by Billy London
“I’ll take a chance,” Anna replied. She couldn’t reassure him, knowing full well their relationship was heading for the tragic. Imogen lived in Kensington courtesy of her husband’s bonus and the sale of the flat that she’d bought with her “inheritance” money. Despite never being one to run from confrontation, a part of Anna really wanted to go home and pretend this wasn’t happening. She’d worked hard to re-establish her friendship with Imogen, only for it to be blown apart by the truth. It better be the truth, or Rocco Mamione would not be seeing his next birthday.
Imogen had a new nanny, Anna noticed as a strange youngish woman opened the door. “I’m here to see Imogen?”
“Come in,” she muttered. “I’m off.”
The nanny shrugged on her coat and skipped down the stairs. Imogen came to the door, her son in her arms. “If I catch you around here again, I’ll call the police! Oh, Anna. Hi.”
“What’s going on?”
“You may as well come in,” Imogen huffed, handing over the baby and closing the door behind Anna unceremoniously. The baby looked up at her, confused at the change. With a sigh, Anna followed Imogen into the kitchen.
“Drink?”
“I thought you were breastfeeding,” Anna said, frowning as she put her bag down on the breakfast bar without letting the baby go.
“That’s what Neil wanted. I asked Neil if he wanted our child to die from silicone poisoning. End of argument.”
Anna glanced up. “What? When the hell?”
“You thought I went up two cup sizes naturally?”
“I thought you were wearing a better bra plus inserts,” Anna rejoined. “Plus weren’t you the one who said that men know when a woman’s had a boob job?”
Imogen curved her palms over her chest. “These implants would give a surgeon a run for his money in guessing.” The baby snuggled against Anna’s au natural chest and breathed out gently as Imogen poured out two glasses of wine. “So, are you still seeing Corleone?”
Anna had forgotten Imogen had called him that. “At work, yes.”
Imogen shook her head, taking a gulp of wine. “I don’t believe you’d be that stupid.”
“Because I work with him?”
“That you’d even entertain a conversation with him after what he did!”
“After what you both did?” Anna suggested. “I assume it was the both of you, and you weren’t comatose when it happened.”
“Course not,” Imogen snapped. “He wasn’t even that good.”
Okay, now Anna knew she was lying. “Hmm,” she agreed. “Very self-focused.”
“Absolutely.”
“There were times I genuinely expected him to start shouting out his own name,” Anna said leadingly.
“He is so vain.”
“I figured it comes from having ink so close to his cock.”
“What ink?” Imogen asked without a beat. Anna lifted her lashes from the baby’s contented face to Imogen’s flushed one.
“You couldn’t have missed that tattoo.”
Imogen flapped a hand. “It was so long ago, and there were so many before I settled for Neil, so...”
“That just makes me think you always sleep with your friend’s boyfriends. I thought for the sacrifice, you’d remember something.”
“Like what?”
“You don’t remember who approached who?”
“He came to my house.”
“What for?”
“He said he wanted to study.”
“Really?”
“Well I know it was a lie now,” Imogen blustered. “So I let him in.”
“You had sex, at your parents’ house.” This was really starting to make Anna wish she’d interrogated her six years ago.
“They weren’t in.”
“Where’d they go?”
Imogen shrugged. “Where they always go on a Tuesday.”
Anna shook her head. “It wasn’t a Tuesday, Imogen. Tuesdays Rocco always spent with his mates. No fail. Try again.”
“I know they were at bingo, so maybe it was a Thursday. I told you it was a long time ago.”
“It was a Wednesday,” Anna said quietly.
“And you’re so sure?”
“I know the date to the second things happened on that day.” Anna’s voice brokered no argument.
“Fine, it was Wednesday.”
“Then how could you have sex at your parents’ house when they barely let me inside to drop off a book?”
Imogen floundered. “They weren’t there!”
“Where did they go?”
“I’m not their keeper!”
“I think you’re lying,” Anna whispered, looking up again.
“Why would I lie?”
