by Billy London
Tony popped his head around the archway, one suitcase in hand. “I’m forgiven! Jubilation G!”
Gina raised the flat of her palms to the ceiling. The driver got to his feet and thanked her for the food. She removed her phone and typed out a text. Oi, you need to sort out this celibacy thing. Obviously I can’t do a thing wrong, so it’s up to you. Everyone is getting boom tings except us.
Her phone pinged back at her. Trust me. I’ll sort it. Be ready.
Not now numpty! I’ve got to get all buffed and pretty.
My darling Georgina, you are already buffed and extremely pretty. Will sort it out. Love you.
Love you more.
Satisfied, she settled with an orange juice when Sofia wandered into the kitchen, looking lean and elegant in a bright green maxi dress. “Coffee please, darling, I ache all over.”
Gina passed over the coffee press. Sofia looked at it. “What do I do with this?”
“You’re kidding right?”
Sofia grinned. “Just. It’s the only thing I can do.”
“You and Lydia will be staying out of my kitchen from now on,” Gina warned. “Have a muffin. Made them this morning while I wasn’t bouncing on top of my future husband.”
“You should start that again, it is so good for the thighs. Better than Pilates,” Sofia assured her, picking the flaked almonds from the top of a croissant and popping them into her mouth. Lydia came sweeping into the kitchen. She and Sofia hugged delightedly.
“Is that coffee? Amazing.”
“The driver’s gone,” Gina said calmly.
“Not far I hope. I’m not walking to the marina.” Sofia frowned.
“Probably giving it a good clean because of certain people,” Gina looked pointedly at Lydia.
“It’s my husband, he has no shame,” Lydia retorted, her Italian perfect, thanks to said husband and his parents.
“And you do?”
“What did I miss?” Sofia asked, eyes eager for gossip.
“Oh, that one was trying to tip over their car making up for her domestic with her husband.”
Lydia gave an embarrassed grin. “Never mind. Don’t we have somewhere to be?”
“Yes,” Sofia agreed, taking the croissant from Gina’s mouth and putting it down. Handing her a bag, Sofia hustled her into the hallway.
“How are you anyway, Gina?” Lydia asked. “You look far too calm for a woman getting married in two days.”
“Oh my God, I am so tired,” Gina muttered, slipping huge dark sunglasses on her face.
“You were in bed so early! It’s just going nine now,” Sofia protested.
“I don’t sleep well when Nick’s not there,” she grumbled as Lydia gave her a brief hug. “Belinda is stressing me out and I didn’t want to stress out. I wanted relaxed.”
“Or is this all lack of sex?” Lydia asked with a smile.
“It is not. Even when he’s prowling around at night, I can sleep because of, well, his smell.”
Lydia sent her a grin. “Really?”
“Look at her wrists,” Gina pointed to Sofia’s arms. “She got good and banged all last night and I can’t get any? How is that fair?”
“Holy fucking matrimony,” Sofia answered smugly. “It was my turn with the cuffs, not that I had a choice about it.”
Lydia and Gina both shuddered with the volunteer of details. “No whining,” Lydia demanded, fluffing her quiff. “We’re going to have a few hours of pampering and then a few hours of being intensely African.”
Belinda was the last to turn up. “We’re not cooking I see.”
“Did it all this morning,” Gina groaned. “I had to keep myself occupied somehow. It’ll just be a simple matter of reheating. The last thing will be the sticky rice and that’s it.”
“Why can’t we…”
“Auntie, it’s nice to be pampered.”
“Darling, we all need to have various people falling at our feet. Frankly my sweet, you need the work most of all. When was the last time you had a manicure Auntie?” Sofia asked with her usual bluntness.
Gina took Lydia’s hand and turned toward the limousine. “Where are you going?” Lydia asked.
“Saving us both.”
“But I want to see this!”
“People will ask me in fifty years where I was when Sofia died. I’m going to say waiting in the car.”
“Sofia,” Belinda said firmly, “don’t ever speak to me like I am your friend. I am your elder. Respect may be a difficult thing for you to understand, but unless you want, as God is my witness, to lose your life, you will take care in the way you address me. You understand?”
