Twins
1414 Words
She sprang away from the Giovanni in the kitchen.
“Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to— I didn't realise—”
His smile was mischievous, and his dimples flashed. “Don't recognise your man, Miss Victoria?”
As she stared at him more carefully, the differences — albeit subtle— were now clear to her. His eyes were lighter than Giovanni's, and he had a tiny scar on his forehead. Aside from that, he had dimples on both cheeks.
Why hadn't she noticed that before? Why didn't she pay attention?
Aside from those differences, he looked exactly like Giovanni, but he had on something more casual, unlike Giovanni— a t-shirt and jeans.
“I apologise,” she said again.
The smile stayed on his face. “Yeah, but you haven't answered my question. You can't identify your fiancée?”
Vickie tried to pull herself together, forcing a small smile. “I wasn't paying attention. I'm a little nervous to meet the family, you see.”
“He never told you about me?”
“Well, I—”
He cut her off before she started scrambling for an excuse. “I'm Emilio. Nice to meet you.”
She accepted the outstretched hand in relief. “Victoria St Cloud. Nice to meet you.”
“And you, too, Miss St Cloud.”
With a subtle nod, she whirled around towards Giovanni. “May I have a word, please?” She beamed up at her betrothed.
Giovanni turned around, and she trailed after him.
“Well?” he asked, already seated on the couch, legs crossed at his knees, and even though she was standing over him, she felt like a pauper tending to royalty.
She cleared her throat. She wouldn’t let him make her feel that way.
“I'm still waiting, Miss St Cloud. Or am I to wait till the second coming of our Lord?”
She swallowed. “You didn't mention you had a brother. It would have been helpful to know.”
He didn't even look up. “Continue.”
“Are you... Are you listening to me?”
“I'm sure I am.”
“Y'all got anything to eat here?” Emilio appeared from the kitchen, a pot lid in his hand, and a spring onion in his mouth. “Oh, couple time. Forgive me, Giovanni, and Miss St Cloud. But help a starving man. I'm dying here.”
“I'm sure you can help yourself, Emilio.”
“There is literally nothing in the kitchen!”
“Keep your voice down, fratello. This is not a slaughterhouse.”
Emilio rolled his eyes and disappeared back into the kitchen.
How could he talk to his brother like that? And what did he mean that there was no food in the house?
She had to confirm. “Did he say there was no food in the house?”
“You're giving me a headache, Miss St Cloud. Please have a seat.”
“But what will your family eat?”
“Don't bother yourself with that. Now—”
The sound of a car came through, cutting him off. He stood up.
“That will be the rest of the family, Miss St Cloud. If you will excuse me.”
“No, wait!” Quickly, she smoothed her clothes again and patted down her hair. “How do I look?”
“I'm sure I don't care, Miss St Cloud,” the smile was lifeless, “Maybe someone else will.” As he spoke, he headed for the door, and Victoria stared at his broad back.
Marrying him would be undoubtedly the biggest mistake of her life.
He was unpleasant, horrible, and everything she detested. But she had to survive. She needed this wealth, or the alternative was ruin.
Oh, God, please. Let her be able to pull through with this sham. Everything depended on it.
His voice cool and level, rippled across the room to her. “Would you like a glass of wine to go with your thinking, Miss St Cloud?”
She hurried to him, standing beside him at the door. Her fake smile felt heavy on her face, but she forced it into place, willing herself to breathe normally.
Suddenly, the door flew open. “Hellooooo,”
Victoria blinked, unconsciously taking a step back and bumping into Giovanni's solid form.
“Sorry,” she whispered just as the new arrival's grey eyes fell on her.
“Oh my gosh, you are so beautiful.”
“Manila, hands off her.”
“Hi,” Vickie said weakly, senses overwhelmed by the whirlwind that was Manila.
Suddenly, a cry rang out, “Giovanni, my boy, come give Mama a kiss!”
Her mouth went dry as the rest of the family arrived, all talking at once. She stayed frozen for a second, feeling the chaos swirl around her.
Minutes later, everyone — his sister Manila, Emilio, their grandfather, and their parents— were seated around the table, all talking at the same time.
The dining area was elegant. Almost too elegant for her comfort. The table was long enough to seat a small council and the chandelier above was dripping in crystals.
Vickie twiddled with her fingers, heart pounding as she stared at the empty table. What sort of psycho invited people to dinner and made no provision for food? Were they to eat air?
His grandfather was bald and bent over, barely able to walk even with the help of his stick. His mother was a little.... stocky, but she knew her jewellery, gold glinting off her neck and fingers. The father resembled his father, of average height, and a little bit overweight. Luckily, he still had his hair.
Unconsciously, Vickie sneaked glances from Giovanni to his father.
How had such a father birth such a specimen of a son?
“Hello?” The old man called, hitting the table with his cane.
She cleared her throat when she realised they had been talking to her for the past few minutes. Before she could talk, Giovanni, seated beside her, placed a large hand on her shoulder.
“Apologies, grandpapa, my fiancée is tired from overseeing the food preparation.”
Vickie glanced at him sharply. He offered his cold smile in return.
“Oh, yay,” clapped Manila. “Food.”
Vickie whipped her head so fast around that it almost came off her shoulders.
Trickling silently into the room in a line were servers, each of them bearing dishes.
Where had they come from?
“So, Victoria,” began the mother in a thick accent as she lifted the lid off her food, “tell us about you. What do you do?”
“—I-uh—” Her voice wobbled. She stared blindly at the dish in front of her, trying to decipher what part of it was actually food.
The plate looked like modern art: a delicate swirl of golden sauce, a small tangle of pasta so thin it could have been spun from silk, and—were those… shavings? “Is this… cheese?” she murmured.
“It’s tagliolini al tartufo,” Emilio offered helpfully. “Fresh pasta with black truffle.”
She picked up her fork and began to pretend as if she knew what she was doing. “Thank you.”
“You still haven't told us about you, child,” stated the grandpapa whose head reflected the light in the room. “What do you do for a living? Are you from a respectable family? As you can see—”
“Grandpapa.” The voice was steely and final. Giovanni's. “Let's be a little more accommodating, shall we?”
The old man waved a hand dismissively. “At my age, I don't have to be friendly. So what do you do, Vickie?” He went on before she could answer, “Where do you get your looks from? From your mother?”
She lowered her fork with a soft clink and lied, “Um, yeah. My mother.” She didn't look like either of her parents.
“So where is she now, you sweet girl?” Asked Mama Giovanni.
“She passed away a few years ago.”
“Oh, I'm sorry.”
“Thank you.”
The silence stayed until the grandfather's cane tapped once against the floor and he leaned forward,
“Giovanni, have you given Dee the divorce papers yet?”
- Writer
