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‘See?’ he said.
‘Um…I’m with your mother,’ Fran said. ‘That’s not music.’
‘Why can’t you play nice things?’Angela asked. ‘Like the pretty bits you used to play. Like the stuff you were playing at the party.’
‘And I still think you should’ve gone to college,’ Isabella added. ‘Studied music.’
Gio put his guitar away again with a scowl. ‘Well, I didn’t. And it’s too late now.’
‘Don’t be silly. Of course it’s not too late. There are plenty of mature students around—and you’re not even thirty yet. You probably wouldn’t be the oldest one there. You sort him out, Francesca,’ Isabella said.
‘I think,’ Fran said gently, ‘Gio’s man enough to sort himself out.’
‘Exactly. Thank you for the support, honey.’ He slid his arm round her shoulders and kissed the top of her head.
Oh, lord. His closeness made her remember Saturday night. The way he’d held her and kissed her then. The way the whole room had dissolved around them. The way he’d kissed her, pressed against the front door of her flat.
‘Prego,’ she said, and hoped her voice didn’t sound as wobbly to everyone else as it did to her.
Given that Gio was always in the office so early, Fran guessed that he’d go to bed reasonably early, too—so even though she wasn’t tired, she feigned a yawn and said goodnight, a good hour before she’d normally go to bed.
It was weird, going to sleep in Gio’s bed. Even though the sheets were clean, his scent was everywhere; and being wrapped in his duvet felt a bit like being wrapped in his arms.
Right now she could really do with a cuddle. She had no idea when her flat would be habitable again, or how much of her stuff would have to be replaced, or even if the flat would still have the same feel about it when all the repairs had been made.
‘Pull yourself together. Stop being so wet. There are plenty of people in far worse situations,’ she told herself fiercely. Yet still the tears slid silently down her face. She scrubbed them away and buried her face in the pillow, until at last she fell asleep.
Until a strange noise woke her.
A noise that sounded like the door opening.
For a moment, she was disorientated: then she remembered she was in Gio’s bedroom. In Gio’s bed. He was asleep on the sofa bed in the living room. She must have dreamed all that nonsense about the door opening. It was probably a floorboard creaking as the building settled overnight or something; and didn’t people always misinterpret the noises in a strange house?
She turned over to go back to sleep.
And then she felt the mattress dip beside her.
CHAPTER TWELVE
FRAN’S first reaction was to shriek and switch on the light.
Gio also gave out the most almighty yell—and then sat bolt upright and stared at her in shock. ‘Fran? What—why—how—oh, Dio.’ He groaned and covered his face with his hands. ‘I’m so sorry. When I offered you a bed for the night, I didn’t mean you had to share it with me. This wasn’t meant to happen. I… Look, I’m really sorry for disturbing you.’ He started to slide out of the bed—and then stopped.
‘Um, Fran, can you turn the light off?’
‘What?’
‘Turn the light off,’ he repeated. ‘Unless you want an eyeful. Because I’m not wearing…’ He dragged in a breath and looked her straight in the eye. ‘Oh, hell. This isn’t what you think it is, I swear it.’
She shook her head. ‘Right now, I don’t have a clue what’s going on.’
He swallowed hard. ‘I sleepwalk. I haven’t done it for years—I used to do it when I was a kid, but I thought I’d grown out of it.’
‘You sleepwalk?’So he’d walked into her room and climbed into bed with her without realising what he was doing?
He nodded. ‘Mum took me to a few doctors when I was little. They did all kinds of tests, but it seemed there wasn’t any rhyme or reason to it. Nobody knows why it happens. I just…sleepwalk.’
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