Sofia pressed her lips together, her eyes wide. “Yes Auntie.”
“Good. Let’s go.”
The journey to the spa on the island of Capri was brutally awkward. Gina had never seen Sofia as contrite but it was a fact of having a Ghanaian elder. Take your punishment in silence or risk making it a lot worse. Rather than dwell on Sofia’s discomfort, Gina sat on the fly bridge of the yacht and enjoyed the heat of the sun as the yacht sped them to the port.
They finally arrived at the hotel spa, a glorious five star temple in Ana Capri which immediately seeped a soothing cool into them all. Totally worth the random journey! Greeted by what seemed like an army of therapists, Gina was addressed in Italian. “Welcome Miss Robinson. Now what is the main focus of today?”
“Relaxation, my mum especially,” Gina pointed to her aunt. It was easier to say mum rather than go through a long detailed explanation as to where her mother was. “She needs the works, head to toe.”
Belinda demanded, “What are you saying?”
“That you are having everything done necessary. Waxing too.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Gina sighed and said reluctantly, “I love you Auntie but we’re all going to be swimming soon and the only time I want to see African bush is in the wild. Not on you.”
Lydia and Sofia sucked in their breaths for a second before howling with laughter. Despite a similar repartee from Sofia only a short time ago, the blush on Belinda’s cheeks swiftly turned into laughter. “You’re too rude.”
“Oh my God, you guys are killing me today.” Lydia wiped her eyes.
“You’ll appreciate it,” Gina assured her aunt before accepting her robe and following her therapist to the changing rooms. Two hours of body wraps, mud masks and facials later finally saw them on the way to the steam room.
“How do you feel Auntie?” Sofia asked.
“Half way to heaven,” Belinda answered, a dreamy quality to her voice. “No one has waxed anything.”
“They’re letting us rest first,” Sofia assured her. “It’s the last thing we’ll do before we leave.
“How much does it hurt?” Belinda asked warily.
“It’s not that bad,” Lydia murmured. “It hurts for all of ten minutes and then you’re done.”
“Hmm, the only time you contort yourself and you’re not expecting a tongue, whip or dick to land.” Sofia slapped a hand over her mouth as Lydia and Gina chuckled. “I’m sorry Auntie, but you’re trying to change years of ingrained behaviour. I don’t think it’ll work.”
“God forgive you,” Belinda grumbled, taking out her eye mask from her robe pocket and stepping into the steam room.
Lydia looked Gina up and down. “What are you going to do?”
“Well, I’m not allowed to boil the baby so I’m going to get another massage. Or maybe I’d have enough time to get back to the villa, ride Nick raw and come back?”
Sofia was quiet for a moment. “Maybe I am a bad influence.”
They all started to giggle. “You should get waxed before you go though. How much are you going to leave?” Lydia asked. “Little strip or nothing at all?”
“I’m having a heart,” Gina said. “But I like to just keep the lady garden tidy not mown.”
“Everything goes,” Sofia announced. “No point wearing scandalous underwear if you’re interrupting the
scenery with hair.”
“I’m thinking about a thunderbolt,” Lydia drew the shape in the misty air. “But it’s all connected with an adolescent boy in glasses. I feel weird about it being so close to my nads.”
“Cougar,” Gina teased.
“Younger men have more energy,” Sofia yawned. “Is this thing soundproof? Fuck me, I thought she was going to take a belt to me when she told me off in the hallway.”
“I did warn you,” Gina said. “She doesn’t mess about. But no one listens to me. Except when I have sex.”
“Seriously, you need to stop that. Does she have a boyfriend?” Sofia asked.
“No. She got divorced ages ago. Her husband was a twat, by all accounts.” Gina beckoned the other two forward. “I’m going to do that bride mental thing and try and get her some lovin’.”
Lydia frowned, “Really? She seems like she’d… I don’t know, go a bit praying mantis on a fella.”
Sofia giggled, “Some men enjoy that. Who were you thinking?”
“Padre. And bet the dude about it so I get his new car. I don’t know why I agreed to the Jag he gave me. I was feeling the Porsche and I just went for the classic. Buyers regret. But yes, Auntie needs some.”
