Bethany was glad for the cool mist dissipating the heat from her cheeks.

She was doing another walk of shame, no different from the countless times she had done so in the past. They were titles of chapters in her autobiography like the walk home on the day Drake disappeared. It was the day, a year later, when term holidays began and she returned home wishing for Drake wherever he was. It was the moment she left the park with blood trickling down her thighs. It was the walk with her parents to the head teacher’s office and the walk to the police station to give her statement.

When she got older, it became the stroll out of the lift searching for the hotel room she’d spend the next few hours in. And it was the walk that took her out of a room jaded with a little piece of her broken every time. Her only saving grace, the only thing that kept her striving for something better, to be someone better, was Amara.

Now another chapter had opened and she wrote using the steps taking her away from Drake as she made her way to the hospital only three blocks away. This time, however, Bethany had the sense to follow the ‘Walk’ and ‘Don’t Walk’ signs.

Her life may have had shitty moments. It just wasn’t enough to give her a reason to throw herself in front of an oncoming vehicle.

Yeah, right. Jumping out of Drake’s vehicle was just a dry run.

Bethany really believed in her heart that when he drove past her it wouldn’t hurt. After all, she’d done so many strolls of humiliation deserving of a cat walk. She was wrong. What Drake did stung worse than a bee sting could have ever done.

Bee…She let out a dry laugh. She couldn’t sting someone even if her life depended on it. Asking Drake to stop using that moniker was the right thing to do.

She took the steps up to the hospital, her shoulders slumped carrying the huge sack of missed opportunities and broken dreams. She bade a brief hello to the receptionist before taking the lift to her father’s room.

Her mother was asleep in the soft but uncomfortable chair. Cinzia was seated on the extra chair reading the Manchester Evening News and stood when Bethany entered.

“Bettina,” she said, softly smiling.

“How is he?” Bethany approached her father’s sleeping form. A drip was attached to his arm, oxygen entering his lungs through his nasal tubes. The lines on his forehead had smoothed out making him look younger.

“He was asleep when I arrived an hour ago. He still hasn’t woken up,” Cinzia said, the newspaper landing on the chair she vacated. “He looks good.”

“Yes, he does.” A smile pulled at her lips.

“Bethany?” Cora’s sleep roughened voice caught Bethany’s attention. She yawned and winced as she eased her frame on the chair. “You’re here. Where’s Drake?”

Bethany’s cheeks reddened under Cinzia’s enquiring look.

“He had to leave.” She bent down to kiss her mother’s cheek.

“Where did he go?”

“He didn’t say.” She shrugged. “Why don’t you go home and really sleep, Mum. I’m here. Cinzia can accompany you.”

“Yes, Mama Brooke,” Cinzia said. “You need to rest. What will Papa Brooke say?”

Cora waved dismissively, standing slowly. “I’ll be fine.”

“That wasn’t our agreement, Mum.” Bethany chided her gently.

“I know, sweetheart.” Cora’s face softened, cupping her daughter’s cheek. “Only so that you could take a break. You looked dead on your feet. You work, I don’t.”

“Oh Mum.” She shook her head while she removed her jacket.

“Bethany, please.” Speaking softly, Cora still commanded attention. “Another hour, I promise then I’ll go.”

“Why?” Bethany searched her mother’s face and saw only love glowing in it.

Cora looked at her husband. “I just can’t bear to be away from him. It hurts to even be seconds apart, you know? Sometimes even if you have to go to the toilet to pee.”

Cinzia snorted indelicately before mouthing a shamefaced “sorry” at Bethany’s look.

“Cinzia and I will grab something in the café,” she said relenting. She secured her purse over her shoulder but left her jacket. “We’ll be right back.”

Bethany was the last to leave the room. Maybe her mother didn’t think Bethany would hear what she said, but she did.

Cora wished that Drake would be that man for her daughter, the way Bethany’s father was the man for her.

She and Cinzia found a table not quite by the window. She nursed her coffee within her cold hands while Cinzia began demolishing her crème brulleé.

“How’s the club? The flower shop?” Bethany asked after taking a tentative sip of the insipid espresso.

“Very good. I’m going to teach the girls the new dance and the shop’s showroom is ready for the flowers.” Cinzia scooped a creamy section, humming appreciatively pointing to her dessert. “Just like this. I might even say this is better than sex. You should try it.”

Bethany snorted. “The sex? Don’t have time for it and not interested.” The thought of Drake’s hands on her and the near kiss they had warmed her all over. But that was the extent of it. A touch here, a brush of mouths. Nothing more. She couldn’t let it be anything more.

“I was talking about the crème brulleé, cara.” Cinzia’s thickly lashed dark chocolate brown eyes twinkled.

Bethany’s stomach chose to growl that moment. She hadn’t had anything to eat since she went home. It was a bad habit but she couldn’t eat a morsel when her gut was tied up in knots worse than traffic in a roundabout.