She shrugged. “How much is an alibi worth? When you’re struggling with debts, staying in a house where you can barely breathe without upsetting your parents, when you’d love to do anything but the course you’re doing, how much would an alibi be worth to you then? Certainly worth more than a friendship.”
“Don’t judge me!” Imogen hissed. “I did you a fucking favour!”
“How?” Anna felt like she was at court, with a particularly stupid witness who was stepping into all the right potholes.
“That guy swanned about like he could have any pussy he wanted. I got you out before you were even serious.”
“And you made that decision for me based on what? His behaviour toward me, his attitude toward other girls, or was it that he didn’t give you a second glance?”
Imogen growled, “I don’t know why you’re bringing it up now, it’s not like I can change any of it.”
“You can tell the truth,” Anna suggested sarcastically.
“It’s bullshit. You want to believe that Rocco gave me five hundred grand to get him out of a tight spot. Go ahead, be that fucking stupid.”
Anna uncurled the baby’s hand from her finger. “What an accurate-sounding figure. Interesting, as I never said how much.” Imogen gave a groan of frustration and for a moment, Anna pitied her. “You can tell me what happened. Nothing’s going to happen to you.”
“You’re so sure?” Imogen sneered.
“Carry on with that attitude and I’ll put in a personal request.” Anna’s smile flicked on and off like a light switch. “Talk.”
Deflated, Imogen spoke with weariness, “I, er... I saw him being marched off into a police car two streets from the college. I was on my way home. I knew he had money, everyone knew he had money. The nearest station to the college was Charing Cross, so I went there and asked for him. When they confirmed, I left, dropped a call to the station and said that he was with me the night before. Either someone had bugged the station or they had links there already, because an hour later I got a call from someone saying if I kept to the story, I’d be compensated. I asked for half a million. Once Rocco was released I got half. The other half when the case against Rocco was dropped.”
Her bravado was breathtaking. Imogen had always been aware of whatever could be advantageous for her, so what could one do but admire her for the sheer fucking balls on the woman? “And I didn’t cross your mind once?”
“Oh fuck off with your sanctimony!” Imogen spat. “You had everything, you were fine! You got the top marks, you fucked off on holiday and apparently banged your way through Malia. That money was my out and I will not apologise for it. I said I did you a favour and I meant it. You really think that Rocco’s mother would want a black girl for a daughter-in-law? I know what that type of women are like—they’re all smiling on the outside and massive fascist racists on the inside.”
Now it was just ugly. Anna handed her back the baby. Imogen needed to pray to God every day that she’d given birth because otherwise, that girl would be dead. “Really, you’re going to play that card with me? You don’t think in my thirty-two years I’ve never encountered a bigot? You didn’t possibly think I could handle myself in that sort of situation, when the main reason people don’t like me is because I’m not shy
about telling people where things are? Please, I am begging you, don’t pretend you did any of this for me. It wasn’t at all. Getting a one-up on me was just bonus to getting away from your parents. I have a feeling the only reason you even got back in touch with me in the first place was to get a bit of a hard-on about what you did and the fact you got away with it.” Anna breathed a disbelieving laugh. “God, I really must have hit you hard that night. Oh, and while we’re at it? Let me clear up a little geography for you. Rocco’s mother is from Morocco. You know where Morocco is? Let’s say it together: Africa.” She picked up her bag and looked Imogen up and down. It was a visual reminder to never, ever doubt her own instincts, which had categorically told her to get fucking rid. “I hope you enjoyed every last penny of that five hundred thousand.”
The truth. The most dissatisfying and disappointing meal she’d ever had.
Her head feeling like it was full of static, Anna didn’t know she was at Rocco’s house until he opened the door. “Hi!” he beamed at her, his dark eyes glowing with pleasure. Is that really for me? she thought. The fight with Imogen was still rippling over her, and she really was finding it difficult to form words. “Are you okay, Annie?”
“Who is it?” Anna heard Nonna yell from inside.
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
Rocco lifted a brow. “Who the hell are you and what did you do with Anna Taylor?”
“What?”
