He caught hold of her shoulders and gave them an encouraging rub. ‘I’ll gladly be there for you. Tomorrow morning.’
‘Domani?’
‘Of course. You need to sleep now. And this all ends on Friday. Three days away.’
‘I feel like Cenerentola.’
‘Who?’
‘Cinderella.’ She sighed. ‘The clock is about to strike midnight.’
* * *
Francesca’s feet felt heavy on the steps as she and Alessio made their way into the back of the trattoria.
She could hear Maria humming to herself and suddenly thought that perhaps the gods had smiled upon her, and Elena would be preoccupied elsewhere.
Does that mean I can get out of doing this?
‘Oh, there you are.’ Elena appeared through the saloon doors wearing her favourite black pencil skirt and a green floral blouse, and caught the pair on their approach. She looked irritated. ‘I was about to send up a search party for you. It’s almost nine.’
Francesca was thankful for the guiding press of Alessio’s hand on her lower back. History had taught her to predict tension, anger and a side order of resentment with most encounters she had with Elena. She hadn’t realised how badly she wanted the newer, softer connection between them of late to be a permanent fixture. Would Elena set her free?
‘Allora?’ Elena’s expression was quizzical. ‘Are you here to help for the lunch service, or not?’ Her eyes darted between the pair, and it was clear she sensed the change in their usual jovial energy. ‘Ok, what’s going on?’
At that moment Maria pushed through the saloon doors, joining them in the dining space. ‘O!’ She stopped short, squinting at the trio. ‘What have you done?’ She raised a hand in warning. ‘Wait . . .’ Then she waddled back into the kitchen, only to re-emerge with her little Virgin Mary–shaped plastic bottle of holy water. She flicked off the stopper and squirted both Alessio and Francesca square in the face.
‘Nonna! What are you doing?!’ Francesca wiped water from her eyes, while Alessio couldn’t help but grimace.
‘Should have seen that coming a mile away.’ He pulled the hem of his t-shirt to his brow and gave it a dab.
‘There’s a strange something in the air . . .’ Maria scanned Francesca and Alessio intently.
‘Oddio! Cesca, you’re pregnant?!’ Elena snapped a palm over her mouth.
‘No!’ cried Francesca. ‘Dio . . .’ She heard Alessio stifle a laugh at her side. ‘Nothing like that!’
Maria, who clearly did not buy this, withdrew the wooden spoon from her front pocket and allowed its head to slap her palm as if warming up for a duel.
‘Jesus. This is going nowhere.’ Alessio, who had understood enough to get the gist, exhaled and stepped forward. ‘Ok, ladies. Nonna, Elena, please just take a seat.’ He gestured to one of the tables and they all sat down. ‘Francesca has something she would like to share with you. Something exciting.’
Maria and Elena pivoted in unison.
‘Cesca? What is it?’
‘Erm . . .’ Although she had done nothing but prove herself capable and worthy of this experience, and not just over the past three months but literally across the years of her life, the act of having to put her plans into words rattled her. Alessio’s hand came to rest over hers on the table, and its warmth settled her anxious heart. ‘Mamma, I know you weren’t happy about me lying to you about London and the Giostro school last year. And how Papà and I went behind your back.’
‘No. I wasn’t. At all.’ She shifted in her seat, her two casts held awkwardly in front of her. ‘But we have moved past that now.’
Francesca’s throat threatened to close over, but she focused on her breath and continued. ‘I’m . . . I’m going to London. On Friday. Just for a week.’
Elena’s eyes narrowed. ‘For a holiday? Then why all this drama?’ She waggled her right plaster-casted arm across the table. ‘This seems very childish.’
‘No. Not a holiday. I’m going to finish the course and take my final exam at Giostro’s school. In Papà’s honour.’
Elena remained stony-faced for a moment. ‘But how? Is that even possible? It was so long ag—’
Alessio leaned forward. ‘I have put things in place to support Francesca. I know people in London. They know people in London. Her accommodation is sorted. Her flight is booked.’
