Page 17 of Pretender

“Oh, yes. That was unfortunate. She’s fine now, though.”

“Now? That was two short dates over eight weeks ago, and she’s only fine now?” I rub the skin between my eyebrows.

Laughter comes from outside, and Mum grabs my forearm.

“Come on, just have some wine and food. I made focaccia and an antipasto platter you’ll love.”

Now that she says it, I smell the freshly baked focaccia, that hint of rosemary, and my mouth waters.

Taking a deep breath, I walk out behind my sneaky mother and find not just a beautiful, dark-haired young woman, but an elderly couple who I’m guessing are her parents.

Oh, and Aunt Giulia and my mum’s friends that I’ve met before: Debbie and David?

Even for Mum, this is a whole new level of entrapment.

She just graduated from sneaky to diabolical.

Will stands up and shakes my hand. “Good to see you, Aiden.” His voice is deep and raspy, and that crooked Harrison Ford smile makes him look as endearing as he is. He fuels my mother’s light and laughter, and I love the man for it.

“You too, Will.” I pat his back and give him a brief squeeze.

“This is my son, Aiden,” Mum tells the elderly couple sitting next to the young woman. “Aiden, these are our new friends from the tennis club. This is Eros and Sofia Russo, and their daughter, Chiara.”

“Pleasure to meet you all,” I say, and I find in the girl’s eyes the appreciation of my physique I’ve become accustomed to.

But am I an utter spoiled brat if I say I’m tired of this kind of attention? The way she scans my torso, my face. I just want someone to be curious about me before they go all doe-eyed.

I smile in response.

I’ll play nice for the evening. For Mum.

We eat and drink, and the conversation flows easily. Everyone’s perfectly pleasant, and it’s great to see my mother in her element. After my dad died, she had to raise me alone, and she gave me everything she had. All her love, her time, and all the expectations of an exceptional life.

Her laugh reverberates off the brick walls.

Seeing her enjoy life this way after all her hard work is a gift.

The Russos tell us they’ve recently moved westward here to Richmond, got a big house, and moved their Nonna in.

I’ve never met any of my grandparents. Even though I carry my grandfather’s name.

Why did he…? Fuck. Did Dad ever do anything fully?

“What do you do, Chiara?” Mum asks from my side, and her voice pulls me back out from my spiralling thoughts.

Chiara is a lawyer in her early thirties. She seems nice. Laughs a lot. Her eyes and body language speak louder than her words, though. It’s clear that if I wanted to, I’d be able to go home with her tonight to her Chelsea flat that she’s mentioned at least twice in passing.

But I don’t want that. She seems fine, but… I don’t know.

That’s the thing. I want to know.

“Pass me the saucisson, please?” I ask my aunt.

“It’s salami. What’s the matter with you?” she teases.

“Of course, just testing you,” I lie.

Chiara laughs. Big straight teeth and full red lips.