“You apologised,” he said slowly.
“No, I just— Look, I didn’t mean to interrupt you at dinner. I honestly don’t know what I’m doing here. I’ll go.”
Rocco caught her by the arm and pulled her inside. “I’m glad you’re here.” He closed the door behind her, tucked her hand into his own and tugged her toward his dining room. “Nonna, look who dropped by.”
Nonna Mamione had her glasses around her neck topping a twinset, and a long grey skirt printed with white flowers. “My lawyer! You look upset. Have some of this.”
She poured something that looked like lemonade into a glass. “You’re not driving, are you? Rocky, don’t let her get in a car after this.”
Rocco pressed a kiss to her temple. “A sip may just knock you out, so just before you pass out remember you came here voluntarily.”
She laughed. “Yeah. I will. Thank you, Mrs. Mamione.”
Nonna frowned. “Hmm. What did I tell you?”
“No fighting,” Rocco commanded. “Annie, sit down, grab a plate and help yourself.”
“What are you eating?” she asked, and as soon as she approached the table her stomach grumbled. Rocco curved his hands around her waist.
“Sea bass and basil mash. Let me take your coat.” She unravelled herself from the coat and sat down.
“No Mama Mamione tonight?” Anna asked.
Nonna rolled her eyes. “She’s having an evening off from me, so I’ve come to my grandson’s. Do you like fish?”
“I do. No, no, you don’t have to serve me.”
“Be quiet, we’ve only just sat down to eat. We were talking and making dessert first.”
Anna perked up. “What did you make?”
“Triple-layered cherry mousse cake.”
She nearly melted into a puddle on the chair. “That sounds good.”
Nonna pushed a plate with two huge pieces of fish, cherry tomatoes, olives, sitting on top of pale green-coloured mashed potato and what smelled like chili oil. “Now eat.”
Rocco re-entered the room with another glass. “For your water. You’ll need it when you’ve had that cocktail.”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“Nonna, you’ve got the most deliberately unsteady hand when it comes to pouring alcohol. I’m just giving Annie fair warning.” He sat next to Anna, his hand warm on her thigh as he started eating with his other hand. Neither he nor Nonna pressed her into their conversation, but they both spoke in English, an invitation for her to join in when she was ready. The fish melted in the mouth and the chili oil had the most wonderful level of heat. Politeness stopped her from licking her plate clean. Then Nonna brought out the cake, and nothing could stop her from running the tip of her finger over the cherry liqueur-flavoured cream barely left on her dessert bowl. Still talking around her, Rocco put his arm around the back of her chair and gently tugged on the ends of her hair. While it felt dreamy, Anna started getting angry. Really angry. Imogen’s words started to echo in her head, almost as if Anna hadn’t made a single reply to her utter ridiculousness.
“What’s wrong with your face?” Nonna demanded. “You look like you’re about to explode!”
Rocco picked her up. “Annie needs to vent.” He led her upstairs to his bedroom and closed the door. “Go for it.”
It was mostly profanity, but to be able to scream what she was feeling was the best release. “God, that motherfucking bitch,” she ended on a whisper.
“You good?” he asked.
“No,” she sighed. “I think I need more cake.”
He gave her a quick kiss and led her back downstairs. Nonna was finishing the cocktail. “Impressive vocabulary,” she said dryly.
“Thanks,” Anna muttered. “May I have some more cake, please?”
“Was that really over cake?”
“No, Nonna.”
Nonna cut her a huge slice and heaved it into her bowl. “People will always disappoint you. Because they’re human, or dickheads. Normally dickheads, but humans tend to make mistakes. The trick is to not let those mistakes hold you back, or you end up regretting the mistakes you made.”
“Right,” Anna mumbled around the cake. It was utterly sinful. Enzo Vitale clearly had been denied cake all his life. If he’d had even a crumb of one of Nonna’s creations, he wouldn’t have been so short-sighted as to get rid of such a jewel. “This is the best cake I’ve ever had.”
“Good!” Nonna looked smug. “Rocky, get some coffee. Espresso.”
