Page 25 of The Little Porto Book Club

‘You walked all the way to Rua dos Mercadores when there’s a perfectly adequate padaria nearby? With your ankle pain, you must have suffered up that hill.’

‘OK, fine, I walked there last week and peeped in. I wanted to make sure they were good people. It’s hard for me to let go sometimes. I just didn’t want another Scrapbook Sundays scenario.’

‘And you can tell they’re good people by sneaking a glance through a window?’ I can only shake my head. While she is the worst kind of helicopter mother there is, I remind myself it comes from a place of love.

‘Well, no, not really. It’s more that I looked at you and how you were reacting to them. When I peeked in, you were holding court, chatting away about Detective Amber Quill and I had quite the spring in my step after I left.’

Me holding court? I can’t see that ever being the case but it’s nice to think of Mum seeing me in a positive light, speaking confidently and not being ridiculed by others. ‘Let’s make a deal. I’ll keep my mouth firmly closed at Ida’s wedding if you stop staking out book club.’

‘Deal. If you invite Tiago as your plus one?’

I blow out a breath. I’ll have to set strict boundaries so Tiago understands this is one of those platonic dates with absolutely zero hope of any funny business. I’ve seen firsthand how inhibitions are lowered at these ghastly curated affairs. Not me though. Weddings are long, tedious and full of pomp and pageantry, and the only thing I yearn for is escape and the chance to change into more comfortable footwear. ‘Fine. But you’re not to interrogate him.’

‘Not at all?’

‘Not even a little bit.’

Mother pouts. ‘You’re no fun.’

‘Neither are weddings.’ I arch a brow.

Chapter Thirteen

On Thursday evening, after telling mother I had a dinner reservation with a friend whom I refused to name, I headed out to meet Tiago, nervous about whether he’d accept his role as my bumbling sidekick. After much observation, he fits the bill.

We’re meeting at a little family-owned tasca close to Rua das Floras. A cosy, no frills eatery, run by a local family.

There’s no time to ruminate about how I’ll navigate dinner because I’m still muddling through the appropriate verbiage to invite Tiago to my cousin’s wedding without inflaming his romantic aspirations. Tentatively I work through possible combinations, practising out loud for maximum effect:

Tiago, my mother has insisted I invite you as my plus one.

Tiago, I’m being forced by guilt and manipulation.

Tiago, in life you’re often required to attend events when you’d rather be abducted by aliens.

‘Hi, Viviane. Did you say you’d rather be abducted by aliens?’ I spin on my heel and come face to face with Tiago who wears a wry smile.

‘I did not.’ Well, I didn’t mean for him to overhear.

We hover in front of the tasca. My thoughts are scattered at the sight of Tiago who has dressed in more formal clothing. The transformation is dramatic, I lose my train of thought as I take in every detail of him from his pressed navy-blue shirt, to his linen trousers that hug in all the right places. It’s not that I’m so shallow as to judge a person on their sartorial choices, it’s that he is devastatingly handsome and how did I not notice that before? And why am I using words like devastatingly handsome? It’s more the fact he’s made the effort that touches me. He lightens the moment he trips over his own two feet, as he manoeuvres out the way of a couple walking past. I bite down on a smile.

I take a deep breath and stare just past his shoulder and will myself back to the dastardly challenge at hand. ‘Tiago, I’ve been coerced into attending yet another tedious family wedding. I’m in need of a plus one and you fit the requirements. Full disclosure, there will be no funny business between us no matter how many glasses of wine I drink, which will be anywhere between one and two. And to manage your expectations further, I’m not one of those people who becomes overly sentimental witnessing nuptials so there will be no crumbling of my defences as the dreary day wears on. I’m always situated at the back with the teenagers, another tedium, as they speak nonsensically, and take blurry photos of themselves and their food while they sneak glasses of wine and then become rowdy and obnoxious or sullen and despondent. It’s quite the headache-inducing spectacle. If you’re amenable, would you be free on September 27th?’

‘That’s, erm, a lot to consider.’ Yet again, he bites down on his lip, luckily for him he now has a balm for that.

‘You can let me know at a later date.’

His shimmering brown eyes sparkle under the moonlight. ‘I’d love to go with you.’

The eagerness is a concern, isn’t it? Who’d purposely go to a wedding they could easily avoid? ‘Appreciated, Tiago. Feel free to bring noise-cancelling headphones. I will be.’

‘Not a fan of weddings then?’ He hikes a brow, as if amused.

‘Absolutely not.’

Heat creeps up his cheeks as he says, ‘I love your dress, and red lipstick looks really pretty on you.’

I didn’t wear my much-loved ensemble of white shirt, black skirt in case Tiago mistakenly thinks I have no imagination. That’s the only reason I swapped my comfort outfit for a dress. The lipstick, well it might seem rather forward, rather vampish, but it felt right in the moment. Still, I shrivel a little at the compliments – at how obvious it all seems, as if I’m trying too hard.