Ben nodded, before disappearing out of the room.
‘Would you still make me that promise if you knew Bridget broke up with Paolo last night?’
What?
Cooper sat back, stunned. He pressed his hands against his head as if somehow that would help stop it spinning.
‘And how about if we weren’t, in actual fact, legally married?’
‘What do you mean? We signed the certificate.’
‘It was a fake certificate. Moses isn’t a licensed registrar.’
‘What? How? Did you know?’ Cooper was aghast. He couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe.
‘Not until this afternoon.’ She threw him a bitter smile. ‘“I promise to be open and honest with you.” We didn’t even make proper vows to each other. I think we can end this now and still treat each other with the kindness and compassion we deserve, as promised.’
There was a long silence.
Cooper cleared his throat again. As he started to speak, the tears finally sprang out, burning his eyes.
‘Do you want to end this?’
When Emma replied, it was close to a whisper. ‘Are you in love with my sister?’
‘I…’ He shook his head. ‘Yes.’
‘Then the next obvious question doesn’t even matter, does it?’
‘What’s the next question?’
‘Are you in love with me?’
He reached out to take her hand. To his surprise, she let him. ‘I know I could be.’
‘She’s my sister, Cooper. We could move to Australia and her shadow would still haunt us. Would you have me give up my family for you? Are you that sure this will be worth it? Because as long as we’re in contact with them, she’ll always be there.
‘You’ve loved her for seven years. With no hope of anything in return but her friendship. She’s single now. She loves you. We aren’t married. If you think I could continue this, if I could let myself fall in love with you, knowing that, then you have seriously overestimated my strength and my self-worth.’
He blew out a shuddering sigh. ‘So we’re over.’
‘Yes. And let’s be grateful we don’t have to go through the agony of a divorce. I’m going to stay with Nita for a bit. I don’t want anyone in the family to feel they’re choosing sides.’
‘Emma.’ Cooper tugged on her hand. ‘Please don’t hate her. She didn’t do anything. You know she’d never do anything to hurt you.’
‘Only she did.’ Emma stood up, smoothing her hair back and wiping her face. ‘And for what it’s worth, if things had been different, I think I could have fallen for you, too.’
* * *
Emma
Bridget’s break-up meant that I found myself with a lot of unexpected free time over the next fortnight. This was a mixed blessing. On the one hand, it allowed me plenty of time to lie in Nita’s spare bed, stare at the ceiling and contemplate my own failings. On the other, well, I wasn’t a woman who thrived on having nothing to do and no energy to do it.
On the first Friday, prompted by a text from my mother announcing her imminent arrival, I finally dragged myself up and into the shower. Not knowing quite what to do with myself next, I resorted to what I did best, shuffled across to the Cakery and began to bake.
An hour or so later, Mum joined me. Doffing an apron and scrubbing her hands, she took a bag of flour out of the walk-in pantry.
‘Here. We’re going to make sfogliatelle. My nonna’s recipe. And her nonna’s before her. For generations of Barone women, through each and every trouble and sorrow that came our way. Idiot husbands who gambled the house, rebellious children who ran off to Roma and got themselves pregnant. The babies we lost too soon. The men who went to fight and never came home. The years the purses were empty. The days we said goodbye to our mothers, and our sisters, who were also our best friends. The times we gave our hearts to men who turned out to be unworthy of our love. We dealt with this with a rolled-up sleeve and a clenched fist and we kneaded and rolled that dough, and then we gently painted each delicate layer with butter, salting it with our tears and sweetening it with our undaunted spirit and unbowed love for our family. I cannot believe I never showed you how to make it. So, anyway, in case it’s useful for you one of these days, you might need a pencil and paper to write it down. First of all…’