“What? I’ll never sleep!”
Rocco kissed the top of her head. “Maybe I’ll help you.”
Oh God, don’t let me start getting turned on with his grandmother in the room. It’s creepy. “Tea. Please.”
The tea calmed her, and on her second cup with some biscotti, Rocco and Nonna moved her into the living room. The armchair she curled up in was better than her own bed. How different his house was now! So much more comfortable. She'd felt nervous going to Rocco's home just for the fact that she didn't want to make a mess—it had been Elle Decoration perfect.
It seemed like a minute later when Rocco said softly, “Tempesta, I'm just going to drop Nonna home, okay? I'll be back in fifteen minutes.”
“Oh. Well, I’ll just go home.”
“No, no, no. Please, stay. I won't be long.” She received a long, luscious kiss for her troubles and then Nonna's dulcet cackle rent her ears. “See you, screamer.”
She winced and hoped it was a nickname that wouldn’t stick. “Nonna, I do need to talk to you, actually.”
“Tomorrow. Eleven thirty.”
Anna could have found her phone and checked her diary, but she honestly didn't have the energy. “Okay, Nonna.”
As soon as the door closed, Anna placed her cup and plate in the dishwasher and switched it on. Then she traipsed upstairs and showered, using that body-melting scented gel that Rocco used. He had some simple body cream which she used liberally. In his underwear drawer, she found options for nightwear and decided a pair of boxers and a t-shirt would be adequate. Goodness, he didn't half have tight underwear. The boxers on her bottom looked like leggings shrunk in the wash.
Pulling them into some sort of comfort, she slipped between his cool sheets. Awesome mattress, she thought, wriggling into position. Exhaustion settled on her, and she felt a very sad sting of tears in her eyes. She really wished someone had told her just how much more painful it is to lose a friend than a lover. Pulling the duvet over her head, not even waiting for Rocco to return, she fell asleep.
Chapter Thirteen
Rocco closed the f
ront door behind him and set the outer alarm. His nonna’s words were still ringing in his ears. “Try jewellery. Who needs friends when you have diamonds?”
He gave his scalp a rub. “Annie?” he called. The only response was the assured hum of the dishwasher. “Annie?” A worried feeling filtered through him until he looked in the dining room. Her bag was still sitting on the spare chair. Bedroom, then. He jogged lightly up the stairs and pushed open the bedroom door. A chuckle escaped his throat at the sight of that sweet little lump beneath the duvet. What a day. Unable to keep the grin off his face, he made sure the house was secure then showered before joining Anna in the bed. He did put on pyjama bottoms just to protect his manhood in case Anna freaked out about his nudity.
“You’re back then,” she mumbled, turning over and resting her head on his chest. He curled his arm around her shoulders to cuddle her closer.
“Yeah. I’d have got back faster if I knew you were going to be camping in my bed.”
“I slept for all of ten minutes.”
He slowly stroked his thumb over the soft skin of her bare shoulder. “Still angry?”
“So fucking mad.”
“Tell me,” he insisted. The swearing bout hadn’t worked—she obviously needed to really vent about it.
Anna turned onto her stomach and leaned on his ribs. “You know what really fucks me off? It’s the fact that she spoke to me as if she has the smallest idea what it’s like to be me. Like I just woke up one morning and I had everything. I worked for it! I studied for weeks to figure out how to help my aunt, and because my aunt is a decent woman, she gave me that money for my GDL. But that didn’t cover my living expenses, so I worked two jobs. I’ve been working two jobs since I turned seventeen. I’ve only just paid off my student loans even though I’ve lumbered myself with a mortgage, which I am paying by myself. I didn’t marry the first banker who looked the other way to my shagging about to fund my lack of direction in life.” Ouch, Rocco thought. If Imogen didn’t deserve it... “Even when I got a training contract, because I had more than education on my CV, do you know how many times I spoke to clients on the phone and as soon as they came to the office, they were all ‘oh, you’re black!’ Do you have any idea just how fucking insulting that is?”
