by Billy London
www.beautifultroublepublishing.com
Copyright © 2012 by Billy London
All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or shared in any form, including but not limited to: printing, photocopying, faxing, recording, electronic transmission, or by any information storage or retrieval system without prior written permission from the authors or holders of the copyright.
This book is a work of fiction. References may be made to locations and historical events; however, names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination and/or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), businesses, events or locales is either used fictitiously or coincidental. All trademarks, service marks, registered trademarks, and registered service marks are the property of their respective owners and are used herein for identification purposes only.
Published by
Beautiful Trouble Publishing, LLC
1589 Skeet Club Rd. Ste. 102-237
High Point, NC 27265
www.beautifultroublepublishing.com
Cover Art: Les Byerley
Editor: Legacy Editing
Proofreader: Allie Hart
Formatter: Jim & Zetta, http://www.jimandzetta.com/
E-book Conversion: Jim & Zetta, http://www.jimandzetta.com/
ISBN: (ebook) 978-1-61788-311-8; (print) 978-1-61788-312-5
For the late, great effervescently amazing Ms. Rhonda Scales. I’m going to miss you and remain forever grateful to you for your support.
For Jeanie and Jayha. So Nick’s dad and the beady eyed aunt get together. This is totally your fault and I love you both for it!
To Lady London, thank you for patiently spelling out the numerous Fante words for me and buying me so much ice cream and cake in Capri I nearly burst out of my top! Florence? Next year? They have booze…
To my readers… Brace yourselves.
Note about eBooks
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CAVEAT
This work may contain adult language and sexually explicit scenes. This book is intended only for adults, as it is defined by the laws of the country in which the purchase is made. Keep this book out of the hands of under-aged readers.
Glossary
Abasama: (Fante) What’s the matter with you?
Abodom: (Fante) Are you mad/Madness
Baciami: (Italian) (phrase) kiss me
Bessem ma ye nko: (Fante) (phrase) come on let’s go
Cazzo: (Italian) (slang) cock
Chiavare: (Italian) (slang) fuck
Ewuradzi Yankopong: (Fante) Jesus Lord
Fa wasam ko nhu: (Fante) (phrase) get lost!
Figa: (Italian) cunt
Giusto: (Italian) all right
il Padre: (Italian) The Father
Kahun: (Fante) move
Makaachreo: (Fante) I’m telling you/I’m warning you
Meda ase: (Fante) thank you
Mina: (Fante) mother
Obruni: (Fante) a foreigner/white person
Otse den: (Fante) (phrase) (informal) How are you?
Per cent’anni: (Italian) (phrase) for a hundred years
Phat: (slang) big
Scoparmi: (Italian) (slang) fuck me
Stag do: (phrase) bachelor party
Yaatsi: (Fante) Enough
Yeffun: (Fante) shut up
Zia/Zio: (Italian) aunt/uncle
What is love? ‘tis not hereafter;
Present mirth hath present laughter;
What’s to come is still unsure:
In delay there lies no plenty,—
Then come kiss me, Sweet and twenty,
Youth’s a stuff will not endure
Carpe Diem, by William Shakespeare
Chapter One
The villa was absolutely spotless, arranged to Massimo’s exact specifications. New Murano chandeliers sparkled in the sunlight that streamed through the Venetian glass. Simple blue and white tiles reflected the crystallised light. Regency-styled wallpaper had been brutally stripped and the walls instead painted a neutral cream. All the beds in each of the twenty bedrooms had been replaced along with the linens. Even the exterior had been resurfaced and repainted. It had taken the better part of a year, but at last, every single last trace of Mary Alice and her influence in his home was gone.
The first time he returned to the villa, the stitches in his neck still raw to the touch, he was haunted by her. He smelled her in the sheets, in the soaps she had chosen. He saw her playing tag with Nick under the loggia, tying Paul’s shoe lace as he was perched on the dining room table. Her reflection was in the huge bedroom mirror, fitting an earring to match the full length black dress she wore for their anniversary. With a brief blink, her image dissolved. Every day felt like torture. A relentless cycle of opening his eyes, turning to his side and seeing his bed empty. Fortune had chosen him rather than his wife, who had so desperately wanted him dead. The when he had lost her was inconsequential to the why and where. Maybe he could have brought her back from that edge and saved their marriage. Thirty three years of his life was rendered irrelevant by her senseless death. What else could he do but start again? From the very beginning as if none of it happened, regardless that his heart was shattered. As if his wife hadn’t carried on an affair with a man who was intent on taking everything from him that he had spent years building, controlling, ruling. Or that she hadn’t tried and almost succeeded in destroying his relationship with his children and worst of all, attempted to have him murdered. Ignore all the imagined conversations where Mary Alice explained herself in a concise and apologetic manner and instead, wonder when he would be able to sleep through the night without medicinal assistance.
