Page 67 of I'll Look for You, Everywhere
‘Anika—’
She stops me. ‘Don’t let him take advantage of you.’ She unravels her hand so she’s now holding mine, as she’s always done. ‘Don’t let him get away with shit,’ she says with a final huff.
We don’t talk any more after that. She doesn’t offer any further information about Theo and neither do I. We sit on the floor instead, the radio in her room streaming into the quiet of mine. Raf’s voice whispers, ‘Sei la più bella del mondo. Sei la più bella per me.’ Anika unconsciously hums along.
It’s unsettling to know that Theo’s goodness is eclipsed by a darkness none of us can make out. It hides behind broad shoulders and witty banter. Don’t let him take advantage of you. I chew my lip. But I would let him. The thought is terrifying and exciting. I would let him.
38
THEO
Dante slams the payphone against the telephone box. ‘Fuck off, you piece of Sicilian shit.’ Despite the booth covering him, his voice is loud and clear.
‘Jesus,’ I mumble, rubbing the back of my neck as I try to apologize with a lame smile to the beach-going passers-by. They glance at Dante with disgust and I shrug: Run along. You don’t want to be here for this!
Dante shoves the door open and sniffs loudly. ‘Well, she’s a fucking cunt.’
‘No luck?’
We cross the street to enter il budello di Alassio and I instantly smile. Small shops with their doors wide open, shades of coral, yellow and teal crowding the tiny streets. Beach balls with Italian flags and fishing nets spill onto the pathways. Mini electric fans drone in the stiff heat of summer, doing nothing but providing white noise to an already obnoxiously loud fucking environment. We enter the first walkway into the market and immediately the scent of hot, fresh piadine hits me. Fuck me, that’s heavenly. Roasted peppers dripping in olive oil, prosciutto di Parma layered in a cool blanket of burrata. I almost drool, searching for the shop to devour one.
‘You would think an orgy would warrant some sort of loyalty. It’s not like I’m asking for fucking meth. It’s shrooms, for crying out loud.’
My hand reaches out to stop him in the middle of the small street, piadine eviscerated from my mind. ‘You’ve had an orgy?’
Dante falters a moment. ‘Who hasn’t, you know what I mean?’ He digs his elbow into my ribs and tries to continue walking but I put my hand out again, pausing him.
‘No, eh, crazy thing, but I don’t actually know what you mean, Dante. I’ve never had a fucking orgy.’
‘Guess not every Sinclair is as fun as Anika.’
My fists clench; it’s my turn to stop walking. ‘You motherfucker. Did you have a fucking orgy with my sister?’
‘What happens in Paris, stays in Paris, brother. And that’s all I can say on that.’
I grip his shirt so tightly I hear the fabric ripping. Pushing him out of the crowd of tourists, we go into a shaded empty corner and I shove him forcefully against the bricks.
‘You’re on my dick about even thinking about Magdalen and you go and have a fucking orgy with my sister?’ The last words come out louder than expected and, when I peer over to make sure no one heard, a small boy with gelato dripping down his wrist stares up at me.
‘Clearly, our sisters are very different,’ he whispers, and winks at the ice cream boy, who’s watching us, completely mesmerized.
‘I’m going to punch you,’ I growl.
‘No, no, you’re not.’ He tries to wiggle out of my grip but I press him against the wall again until he winces.
‘I could.’
‘Of course you could, you’re so strong and agile.’ Dante tries to pat my shoulder but I swat him away so his hand hits the concrete wall behind him.
‘Ow, ow, okay. Listen, it happened years ago. Seven consenting adults gathered in an exclusive Parisian brothel and created something really magical that night. Some would call it an act of God.’
‘Seven?’ I push again, my brain trying to compute how seven naked bodies could even attempt fucking in sync, and my mind immediately blanks when I remember my sister was one of them.
‘Not the point. Shouldn’t have said that. That’s on me.’ Dante squirms in my hand, bracing for impact.
‘I’m going on a fucking date with Magdalen,’ I spit out.
‘Theo,’ Dante starts, but I slam him back into the wall again, rather enjoying this now. ‘Okay, okay,’ he wheezes out, his face grimacing with each subsequent hit to the wall.
