Chapter 13 Rafaella
Rafaella
The piazza was buzzing as they parked up, scooters everywhere and huge crowds of ragazzi mingling. Boys sat on their Vespas drinking beer while girls clustered at the gelateria, choosing flavoured scoops, aware their bare legs were being admired in the bright lights.
‘She’s such a slut,’ Donatella said, licking her gelato provocatively as she leaned between Gino’s legs, sitting sideways on his scooter.
‘She’s got that look about her,’ Antonia chimed in. ‘You can see it in her eyes. Thinks she’s better than everyone and can just take whatever – or whoever – she wants.’
Rafaella offered no comment, but the conversation wasn’t about her anyway.
Not really. She might be the wronged party in this scandal, but this wasn’t about defending the victim; even Fon’s role in it all seemed incidental.
No, this was a takedown of the mighty Romola Franchetti, and there was not one person here prepared to defend her honour.
Several times Gina had looked over at Rafaella as the other girls bitched, their old loyalty to their childhood friend still hard to shake off despite everything; but each time, she bit her tongue and let the gossip run. They owed Romola nothing anymore.
Like Donatella with Gino, Rafaella was leaning against Fon, who was also sitting on his bike sideways.
Their group had parked in a loose circle and were now holding court as ever more people came to listen in.
Word had quickly spread through the piazza about their exploits at the mattanza today; Dante was standing now with his shirt fully unbuttoned from showing off his war wounds to everyone who asked.
There were at least two dozen girls making eyes at him and admiring his muscles as well as his injuries, but his attention was wholly focused on Gina, his hands moving casually, proprietorially over her body with growing familiarity as they all talked.
Rafaella had never seen her friend look so happy.
Gina had never held out any realistic hope that her crush on Dante might ever become more than daydreams (or dirty dreams) but no one was in any doubt that they were on an inevitable path now.
Poor Luigi looked desolate, cast off without apology, but there was nothing he could do.
He was no match for the handsome older man.
Fon’s hand was squeezing lightly on the back of Rafaella’s neck, pressing on muscles tired from her work reaching in the olive grove. A small groan escaped her and she felt him swoop closer.
‘Is that good?’ he asked, his mouth right beside her ear.
She nodded, closing her eyes, feeling the effects of all the beer on the beach and still trying to shake off the day’s drama.
It had been a long, slow day waiting for the men to come back from the sea but as soon as they had – leaping victoriously into the water and hailing Fon as a hero – the hands of the clock had swung at triple speed: suddenly she and he were talking again; he simply wouldn’t let her cut him out, her forgiveness becoming implied as she accepted the plates of food he brought her and the steady stream of drinks, allowed him to drive her here, to hold her hand …
All because she’d wanted to get back at Cosimo, to make him suffer as she did.
Her jealousy had got the better of her at last and she could no longer be the bigger person.
Romola’s casual betrayal had bled into his indifference as they had both shown her, in their different ways, how insignificant she was to them, how unimportant her feelings – and she hated them for it.
Her only power, she saw now, was to keep them out of her life.
Romola was lying low, of course, but Rafaella had denied Cosimo the chance to talk to her this morning on the promenade; ignored his gaze as she played in the sea with the others on their triumphant return; refused to look over as he stared at her through the flames of the beach fire …
And it had worked. He’d lost his composure at last, grabbing her in front of everyone and demanding to know why he was being punished.
Her heart had soared in that moment, revelling in his touch and his anger and jealousy …
But then Dante had become involved and fists had flown; it had become about the men.
She’d had to pick a side. And how could she possibly pick his when he was going to leave again in a few short weeks and she would still be here, living among them?
Fon’s fingers pressed harder against her neck muscles, as if more of a good thing could only be better.
She knew how much he was trying to make it up to her – she saw the contrition in his eyes whenever he looked at her.
Even Gina, trying to find positives, had said at the caffè this afternoon that it was no bad thing for a man to have a little ‘experience’.
Another groan escaped her and she opened her eyes again to find Dante staring straight at her, scrutinizing her with his brother.
It was an unnerving experience, being held so directly in his gaze.
He scarcely seemed to blink, as motionless as a hawk watching a mouse scuttle through the grass far, far below …
just waiting to strike. His grip tightened on Gina’s thigh, but to Rafaella he gave only a tiny, almost imperceptible nod, as if granting approval of what he saw. As if something had been decided.
‘What do you say, Rafa?’
‘What?’ She tore her gaze away, looking at the others.
‘We want to go swimming tomorrow after work,’ Clara said. ‘Your father will let us take your boat, won’t he?’
‘Come out on ours,’ Fon said generously, pulling on her shoulders a little so that she looked back at him. He smiled. ‘We’ll take you. Our boat’s bigger and faster.’
‘No! It’s a girls’ trip!’ Donatella pouted. ‘We don’t want to be with you boys all the time, you know. When will we get to talk about you otherwise?’
Everyone laughed, even Dante. As if he already knew every little thing they would say anyway.