Chapter 6
RAFFA
After we finally stop dancing, both of us tired now and thirsty, we go back to the pool bar to watch the sun set into the brilliantly turquoise sea.
The excitable partygoers seem to be making the most of the free bar and are getting more drunk and definitely much louder as the night draws in.
Ida and I keep to the outskirts of the group, choosing a sofa as far away from the epicentre as possible and ordering drinks to our table.
I made sure to speak to as many people as possible earlier, in order to get all the pleasantries out of the way so we could relax later.
Everyone we spoke to seemed to be fascinated by our relationship and Ida did a great job of being chatty and interesting – as well as asking people plenty of questions about themselves – without letting any one person hog our attention for too long.
I can see why her show’s become so successful with her at the helm.
Everyone seems to be keeping a respectful distance from us now though, as if they’ve sensed we’re happy in our own little world of coupledom and don’t want to be approached.
Our fake relationship appears to be doing its job.
‘This is so much fun,’ Ida says, her grin wide as she gazes around her at the festivities.
I prop my head on my hand and lean my elbow against the back of the sofa. ‘So, you’re glad you said yes to my crazy proposal?’ I ask.
‘Sure am. It’s one of the best decisions I ever made.’
I nod slowly. ‘But the wildest?’
‘Yeah. But I’m quite partial to “wild” and I thought you sounded like a fun guy in your DMs so it wasn’t a hard decision.’
I smile at this. ‘I appreciate your faith in me.’
She smiles back. ‘And I appreciate your generosity.’
‘It’s my pleasure.’
‘Mine too,’ she murmurs.
She reaches over and lays her hand on my forearm, her gaze still locked with mine.
My skin burns under her touch.
Which is bloody distracting when I’m trying to maintain a friendly, easy-going demeanour.
Not that I want her to stop touching me.
My heart is racing and I shift slightly closer to her, dropping my gaze to take in the beautiful swell of her lips.
The air feels suddenly heavy with meaning, like something’s about to happen. Something good.
I look up and our eyes lock. I’m pretty sure, from the expression in them, that she’s feeling the same heat between us that I am.
I’m on the cusp of doing something foolish when I sense someone approaching our table and brace myself for another round of hero-worship for Ida.
But when I turn to see who’s come to talk to us, I realise it’s my dad and stepmum standing there with fixed smiles on their faces.
My heart sinks.
Okay. Here we go.
Standing up, I brace myself for the take-down I’m going to have to deal with in front of Ida.
‘Raffa, good to see you made it,’ my stepmother says in her usual cool, steady, but laced-with-an-undercurrent-of-disappointment tone I’ve become so used to having aimed at me.
‘Of course I made it, Carrie. I wouldn’t miss Darian’s wedding. Especially as I organised the last-minute venue.’
‘Yes. We’re very grateful for that. I’m sure that message has already been relayed,’ she says, clearly bristling at what she considers insolence from me.
I can’t win with the woman. Damned if I do and damned if I don’t.
I’ve given up trying to please her because nothing I do is ever enough.
It never has been.
‘It’s a great hotel,’ my dad says in an overly jovial way, as if trying to evoke some peace between us with this lame observation.
‘It’s a bit better than great, Dad,’ I say, fighting to keep my voice steady. ‘It’s one of Elliot’s best and almost impossible to book because it’s so popular.’
‘Yes, lucky that you have such a generous friend,’ my stepmother says.
Annoyance creeps down my spine, but I’m not going to rise to this and give her the satisfaction of seeing me angry, so I just say, ‘Yes. So lucky.’
I can’t help folding my arms though.
I sense Ida standing up and feel her slide her arm around my waist and give me a gentle squeeze, but I don’t look at her. I don’t want her to see the frustration in my eyes.
It feels good to have her next to me though.
‘Well, it’s wonderful to have you here to celebrate your brother’s wedding,’ my dad says after a short tense silence.
‘Darian is made up that you’ve come. And I see you’ve brought someone with you.
’ He turns to Ida now and holds out his hand.
‘I’m Gianni, Raffa’s dad, in case that wasn’t obvious,’ he says, using his fawning voice that always makes me shudder with discomfort.
There’s nothing worse than seeing your parents trying to flirt.
Ida doesn’t seem to mind though because she grasps my dad’s hand and gives it a shake, smiling widely at him.
‘It’s lovely to meet you, Gianni. I’m blown away by this place too. I’ve never been anywhere like it. It’s the perfect setting for a wedding, isn’t it? If I ever tie the knot, I’ll definitely be praying for a friend to buy a place like this so I can co-opt it.’