“You are sneaky,” Lydia admonished. “But I like your style.”
Sofia had a curious expression on her face. “Padre doesn’t need another Mary Alice.”
“Okay here we go,” Gina began, holding out a hand to tick off points. “She’s strong but she’s not mental. She’s compassionate, but not needy. She’s intelligent but she’s not a snob. Sometimes. Check out the eyes, the lips, the boobs and the bum. He’s a Da Canaveze, I’m telling you he’s already clocked all those things. Also, she’s not and I repeat not off her fucking rocker. Plus, if anything will make him give up the day job it will be my aunt.”
“Sold!” Sofia laughed. “See how that plays out. Are you sure she can’t hear?”
The three of them paused and heard a reassuring silence. Gina cracked her knuckles. “Game on.” With a wide grin, she started dancing on the spot. “I’m gonna get a car. I’m gonna get a car.”
Lydia shook her head. “I see my future. And I’m scared. Genuinely afraid.”
Chapter Four
It was Paul who saw the car coming up the driveway. “Who the hell is that?” he asked.
Massimo frowned, wondering if Fiore had perhaps answered the buzz at the gates, forgetting the women had returned from their spa pampering a good hour ago. Gina’s parents’ friend Frederick arrived two hours earlier and there was no one else expected.
“I will see to it. Just make sure there are enough chairs.”
Paul gave a short nod, his suspicious gaze still focused on the car. Massimo made his way down toward the driver. The car stopped and Abele Vitale imperiously got out of his car. Goodness, he’d aged badly in the last year. His previously oak brown hair had whitened all over as if he’d been in shock. Skin that had been plump and near youthful, was now paper thin, spotted with age and deeply wrinkled. Moreover, he seemed to have shrunk and Massimo felt every one of his six foot and two inches of height.
Despite being the head of one of the old families, Vitale wouldn’t have got even a foothold in London if Massimo hadn’t helped him. Vitale did have a selective memory when it came to their history, and often blanked out completely in regards to the pecking order of things.
“Signor Da Canaveze!” No one used don as an honorific any more. Discretion was paramount in their line of business, particularly as none of them were priests or nobility. Signor maintained respect and kept discussions neutral to any interested eavesdroppers. Some people still called him il padre in hushed tones of reverence that in turns disturbed him and reminded him of what he had done and still did.
“Signor Vitale,” he inclined his head with a little respect. “What can I do for you? You will of course understand that my family is extremely busy right now.”
“With your son’s wedding, I know,” Vitale dismissed, irritation sharpening his tone. “But I didn’t know because you told me. I know because everyone in the whole Bay of Naples is talking about it.”
When Nick and Gina asked if they could use the villa as their wedding venue, Massimo was more than happy to oblige. Their only additional request was that the wedding remained for close family and friends only. No associates. No bottom feeders and definitely no one who would be happy to use the wedding as their chance to usurp the Da Canavezes from their position of power. He agreed and promised them both to exclude all and any undesirables. Massimo had a feeling someone would try his patience about the wedding and for some reason he was rather glad it was Vitale. He needed a reminder of who ran things. “Did you misplace our invitation?”
“The wedding here is for close family only. You and I are not related by blood.”
Vitale’s eyes narrowed, deepening the lines around them. It made him look Satanic. “You know that’s not how things are done. You attended the weddings of all my children.”
“And each one was a spectacle,” Massimo softened his words with a bare lift of his lips. “Nicholas is still mourning the loss of his mother. The last time he had to socialise with you, was at her funeral.”
Vitale snorted. “You are making excuses. I’m not here to beg, I’m here to remind you what your obligations are.”
“Vitale,” Massimo’s voice lowered, which was a warning Vitale should have heeded if he had been in his right mind. “If you want something from me, you can ask. But I tell you, you are not coming to this wedding. I made a promise to my son and his fiancée. I will not break that promise.”
Vitale smirked in disgust, “When Mary Alice died, we all thought it. We knew it. You’ve lost your mind.”
