And now they had to pretend, for Nonna’s sake, that everything was perfectly fine.
Thank goodness everyone kept swapping seats between courses so she didn’t have to sit next to Gio. If he’d draped his arm round her shoulders or picked her up and shared her chair—as he’d been doing for the previous few weeks—she wouldn’t have been able to resist nestling closer to him.
Which, considering that he’d made it very clear he didn’t want to take their relationship further, was completely pathetic.
And Fran wasn’t going to let herself be pathetic.
She was just really, really glad she’d dressed up tonight. Posh underwear to make herself feel special, high heels to boost her confidence, and full make-up with a concealer to hide the dark shadows under her eyes.
Tonight she was going to smile and smile and smile.
To hide the fact that her heart was breaking.
How could Fran do this? Gio wondered. How could she sit and chat so easily to his parents and his sisters and his grandmother and his cousins, as if nothing was wrong? How could she laugh at Ric’s terrible puns and make a fuss of the kids and filch the last one of Netti’s cheese discs from the plate in the centre of the table and just be so damned normal?
He was finding it a hell of a struggle.
And then it got worse.
‘Gio. You’ve been sitting too far away—because, as always, you were late to dinner,’ Isabella said, tutting. ‘Come and talk to me.’
There wasn’t a spare seat next to his grandmother. Because Fran was sitting there.
Hell, hell, hell.
His family was used to him scooping Fran up and sitting her on his lap. He’d done it ever since that first Sunday lunch at his parents’ house. So he knew they’d expect him to do it now. If he didn’t, they’d guess that something was wrong between them. But if he did…would Fran mind?
Then again, she was playing along tonight. Pretending everything was normal, for Nonna’s sake.
And playing along with his family’s expectations meant that he could hold her again.
It was too much for him to resist. So he walked over with a smile, scooped Fran out of her chair and sat in her place, settling her on his lap.
He could feel the warmth of her body through the little black dress she was wearing. And he could also feel the tension running through her; her body was almost rigid. As though she’d snap if either of them moved.
Clearly she minded. A lot.
But he couldn’t see a way out of this without giving some very awkward explanations he’d rather not make. So he simply smiled and chatted to his grandmother as if he didn’t have a care in the world—and hoped that nobody in his family was trying to read his body language. Or Fran’s.
This was unbearable, Fran thought. Gio had been keeping his distance, and she could cope with that. But now they were up close and personal, sitting on his lap as if they couldn’t bear to be any further apart…
Oh, lord. Her body remembered just how his skin felt against hers. Just how his body felt inside hers.
And how she wanted him to touch her. Cover every inch of skin with kisses. Tease her until she was on the knife-edge of climax—and then take her over with him, all the way.
She shivered.
‘Are you all right, Fran?’ Ric asked. ‘You look a bit…’
She felt Gio tense.
Well, she wasn’t going to blow their cover at this late stage. Not after all the work they’d put into it. ‘A bit sad,’ she said. ‘Yes, I am. Because Nonna’s going back to Milan when I’m only just getting to know her, and it’ll be too long before she’s back here again.’
Right answer. She felt Gio relax again.
Though his arms were still wrapped round her waist, holding her close to him. Too close for comfort, and not close enough to satisfy the ripples of desire running down her spine.
But she wasn’t going to beg.
He’d made his position clear.
And she’d respect that.
‘I’m coming back at Christmas,’ Isabella said with a smile, ‘though you can always come to Milan. In fact, yes. Gio, you should bring Francesca over to see the rest of the family. And no excuses about being too busy at work. It’s time you had a holiday, too.’
‘Sure, Nonna. We’ll work something out,’ he said.
At long, long last the party was over. And Fran couldn’t stop herself hugging everyone extra hard at the end of the evening. Because this was going to be the last time she saw them. This wasn’t goodnight. Wasn’t ciao. It was arrivederci—a formal and permanent goodbye.
She’d loved having a family to belong to. A family where she fitted in instead of feeling stranded on the edges.