22. RAFE
RAFE
Iam obsessed with Diana Marchetti. I can’t get enough of her. Every time she smiles, or laughs, or her eyes light up at something I say, I have a motherfucking physical reaction. A damned flutter, where nothing should be fluttering at all.
Tonight, it’s dark outside, and I’m sitting on the sofa, the warm glow of side-table lamps filling the room. A rugby match is playing on the TV, but it can’t hold my attention because my thoughts keep flitting back to Diana.
I shouldn’t spend as much time thinking about her as I do.
It’s all wrong.
And yet, I don’t stop. I can’t.
I shouldn’t have taken her to the opera, shouldn’t have danced with her on the kitchen island.
I shouldn’t swim with her every day; shouldn’t have bought her clothes.
Shouldn’t have replaced my book collection with hers.
Feeling the way I do, I shouldn’t even help her with her business anymore; what if I give myself away?
She’s more than capable of managing alone. She learns fast, and actions faster; I love seeing her progress, and working with her has given me more pleasure than I had ever anticipated.
But now, she doesn’t really need me at all.
Lizzie is leaving soon, which means Diana will leave too, and this will all be over; a short-lived era of my life that I’ll recall as pleasant and nothing more.
It’s not life-altering. It’s not pivotal. I’m not shaping my future around the shape of one woman.
I’m not doing that.
I cannot.
She’s my daughter’s friend. Aside from any other considerations, like the age gap and her current dependence on me, I’d be betraying Lizzie’s trust and it would feel like going behind her back.
In some ways, it already feels that way.
I take my phone from my pocket and start to scroll. I do this far too often. Every night when I’m alone in bed, before I fall asleep, I watch Diana’s recent videos. It started when I decided to make a list of books she loved for the library, but I found I couldn’t quit, even after I’d compiled it.
The buzz of the TV fades from my awareness as I play a video she made in my office. I pay attention to every word she speaks, while trying to ignore any other sensations her videos elicit. Yes, she’s beautiful. Vibrant. Can’t-take-my-eyes-off-her gorgeous. Anyone would agree with me.
But would anyone else fall asleep, their dick hard, and guilt infusing their body like poison?
Or is that affliction uniquely mine?
I change the video, choosing the one where I lift her onto the kitchen counter.
She edited it perfectly. It has millions of views.
Thousands of comments, almost all of them about Diana and how beautiful she is.
I’m an irrelevancy; I could be anyone. A prop, nothing more.
There’s no way of knowing it’s me. The kitchen is so dark, you can hardly recognise that it’s my house.
But it is my house, and it is me. I’m the lucky guy who got to lift Diana Marchetti onto a kitchen counter.
I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve watched it, reliving the moment over and over.
I let my head fall back against the sofa, seeing myself as someone else might. A thirty-six-year-old man watching social media videos of a twenty-one-year-old.
I don’t like the picture at all.
Am I going to be left like this when Diana leaves? Watching videos of her and never being able to see her in person?
Laughter comes from down the hall, and I jump at the sound. Fumbling to click off my phone, I kick my feet up on the coffee table and put my hands behind my head as if this is what I’ve been doing all evening. I definitely haven’t been sitting here ogling my daughter’s best friend.
Nope.
Lizzie and Diana appear, dressed to go out.
They both look great, but Diana takes my breath away.
She’s wearing a one-shouldered pale blue dress that caresses her body like I wish I could, and her hair is loose and long.
She’s like rays of sunlight over a summer sky, and a strange pain twists in my chest. I wish I could be the one taking her out.
Or that she could stay here with me. I wish I had a reason to keep her.
God, I’m pathetic. I want to be where she is all the time.
I try not to stare as I mute the TV and sit up.
“Going out?” I ask.
Lizzie digs into her handbag, barely looking at me. “Yeah. Diana got invited to a movie premiere in Leicester Square. I’m her plus one.” She snaps her bag closed, hooks her arm into the crook of Diana’s, and grins. “Isn’t she beautiful? I’m not sure I’ll ever have a date this gorgeous again.”
Diana doesn’t meet my eye.
I try to think of an appropriate response, but come up empty. “A movie premiere?” I ask.
“Tell him, Diana,” Lizzie says, then proceeds to tell me herself. “It’s the first one she’s been invited to, and all because of her commentary on the book. The first of many. I’m so proud.” She slips her arm free of Diana’s. “I’m going to grab my coat.”
“No one wears a coat on the red carpet,” Diana calls after her, but Lizzie ignores her and rushes off to the cloakroom.
I push off the sofa and walk towards Diana. I’m scarcely aware I’m doing it, compelled to close the distance between us. “What’s the movie?”
She clutches a tiny handbag in front of her. Have I moved too near? Is she holding it that way to ward me off? I take a tiny step back, which makes her frown, and she takes a tiny step forward, erasing the space I created.
What does it mean? Does she want to be closer to me?
Fuck. I am second-guessing everything here.
“It’s a rom-com,” she says, mentioning the title and reclaiming my attention.
“Ah, the Cinderella retelling I remember. Your second favourite book of last year, after Taming the Beast.”
She flinches; a tiny movement. Perhaps I shouldn’t have admitted I know the exact ranking of her favourite books, but she doesn’t press me on it.
Her eyes skim my face, settling on my mouth for a fraction of a second. “I would have asked you to come, but I only have one extra ticket. And I figured Lizzie would enjoy it more than you.”
I want to tell her I’d enjoy anything if it meant I could sit next to her all night, but the idea of uttering the words aloud horrifies me. “That’s probably true.”
“Oh, definitely,” Diana says quickly. “You’d hate it.
That’s why I didn’t mention it, but I wanted you to know I thought about it.
About asking you instead, I mean, because of how much you’ve helped me.
But I knew you wouldn’t want to come, so I didn’t say anything.
I didn’t want to ask and have you feel obligated to accompany me like you did with the opera.
I—” She presses a hand to her forehead. “I’m talking too much. ”
“No,” I say, a softness to my tone that probably reveals how much I love listening to her. It’s so much better in real life than it is on the videos.
She emits a small laugh. “I am. But I’m sure you know what I mean. It’s like that with you. I want to, but I can’t.”
The air between us thickens.
I have no idea what she means; don’t want to think about what she might mean. I have to clamp my mouth shut to stop myself asking for clarification.
But more than that, I’m afraid I know exactly what she means. I understand it in my bones, and have for weeks.
I want to, but I can’t.
“Ready!” At the sound of Lizzie’s voice, Diana jolts like she’s been struck. “Sorry, didn’t mean to frighten you,” Lizzie says, skipping into the room with her coat looped over her arm. “Let’s go. I don’t want to be late for my first ever red carpet appearance.”
I wave the two of them off, knowing that Lizzie will always come back, no matter how far she travels, because this is her home. But one day, before I’m ready to say goodbye, Diana’s going to walk out that door and never return.
I have no idea how I will ever make my peace with that.