Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Giovanna
L ooking at myself in the mirror for what felt like the hundredth time, I smoothed my hand down the long, light grey fitted skirt I was wearing. Then turning and looking over my shoulder, I made sure the green, sleeveless top I had paired it with was evenly tucked into the waistband, before adding the skirt’s matching wide belt.
Satisfied with my reflection, I moved closer to the mirror and scrutinised my make-up. The green top, it had to be said, made my eyes pop.
‘Perfect!’ I exclaimed to no one else but myself.
Slipping my feet into the heels that were the exact same colour as my blouse, I took one final look at myself. I had to be at least six-foot, with my height and choice of shoes. Something I knew my fiancé hated, but he wasn’t here, so I embraced it. Being tall gave me a sense of confidence, and I needed it knowing where we had dropped anchor. Even though I knew that later my feet would be so painful after walking over Malta’s cobbled streets and I’d be cursing my choice.
Gathering up the few bits I’d scattered over the double bed in my cabin, I hurriedly shoved them inside the overly large bag my mama had brought me in Santorini. If I went out without it, I knew without a doubt that she was liable to sulk the day away, and I didn’t need anything more to worry about.
It was the last week of June, and I couldn’t believe so much had happened in such a short space of time. Salvatore had given his permission for me to meet up with my mama, just as I knew he would. For one thing, I had enlisted Serafina’s help, and she was a formidable adversary even against her husband. She was in fact the one person I knew he truly listened to, even if he didn’t like what she was saying. Salvatore was a born leader, a true ‘Ndrangheta man, a product of his creation, but I had played on his weakness. His love for her and for me, his baby sister, and the guilt he carried with him for taking our papa’s life. It wasn’t something he would ever voice, but I was convinced I could see it in his eyes when he looked at me for just those few seconds too long.
When I was younger, I had always believed in romance and how fate played a huge part in giving you two paths to choose from. Of course, you were ultimately in charge of your own destiny, unless you were a Calabrian woman who rarely got to choose between A and B.
So, when the need arose, I’d had to invent a C and I felt no guilt about it. Once I’d got the answers to the questions I lived with daily, I would go back and live the life my family had planned for me, and I would accept a man I didn’t love and bare the children he needed, and I would do so willingly.
But until then, I was going to live by my own rules.
Surprisingly, in the space of three days after my call with Serafina and Mia, I had gained his permission, with Sera’s help had contacted my mama’s personal assistant, and met my mama and her assistant for lunch. Truthfully, and sadly, I didn’t find my mama any different, apart from the fact her mahogany hair was now dyed a honey blonde, although I wasn’t sure I would ever tell anyone that. I had hoped that her second marriage was happy enough to have blunted her hard edges, but in the two weeks I’d had her back in my life, and given the life experience I now had, I could see that she wasn’t a woman to be moulded by a man.
She was her own woman.
Which should have made me proud, but instead it worried me. My papa’s lies and dealings had been found out, but being back in her company, I was convinced she had to have known at least some of what he was doing, and that made me sick to my stomach. I had worked out quickly that while I could play the game in her company, curtailing to her ridiculous need to always be in full make-up and dressed in expensive clothing that was changed at least twice a day, I would never be able to create a bond with her. I’d pondered on that and had concluded that I had always understood that deep down, even though I didn’t want that to be the case. I supposed a small part of me would always have the hankering for the connection I’d watched for the last few years between Serafina, Mia and their mama, Rosa.
My mama’s husband, Peter, I had only met a few days before when he’d picked us up from Civitavecchia. He appeared to be smitten with her, worshipping her at every turn and admiring her several times a day in whatever outfit she paraded in front of him. Giving her endless extensions to the allowance he seemed to pay her and paying for each and every little thing that took her eye. He’d take up her hand and press it to his lips at every given opportunity, so much so that even the romantic in me was pushing two fingers to the back of her throat and trying to make herself sick. Even I had been surprised when, in one of our early conversations between the three of us, he had indicated they hadn’t seen each other for very nearly two months. Peter, for his own reasons, didn’t ever go to Rome, and she went there as often as she could, which I found strange. She was too old to bare more children and Peter’s first wife had given him two sons over thirty years before, and they would take over his business when the time came.
So, what did they gain from the relationship?
Then it clicked.
Their marriage was all for show. But what I couldn’t answer, was why. Perhaps it was just simply down to companionship. I knew that had to be important as you got older, but I was convinced it wasn’t all of it.
Maybe that was something I’d never be able to answer. But, I had my own agenda, and I hadn’t the time to work out the dynamics of their marriage.
I forced myself to stop asking the questions that I couldn’t answer.
All I knew was, they had both accepted me with open arms and I was grateful. Salvatore had even accepted that Peter, being a billionaire, had his own security detail, so Paulo had been given leave to go home to visit his wife and children. I’d been left with two of Peter’s men, two wonderfully inexperienced men that, as far as I understood, knew nothing of my previous indiscretion. My hopes and dreams for the plan I had inside my head were coming together and when Peter had asked me where I would like to visit, as we sailed around the Mediterranean for the next couple of weeks before they dropped me back in Calabria, I’d made sure to make a real show of thinking about where I’d wanted to see, even looking at few places online to decide. When I’d finally come up with three places, I’d slotted Malta in between Santorini and Crete and mentioned that the architecture and history of each place really appealed to me.
Surprisingly, my mama had also been keen to visit Malta, yet when I’d mentioned the other beautiful places I wanted to see, she had shrugged her shoulders and declared that she probably wouldn’t disembark, because she’d been there before. As I’d taken the cable car up to Fira, Santorini’s capital, I could see her spreading herself out on the top deck of Peter’s luxury ship as she prepared to spend the afternoon there, making sure her skin that already seemed to resemble the colour of my new handbag, retained what she called her healthy glow, which again was very different to the porcelain white skin she’d always maintained back in Calabria. Peter had even joked that my decision to add Malta to my list would cost him a fortune, as it was one of his beautiful wife’s favourite places to shop.
Santorini was done and dusted, and I’d even managed a couple of hours to myself inside their Lost Atlantis Experience, which I’m sure would have been amazing to wander around. Instead, I had gone downstairs and into the women’s bathroom, and there I had looked up “Gortis,” which was the name of the business we grew olives and sold the oil under, and just where they were to be found in Malta.
The company was based in the capital of Valletta. I’d felt ridiculous as tears had fallen from my eyes when I’d traced my finger over the small picture on the website of the building that belonged to “Gortis” in Malta, as I imagined Dante behind one of the many vast windows. Sniffing loudly as I’d attempted to pull myself together, I’d memorised the address.
I picked up my handbag, placing it onto my forearm, and closed my eyes briefly as I summoned up the courage to come face to face with the only man I had ever loved. Then I took in what I hoped would be a calming breath and looked out of my stateroom window. The beautiful limestone buildings of Valletta sparkled in the sunlight, sending out their welcome to me.
I could only hope I’d get the same welcome from him.
‘Let’s get this done, Gi,’ I ordered myself and left my stateroom to go ashore.