Sometimes, he questioned if he was doing the right thing. Painting over his life with Mary Alice. She had existed. His sons were testament to that. But he didn’t see her in either Paul or Nick. They were both very much so his children. He’d have been utterly lost without them and the women in their lives. Not that she would ever admit it even on pain of death, but Sofia had such a streak of compassion within her, evident by her checking up on him on a daily basis. Gina made sure he had enough food to eat for a lifetime. More than that, it had been her prompt that led Nick to tell him what his mother’s cruel plans had been. He would never be able to repay Gina for her thoughtfulness and determination to save the Da Canavezes from Mary Alice’s betrayal. All he could do was vow to live up to what Gina’s father had started and watch over her.
He rubbed a hand across his eyes, composing himself just as Sofia swept past him. “Padre, you can help by lighting some of these DiptyqueTM candles. I want the whole villa to smell like roses when Gina comes.”
Taking her cue from her friend, Sofia had started calling him padre as well. Gina apparently couldn’t call him by his first name and it felt too formal to call him Mr. Da Canaveze. Padre was a happy medium that caught on and taken various forms. He liked it. He liked it even more that the two girls felt comfortable enough with him to call him father in his own language.
“They have not even boarded the plane,” he replied.
Sofia merely pressed a lighter into his palm. “All the more reason to move it along.” She paused. “Are you having a maudlin moment? Do I need to get the Jonnie Walker?”
“No, I am fine. Yes, you do.” He smiled. “How many candles are you going to light?”
“Excluding the ones in the loggia? I can’t count that high.” She grinned, sweeping her long, liquid black hair over one lightly tanned shoulder. “This is going to be a beautiful wee
k.”
“And you are sure the villa does not look too modern?”
Sofia gave a dancing little shrug she always gave before she lied. Naturally, she wouldn’t think so, as most of the changes had been her ‘suggestions’. Subtle phrases such as “Padre, it’s very er… Ienco…” would ensure he’d move forward. Mary Alice Ienco—like was the last thing he wanted. Manipulative little thing. She was his daughter, if not by blood then definitely by deception. “Mon pere, il est magnifique.”
“You always speak French when you lie.”
“Pfft. I’m taking the Ferrari for that.”
“Sofia, I said no.”
“I can’t hear you,” she claimed. “Paul’s going to be here in an hour and then we can eat. Fiore promised the fish will be as good as Gina’s. We pay her enough for me to beat her if it isn’t, don’t we?”
“No.” The tone in the one word was sufficient for Sofia to sigh.
“Fine. You do like to spoil my fun.”
“Make yourself useful. I will be in my room.”
Sofia kissed him on the cheek. “You need to relax some more. You’re starting to look more like Paul’s father and less like his brother. Go swimming.”
He laughed at her lack of tact and made his way up the stairs. He preferred the villa this way. Strange how new furniture, paint and tiles could erase the history of a place that had stood for eight hundred years.
Belinda couldn’t help smiling at the balmy heat that swept over her as she stepped from the plane. As good as Ghana, she thought. Gina nudged her in the back with a denim covered knee. “Come on Auntie, there’s lounging to be had!”
“Lounging? What is lounging?” Sometimes she couldn’t understand a word that came out of the girl’s mouth. Just like her mother. Mouthy, short, curvy, and odd. For a girl a few days from her wedding, not a single worry marred her features. The nut brown skin of her face remained clear, framed by her shoulder length oak coloured hair. Not even a single shadow darkened her large eyes. She only seemed excited and Belinda couldn’t be happier for her. It had been quite a road for the two of them, the past year.
Delighted surprise at Gina appearing on her doorstep with Belinda’s favourite food had given way to an instinctive and suspicious need to know what the girl was up to. Most of their arguments came from Belinda’s deep rooted insecurity that she would be turfed out of yet another person’s life without a moment’s hesitation.
After quite a bit of brass-faced cheek, backbiting, a lot of, “Auntie, you’ve got to learn not to interfere so much!” definitely far too much of, “If your father knew you were talking to me like this!” repeated, “I am an adult!” biblical amounts of, “Do you think I’d say this if I didn’t care?” they had found a comfort zone.
More than that, Belinda saw her best friend in her daughter’s quick mouth and by the same turn Gina eventually admitted her understanding as to why Belinda and her mother had been such good friends. After one particularly bruising row, Gina sat down next to Belinda and said, “I get the feeling I would have been like this with my mum.”
“Rude?” Belinda retorted, still singed from the argument.
“Well, look. I haven’t had anyone question my morality in a while. And I haven’t had anyone bullying me to go to church! But I know you’re doing it because you care about me.”
“Don’t know why, you’re so rude.”
Gina wrapped her arms around her aunt tightly, “I’m over thirty so I like to think of it as honesty, not rudeness.”
“I’m not a busybody,” Belinda added, trying not to melt at the hug.
She squeezed tighter. “You are a bit.”
“It’s concern!”
“I get it. Just let me get used to it.”
“You could pray about it.”
Gina gave a long-suffering sigh and the row started all over again. The girl learned to do as she was told if her aunt’s feathers were to remain unruffled. It was a system that worked if the younger woman was to have her much lauded peace and quiet. She felt free and easy to talk the girl’s ear off until the cows came home.
“Go on! Challenge me!” Belinda had bellowed once, much to her niece’s sustained amusement. It had taken a week for the two women to speak without the younger laughing immediately.