Massimo gave a slow smile, tucking his hands into his chinos. “If I have, as you say, ‘lost my mind,’ what makes you think that I will not make you bear the brunt of my mental incapacity by, perhaps ripping your throat out to start?”
Vitale’s face paled. Nothing Massimo hadn’t done before and wouldn’t do again for his son and daughter-in-law. He turned to hear the crunch of gravel. Belinda, looking regal in a red and purple dress that emphasized each and every curve on that glorious woman’s body came to stand beside him.
“What ees the problem?” she demanded, her Ghanaian accent stronger with her irritation. “Why are you standing here chatting, chatting, we’re all waiting for you. You’re not even dressed!” She turned to Vitale with a lifted brow. “Mr. Da Canaveze has things to do.”
“To which it escaped his mind that we are to be invited to,” he added pointedly.
Before Massimo could reply, Belinda snorted, “Who comes begging for an invite to a ceremony you know nothing about. Be sensible.” She kissed her teeth so loudly, Vitale turned the same shade of purple as Belinda’s dress.
Massimo concluded, “There will be a blessing in London when the children return from their honeymoon. Everyone will be invited then.”
Belinda, seemingly bored by the conversation, huffed, “I’m going back to get to the food. If you are still talking to your friend in five minutes, I’m telling you, there’ll be trouble, yo.”
Massimo bit on his lip to hold back a laugh. “Of course.”
She sent Vitale a dismissive glance before making her way back along the path. Saints preserve him, for a woman who was so strict on modesty, the skirt of her outfit did nothing but accentuate her bottom. Dragging his gaze away, he looked back to Vitale who was practically foaming at the mouth with fury.
Vitale sniffed. “I hope you realise you’ve made an error.”
“I do not tend to make those.” Massimo tilted his head toward him in respect. “Good day.” He turned back toward the loggia, pulling out his phone. He stopped half way watching Vitale get into his car and slam the door in frustration. “Eliminate Vitale,” he said as soon as the call was answered. “Make it look natural. Yes, I am sure. He is a mosquito at my ankle. His son will be far more sensible to deal with. I d
id not say malleable, I said sensible.”
Never one for taking challenges to kindly, Massimo ended the call and made his way back to the loggia. It was essential that this day would be one of the best of Nick and Gina’s lives. No one, old family or no, would interfere with that.
He reached his bedroom and realised he had no idea how to put the cloth on. It just seemed to be a single piece of material large enough to cover his bed. What in God’s name would he do with it? Still in his chinos and shirt, he made his way back outside. The girls all looked beautiful, dressed in a variety of colours in the appropriately fitted Ghanaian style. He caught sight of Paul and Tony, who were clothed in short sleeved, high-necked T-shirts and long shorts in vivid prints. It was hardly fair that he had to be wrapped in a cloth and everyone else didn’t have to. Damnation.
Carefully, he touched Belinda on the shoulder. She whipped around and raked him with her eyes in complete disapproval. “You’re still not dressed!” she exclaimed. “What are you waiting for?”
“Some help would be nice,” he told her blankly. “I have never put this on before.”
Sighing wearily, she said, “Show me.”
She followed him to his bedroom and he directed his hands to the cloth on his bed. “What do you have underneath your trousers?”
“Boxer shorts,” he answered with a concerned dip between his brows.
“Well, hurry and get undressed, I’ll put the cloth on you, since you’re completely helpless.”
Having never received such a command from a woman in his life, Massimo’s brain almost couldn’t comprehend what he was being told to do. “What?”
“Take your clothes off, so I can put the cloth on,” she said as if he were mentally slow. “I haven’t got all day, kahun!”
Even in another language, the directness of the word prompted movement. He pulled the shirt over his head and left his trousers on the bed away from the cloth. This was potentially rather awkward. She picked up the cloth and clinically began folding it, glancing up at him every so often, as if calculating what needed to be left to cover him. Belinda moved around him, wrapping and tucking the fabric into place. He tried not to make it obvious when her fingers came into contact with his skin, her nails grazing him every so often. It was beginning to be enjoyable and the intense concentration on her face teased a smile on his face.
