into my back, provoking every nerve, but he says nothing. Nothing at all.
‘You need to speak, Rafael!’ I crack, spinning to face him. ‘You came here to talk to me, for Christ’s sake, so speak! I’m many things but I’m not a mind reader!’
His eyes widen and his voice breaks. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘You said that already.’ And now I feel guilty. It wasn’t his fault I fell in love. I did that all by myself. ‘Sorry. I just... I don’t know why you’re here.’
‘You don’t need to apologise. I’m just... I’m just taking you in. Taking in that I’m really here with you.’ He rubs a hand down his face. ‘The last two weeks have felt like for ever, and the longer I went without you the more I wondered whether I would ever see you again.’
‘Well, that was the plan, wasn’t it?’ I turn and take up my glass, throwing back a gulp, needing it to quash the dizzying mass rising up inside. ‘To have our fun and move on.’
He drags in a breath. ‘It was.’
‘So...?’
He’s quiet and I flick him a look, about to prompt again when he gestures to the wine. ‘Can I take you up on a glass...per favore?’
I take another glass down off the shelf and pour, not caring when it sloshes over the side. He reaches out to take it from me, but I place it on the counter-top between us—anything to avoid the risk of our fingers touching, no matter how briefly.
He doesn’t react to the move, but I know he notices. ‘Grazie.’
And then I wait.
‘I did as you suggested,’ he says eventually, so quietly I have to strain to hear him over the rain that pounds against the patio doors. I look at it now, watching as it runs rivers down the glass, obscuring the outdoors. ‘I spoke to my mother about the past, about what happened to my father and the years that followed.’
My lips lift just a little at the corners because, though I may be hurting, I still care. ‘That’s good.’
‘We had a long talk, an honest one, and you were right. She was lonely; she was trying to fill the void my father left without risking her heart again. She chose men for fun, for companionship, but never chose anyone she would risk loving again.’
I nod so he knows I’m listening.
‘She avoided love for so long but then, when Giovanni came along, it changed everything. She wants to be happy again; she wants to be with him. She’s decided love is worth the risk after all.’
I give him the smallest of smiles as I recall their potted history. ‘They did look happy together.’
‘They are happy. Happier than I’ve ever seen Mamma look.’
I frown. ‘You called her Mamma?’
His mouth twitches into a smile and it shaves years off his tormented face, making my heart bloom in spite of everything. ‘Si.’
He works a hand through his damp hair and rain flicks off the ends.
‘God, you’re soaked, Rafael.’ I move into action, unable to ignore it. ‘Let me get you a towel.’
He reaches out to stop me, his wet hand still warm on the exposed skin of my wrist. ‘I don’t care that I’m soaked. I only care for you.’