“Mama Brooke said your man went to pick you up.”

“He’s not my man, Cinzia.” Bethany riposted.

“Anyway,” Cinzia continued like Bethany didn’t speak. “Did he pick you up?”

She nodded.

“Where is he really?”

Bethany sighed leaning back and looked away.

“He’s gone and that’s God’s honest truth,” she said raising her palms. She looked at her good friend in irritation. Cinzia remained unfazed, still relishing her dessert.

“He’s not a gentleman if he didn’t take you back to your mama.”

Amusement teased the corners of Bethany’s mouth. “Miss Marchetti, I didn’t think you were old fashioned. That’s some revelation.”

“It’s common decency, Bettina.” Cinzia was all serious despite smacking her lips tempting Bethany to buy a little piece of heaven for herself. “It’s not chivalry.”

“Chivalry isn’t in Drake’s vocabulary.” Not. She remembered him as her knight in tattered-hem trousers and a school shirt partially tucked in and a faded school blazer. She exhaled letting the image join the air. “Look, he was only asked to pick me up, not escort me to my destination like some bloody prom queen.”

“Cara.” Cinzia’s teaspoon made a small clink on the saucer. She reached out to squeeze Bethany’s hand. “I didn’t mean it that way, but you’re so tense and I can’t help but think something must have happened on your way here.”

Bethany exhaled. “I nearly jumped out of the car while we were in the motorway.”

“What?” Cinzia exclaimed.

“Keep your voice down,” Bethany hissed.

Cinzia’s mouth was slack before she grabbed her water and took a few gulps. Her eyes sparked with anger.

She tapped her finger against her temple. “Perché diavolo lai fatto che?”

“Huh?” The only words Bethan knew in Italian were ‘please’, ‘thank you’, and ‘goodbye’.

“Why the hell did you do that?” Cinzia continued looking at her in disbelief. “Do you have a death wish? Think of Amara.”

“Don’t bring Amara into this.” Bethany warned.

Cinzia had her palms up. “Okay, okay, but really? What did you do that for?”

“Because he questioned why I danced on stage in front of every cock, dick, and penis.”

Cinzia’s eyes rounded, aghast. “Porca puttana.”

That phrase Bethany understood.

“Exactly,” she said before her shoulders fell and wistfulness surrounded her. Disappointment burned behind her eyes. “Drake isn’t the person I remembered. I get this feeling like he’s trying to prove something.”

“Like what?”

Bethany shook her head. “No idea. I expected him to change after what his father did. I just didn’t expect him to be…cruel.” She let out a bitter chuckle. “He’s joined the confederation of assholes and might even have a seat on the board.”

Cinzia tutted in sympathy. Bethany didn’t know whether it was caused by her story about jumping out of the car, if her friend was agreeing with her. Or both.

She sipped her comfortably hot coffee. They were both silent allowing the quiet conversation from other tables and the clink of glasses and plates on dining trays fill the lull.

Cinzia resumed eating.

“Have you told him?”

“I’m getting a crème brulleé,” Bethany said. “You look like you’re about to eat even the glass container like it was transparent sugar. It must really be good.”

That didn’t stop Cinzia’s train of thought, because the moment Bethany returned to savour her crème brulleé, Cinzia leaned back on her chair, arms crossed and waiting.

She was right. The dessert was good.

Air pushed out of Bethany’s lungs. She gave up pretending she wasn’t noticing Cinzia’s expectant face.

“I didn’t tell him, alright?” Bethany kept her eyes lowered, scooping the creamy vanilla laced confection looking at it like a jeweller coveted a diamond.

Cinzia rested her arms on the table. “Why?”

Bethany darted an upward glance.

“What good would it do?” she muttered, intent on turning the delicacy into a blob. “He has nothing to do with her.”

“True,” Cinzia conceded. “But now that he’s come back, there’ll be questions.”

“Questions I can give lies to.” She left the teaspoon in the custard. Talking about Drake and what was bound to happen robbed her of her appetite.

“And how do you intend to play a goddess in all of this?”

“Goddess?” Bethany huffed as she pushed the half eaten dessert to one side. She was no goddess. If only Drake saw her that way. She was more like one of the fallen.

“Si,” Cinzia replied. “Gods and goddesses were puppeteers, playing mortals against each other. They bestowed their blessing on those they favoured as long as they didn’t ask questions. Do you have that same ability?”

Bethany rolled her eyes. “Your philosophical mockery is duly noted.”

Cinzia shook her head but didn’t say anything else.

Instead, they talked about the club, the girls, and their flower shop’s launch. Later when Cora and Cinzia left, Bethany stared at her father, her mind still on what her friend said.

If she were a goddess, she’d turn back time and let Drake stay with her. If she couldn’t do that, she would whisk herself and Amara away and disappear again. And like in some tragedy, leave her heart behind.

Too bad she wasn’t a goddess at all.