The Italian Matchmaker(49)

‘And an unlucky one,’ added Ma.

‘I’ll make my own history, thank you very much,’ said Luca, gratefully swallowing his drink.

Romina wasn’t listening. ‘Rewind, darling. Tell me, how is it possible that the most famous photographer in Italy lives in a simple farmhouse?’

Rosa was fuming. When she had put the children to bed she went to her own bedroom and reviewed the evening.

Cosima and Luca had finally come downstairs. For a woman who had spent the last three years in misery, she had sure recovered fast. Her face was flushed, her eyes sparkling, her lips full and pink. The black dress had faded into insignificance instead of dominating her like a shroud. Rosa saw Luca look at her, his gaze as tender as a lover’s. Cosima’s voice was so intimate she could have been thanking him for a night of passion. He seemed to have become a firm friend of the family, and no one remembered that it was Rosa who had found him in the first place.

‘Rosa?’ Eugenio closed the door behind him. ‘Are you okay?’

‘What does it look like?’ she snapped.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Cosima.’

Eugenio sighed, anticipating another row. ‘What’s the poor girl done now?’

‘She’s not a poor girl. She’s in love with Luca.’

‘You should be happy for her.’

‘Oh, so now I’m the bitch, am I?’

‘Isn’t she allowed to love again?’

‘Of course she is. Only it was a little hasty, don’t you think? She’s been playing us all like fiddles for the last three years. Can’t you see? Am I the only one in this house who’s not blind? I work my backside off day and night in the trattoria, while she’s allowed to keep the books. That’s a holiday compared to what I do. It’s been three years, three, but she still gets special nation status!’

‘She does more than keep the books.’

‘You’re not around to see, Eugenio!’ Rosa placed her hands on her curvaceous hips. ‘She wanders in looking miserable, oh woe is me and all that theatre, and Mamma rushes to her like a mother hen. When she complains that our children have taken Francesco’s toys out of her room, I get the blame. I swear on my life, our children are innocent! I feel like the outsider in this house. She’s a big black cuckoo pushing me out! If anyone should move out it’s her. Why doesn’t she go and live with Beata, Toto and Paola? They’re her family.’

Eugenio sat on the bed and patiently removed his shoes. ‘You know very well that Alba’s a mother to her.’

‘She’s my mother!’

‘She’s a mother to Cosima in everything but blood.’

‘Why can’t she bond with her stepmother?’

‘Could you bond with Paola?’

‘I don’t have to.’

‘Neither does she. Look, she grew up in this house. It’s where she feels at home. It’s where Francesco grew up. Face it, Rosa, nothing’s going to change.’

She started to cry and Eugenio knew he was being pushed into a fight. ‘You don’t love me any more, do you?’

‘Madonna! You know I do.’

‘Then show me!’ She sat astride him and pulled his head into her bosom. ‘Tell me I’m more beautiful than Cosima. She’s dry and old and I’m young and juicy.’ She began to smother his face with kisses. He was aroused by the warm wetness of her mouth.

‘You’re more beautiful than Cosima,’ he repeated obediently. ‘You’re more beautiful than any woman in Incantellaria.’

He felt her smile as she placed her lips on his. Her hands began to unbutton his shirt, slipping it over his shoulders. She threw her head back and let him kiss her breasts, flicking his tongue around nipples that were hard and expectant. She began to writhe on top of him, teasing him with her body, until he could stand it no longer. He threw her on to the bed, unzipped his trousers and entered her with a groan.

Her scarlet nails clawed his back. Then, in her imagination, it was Luca’s skin she was ripping, his bristles scratching her neck, his lips kissing her throat, his hands running appreciatively over her body. She felt herself grow hot with arousal. How she would thrive on the wild, adventurous life of her grandmother, Valentina! To rise above the boredom of Incantellaria like she had done, to feel the hands of rich and dangerous men caressing her body, leaving trails of diamonds on her skin. Rosa kissed her husband and let her imagination take her to more exciting places.



Cosima stood beside the ancient stone fort that had once been a lookout point for the enemy approaching by sea and gazed over the water. Perhaps Francesco wasn’t at the bottom of the sea, after all. Perhaps his spirit lived on, as Luca believed it did. What did he think of her mourning him in such despair? If he had indeed appealed to Luca for help, then he didn’t want her to join him in death, but was willing her to live.