Her niggling doubt as to her place in her niece’s life disappeared when she was handed an invitation to the wedding.
“Don’t worry about your flight, your dress or anything, Auntie. You just have to be there and that’s all I’ll need.”
Resisting the urge to cry, Belinda caught Gina’s hand, sat her down and started an enormous list of things they needed to do. Still, the invitation was not withdrawn and now, the day was almost upon them.
“You can’t be lazing about, we’ve got cooking to do. Are you sure you’ve got enough palm cream?”
“Like ten tins and it’s enough for soup to feed fifty people,” Gina said with exasperation. She was repeatedly exasperated in Belinda’s presence.
“Don’t take that tone with me Georgina. You’re not too old to get a slap from me.”
She began to laugh. “What? We checked when we packed it a week ago. We double checked when it arrived at the villa. I don’t know why you’re so worried. The party’s tomorrow and we’re in Italy.”
“It’s not a party, it’s a serious ceremony!”
“Not like we can take a short trip to Peckham and buy a few anyway.”
“Why are you trying my patience?”
She pressed her lips together and stretched her arms above her head as they walked toward customs. “You should relax. I don’t want to stress myself. I’m not going to stress myself.”
“Hmm.”
“Everything’s done. Lyds sorted out the cloth, Sofia’s sorted everything else, Nick’s bought whatever it was on the two page list you gave him and all we have to do is turn up. Customary rites tomorrow, the rehearsal dinner’s the next day and then wedding. Boom. Wait until you see the villa, it’s beautiful by all accounts, done up all shiny and new. You’ll be so chilled by the time you get back to London.”
Belinda groaned. “Abasama, Georgina. You talk too much.”
She received a kiss on the cheek for her troubles and was hustled through Naples customs and to collect their luggage. Not knowing what to expect, Belinda packed her entire wardrobe. Gina eyed the luggage and burst out laughing. “What is all that? We’re going for less than a week!”
“This is nothing. Very light.” Belinda was grateful Gina held back giggles as she handed over her card to pay for the excess baggage. Bloody British Airways. They came into the airport lounge and Gina was half knocked over by the tall other mouthy child Gina was such good friends with. The Ebony/Ivory bookends. “Viva Italia!” they sang together, bouncing up and down.
“I can’t wait for you to see what Massimo let me do to the pool. It looks ridiculous. Belinda!” Sofia crowed.
Belinda lifted an eyebrow. Gina nudged Sofia who frowned, muttering, “What?” Another nudge finally gave her the realisation of what needed to be said. “Oh bugger, sorry. Aunt Belinda. How are you?”
“I’m all right. The flight was quick.”
“Fabulous … we’ve got a driver to take us to the villa. It’s about an hour to get to the villa as it’s just outside Sorrento, Sant’Agnello. So we can either get a coffee now or just go straight there.”
“I think we should go straight to the villa. There’s a lot to be done.”
Sofia slipped her arm around Belinda’s neck. “No, there really isn’t. All we have to do is relax and put a few outfits on. By the way, my Ghana cloth arrived and that dress maker needs a bonus. My bottom looks phenomenal.”
“And who is going to do all the cooking for the customary rites?”
Gina pitched in, “We’re all going to help. Everyone will be here either by tonight or first thing tomorrow. Like I said, no stress.”
Belinda could tell she wanted to stay and have a girls chat with her friend. “I’
ll take the luggage and go to the villa. No,” she insisted over their immediate protest, “I’ll be fine. I’m sure your father-in-law will be friendly.”
Sofia’s green eyes glowed with amusement, “He’s always friendly.” They made their way to the huge town car. The hired driver piled the luggage into the boot before helping Belinda inside. “Auntie, don’t lift a finger. Just…”
“Teacher yaatsi,” Belinda huffed. “I heard you. Relax.”
The door closed and she heard Sofia saying, “Has that woman ever relaxed?” And the sharp yell following Gina’s, “Behave!”
The driver took off, leaving Belinda to stroke her hands over the butter soft leather interior of the car. Nick may be a bad boy, but he was a bad boy with class. It took a good half an hour before the coastline burst into view. The sky was such a bright blue, the sea misted into it, each seamlessly drifting into the other. The car travelled higher into the hills, but the sea was still within reach. Belinda had grown up in a fishing village and spent her childhood on a beach. She could almost smell sea salt and she closed her eyes briefly. A lump rose in her throat, feeling a strange and instant affinity with a place she’d never been to before. Pulling herself together, she closed the window and waited for the journey to end.
The door opened abruptly and she was helped out of the car by a young man with sharp features and an ice coolness to his bright blue eyes. Another Da Canaveze boy. “Zia Belinda? I’m Paul, Nick’s brother.”
“Thank you,” she said, startled by his politeness.
His brows came together in concern. “Sofia told me you were coming alone. You could have stayed with the girls and shopped in Napoli. There isn’t much to do.”
Belinda nearly kissed her teeth. “Why is everyone forgetting the customary rites?”
“The Ghanaian party, right?” Paul held up a hand. “I’m sorry. One moment.” In rapid Italian he shot off what sounded like commands. “He’ll take the luggage to your rooms.”