I feel sick.
I want to say something disparaging about him – point out that the guy doesn’t deserve her if he hasn’t taken the time to figure out what an amazing woman she is – but before I can formulate the words I feel a tap on my shoulder and turn to see an old school friend of mine grinning back at me.
‘Francesco!’ I say, giving him a jovial slap on the back. ‘Come va?’
‘Bene,’ he replies, returning my friendly greeting. ‘Good to see you. I thought you were in London now?’ He glances towards Juno and I turn to look at her too. She’s gazing at him in fascination. Now, Francesco is a handsome guy, I’ll admit that, but I don’t think he warrants that much fucking adoration. The hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention as she flashes him a smile.
‘Ciao, bella,’ Francesco murmurs smoothly, stepping towards her and kissing her lightly on both cheeks. I can tell from his body language that he finds her attractive. Too fucking attractive for my liking. ‘And who are you?’
‘I’m Juno. I’m a friend of Sandro’s.’ She says this so easily, I know in my heart that’s exactly how she thinks of me. Just a friend – with benefits, sure, but still just friends.
‘Hey, have you guys visited the Bargello while you’ve been here?’ Francesco asks.
When we both shake our heads, he says, ‘You must! I’m the curator there now and we’ve been doing wonderful things. You were always interested in art, weren’t you, Sandro?’ Before I get a chance to reply, he carries on speaking, looking directly at Juno, to my utter fucking annoyance. ‘Come. I’ll show you aroundpersonally. We have some amazing exhibits at the moment. You’lllovethem.’
‘That would be wonderful, but I’m not going to be in Florence for much longer,’ Juno says sadly.
‘What? No, you must stay!’ Francesco says, giving it the full works: big, sad eyes and a covetous hand on her shoulder. I recognise the move. It’s one I’ve used myself to good effect.
‘Maybe I’ll make it back some day soon,’ she says, clearly buying in to this crap.
I want to punch something. Probably him.
‘I need another drink,’ I mutter, and before either of them can say anything I stride away to the bar and order a double shot of whisky.
Turning back with the glass clutched in my hand, I watch them from a distance, feeling my heart hammering in my chest.
What the fuck is happening to me?
Whatever it is, I don’t like it.
Francesco moves his hand to brush an eyelash off Juno’s cheek and shyly she smiles up at him.
Out of nowhere a veil of blinding rage descends over me. I bunch my hands into fists and drag in a ragged breath, feeling as if someone’s just ripped my fucking guts out. I don’t want anyone else touching her like that, seeing that hazy look in her eye, making her smile. I want it to be all for me – only me.
Not for Francesco – and definitely not for that fucking lecturer asshole back in England.
Unfortunately, she chooses that moment to look over towards where I’m standing and the smile fades from her face.
I see her excuse herself from Francesco and start to move through the crowd towards me.
Forcing a neutral expression onto my face is pretty fucking tough, but I think I manage it, because when she makes it over to me she gives me a tentative smile.
‘Are you okay? It looked for a second like you were annoyed about something.’
‘I’m fine,’ I say, swatting away her concern and staring over her shoulder at a small group of women by the bar.
She turns to follow my line of vision and I sense her tense as she spots what, or rather who, I’m looking at.
‘Do you know them?’ she asks. Her voice sounds high-pitched and accusatory, as if she thinks I have a nerve to check out other women in the room. This riles me. She has no right to police what I do, not when she clearly thinks it’s okay to make eyes at my friend in front of me.
I shrug. ‘I’ve seen them around at parties. I may have slept with one or two of them.’
This is a lie, and I feel a sting of shame as I see her visibly tense at the insensitivity of my answer.
‘It looks like you’re not finding it hard to handle attention from men today either,’ I add, feeling the need to defend myself. I wouldn’t have been looking at those women if she hadn’t been fawning over Francesco the wonder kid. Even as I think this, I know what a fucking tool I’m being. She’s just testing her new-found abilities. Life has suddenly opened up to her and she’s enjoying treading new ground. I get that.
But I also hate it.