Then she winks at my dad.
Winks.
I’m not sure what I’m feeling right now, but it’s a very weird mixture of emotions.
My dad, predictably, seems to love her.
No surprise there. He adores it when women flirt back with him. So much so, I’ve always found it strange that he chose to marry Carrie, who is the coldest, most uptight woman I’ve ever met.
‘Okay, well, we’ll grab ourselves some drinks and come and sit with you for a bit, if that’s okay?’ my dad says in a hopeful voice.
No chance.
There’s no way I’m sitting with him and my stepmum for the rest of the evening while they grill Ida for information about herself and make digs about me and how little time I’ve spent with them recently.
‘Actually, we’re bushed so we’re about to head back to our villa. But there’ll be plenty of time for us to catch up over the week,’ I say.
When I turn to glance at Carrie, I catch her scowling, but she quickly turns it into a tight smile.
‘Okay. No worries. You go and get your rest,’ my dad says jovially, but with an emphasis on the ‘rest’ that suggests he doubts we’ll be resting when we get back to our place.
If only.
‘Yeah. Thanks for understanding,’ I say, giving him an appreciative grin.
I’m happy to spend some time with him while I’m here, but not tonight.
I’m too tired to keep up the pretence of being laid back and comfortable in his wife’s presence.
I don’t want to lose my rag and say something I’ll regret later.
Especially as we’re stuck on this island together for a whole week.
‘Righto,’ my dad says, sliding his arm around Carrie’s shoulders and starting to steer her away. ‘Well, have a good evening, the two of you.’
The moment they’ve moved away, I let out a long breath and feel my shoulders relax a little.
‘You okay?’ Ida asks me, intrigue clear in her expression.
‘I am, yeah. Just a bit tired for making polite conversation with my stepmum. In fact, I really am done with socialising. Let’s get out of here,’ I say, hoping the moment after I’ve said it that it doesn’t sound like a come-on to her, like my dad suggested.
‘Yeah. Okay,’ she says, not seeming to take it as such. ‘I’m pretty bushed too.’
We make our way around the edge of the gathering, giving the odd person a quick friendly nod and a wave on our way out, leaving them all to make their own assumptions about why we’re creeping away early.
We walk in silence back to the villa, the noise of the party still ringing in my ears, but it’s quickly soothed by the gentle swish of the waves against the wooden decking.
It’s so calm here, away from the main hotel.
Despite being hit with that curveball about her internet fame, I have to admit, I’m really glad Ida’s here with me.
She just did an excellent job of being my shield and she’s turning out to be a lot of fun to be around.
In fact, I still can’t quite believe I got so last-minute lucky, bringing her to this thing with me.
When we reach our villa I let us in through the sliding doors and she follows me inside, kicking off her heels and giving a sigh of relief, clearly happy to be back in her bare feet.
I take off my shoes too. The floor is warm from the residual heat of the day and it feels beautifully soothing against the soles of my feet, which are sore from all the dancing.
Now, that had been fun. Especially the look on Ida’s face when she realised I wasn’t bullshitting about being able to dance.
‘So, tell me,’ Ida says as we walk into the living area, ‘if you struggle with being around your family so much, why the heck did you come to your brother’s wedding?’
I feel myself bristle at the question. ‘Stepbrother,’ I correct her. ‘Because I’d never hear the end of it if I don’t show the appropriate amount of interest.’
‘From your parents?’
‘And from Darian.’
‘So you two really don’t get on?’
I let out a frustrated sigh and flop onto the sofa, rubbing my hand over my eyes and feeling how gritty with tiredness they are. ‘Not that well, no.’
She sits down next to me and looks at me with her eyes narrowed. ‘What is it about him that you don’t like?’
‘Lots of things.’
‘Like the fact he joined your life without your permission?’
I blink at her, feeling side-swiped by the question. ‘What makes you say that?’
‘The fact you keep correcting me on the brother/stepbrother thing. You obviously don’t consider him your real family.’
‘That’s because he isn’t. We’re not biologically related.’
‘But you grew up together.’
‘Only from when I was twelve.’
‘So, he’s been part of your family for longer than he hasn’t been.’
I shrug. ‘I guess. But like I say, we’re not blood related.’
‘And DNA matters that much to you?’
‘Well, yeah. I guess it does. It’s not all about biology though, it’s more that he always has to have all the attention and it drives me crazy. He’s such a virtue signaller. So bloody performative.’
I swipe my hand through the air, aware I’m being a real downer right now but unable to stop talking now I’ve started.