‘Of what?’
‘You know of what. The bonfire.’ She wiped her hands clean on her apron.
Francesca shrugged herself free. ‘Just worry about service, Mamma.’
‘I’m your mother, it’s my job to worry about you and what you do.’
Maria guffawed from within the kitchen, the force of which reached both women in the dining room.
Francesca sighed and lowered her voice. ‘We are going as cousins. That’s it. Nothing can happen. And it won’t. He’s a guest. Remember?’
‘I remember. Just make sure you do.’
* * *
Alessio met Francesca by the fountain at nine as they had arranged. The space between her stomach and lungs tightened a little when she saw him there. It didn’t help that his aftershave wafted towards her as she crossed the piazza.
He wore a relaxed pair of tan linen shorts, his brown leather scuffs and a long-sleeved white linen shirt which he had rolled to his forearms. His skin had soaked up the Mediterranean sun over the past couple of weeks, leaving him practically glowing from within.
Ufffa! That’s not going to help me tonight.
Francesca’s eyes trickled over the top three buttons he had left undone, exposing the lines of his upper chest. She forced herself to swallow down the first stirrings of desire.
The wind caught the fringe of her sleeveless wine-red sundress, and she laughed, trying to flatten it as she made her way across to him. ‘Sorry! You did not ask for the peep show!’
Alessio smiled and caught her in his arms, leaning in for the double-cheek kisses they always shared. ‘Didn’t see a thing. Cross my heart.’
Completely normal. That was fine. Nothing untoward there.
‘Guarda,’ Francesca said in a low voice. ‘Simona knows we aren’t cousins.’
Alessio stilled. ‘What? I haven’t sai—’
‘No, no. Not you! She guessed. And how could she not? She’s my oldest friend in Impastino.’
‘What does this mean, then?’
‘We’ve only exchanged a few messages, but she will keep our secret. She only asks that we tell Carlo out of respect.’
‘But he’s the competition.’
Francesca smiled. ‘Carlo is a wonderful man, but only così-così in the kitchen. He has competed for eight years, and has never moved past the prima tappa. I don’t think he’s a challenge for you. But in honouring the relationship I have with him—’
‘Sure. I get it. They’re coming tonight?’
‘Sì.’
‘Well, if we find a quiet space, let’s tell him together. What do you think?’
Francesca expelled the last of the air in her lungs. ‘Grazie.’
They made their way down to the waterfront, the music and laughter from the bonfire party greeting them before they reached it.
The beach, which by day was lined with deckchairs and striped umbrellas, was now littered with people. The crowd swarmed around the central fire, talking and dancing, eating and drinking. The bonfire’s flames rose in smoky tendrils towards the ink-black sky.
‘It would be easy to lose each other here,’ Alessio called out over the thumping bass of the music.
‘Lose me, or lose yourself?’ she quipped. ‘Let’s eat, before you get lost,’ she added, gesturing to the barbeque area further ahead. She passed him a food token she had stashed in her bra so she wouldn’t have to bring a bag, and together they made their way over.
