Free The Astrologer's Daughter by Rebecca Lim

that Simon
and I are together—that is a shade more elegant than surprise. Paolo raises a speculative
eyebrow at me in a perfect arch, and I grimace back, telling Wurbik hurriedly that
I’ll be there by eleven: things to do first, won’t be late, see yuz .
    There’s this feeling, tight in me as I hang up, that Wurbik’s going to tell me something
I won’t want to hear.
    I shove my phone into my pocket and Paolo stands facing me across the chrome and
glass counter. We’re exactly the same height, and I’ve told him before that it’s a sign we were meant to be together. It always makes Paolo laugh when I mention it.
But I can’t seem to bring it up today, or even remember what it feels like to smile.
It’s like a nerve’s been cut, somewhere in my brain. So I stand, slack-faced.
    ‘ Bella ,’ Paolo says in his thick, not-from-here accent that’s so good you could bathe
in it, ‘today, we are like the lions,’ giving his mane a shake for emphasis.
    Then he comes around the counter and plants two kisses on me, one on either side
of my face, the way he always does, even when there is a line behind me all the way
to the door. As he does, his dark eyes never leave Simon. And it all feels a little
off today, the flirting, because it’s difficult to pretend that Simon’s not Paolo’s
type. He likes a hard body.
    Paolo drifts back behind the counter and picks up a set of tongs, clacking the arms
together lightly like the fairy godmother of pastries as he moves towards the cake
display that runs almost the whole length of the shop. He slides a couple of miniature
chocolate cannoli into a white paper bag then fires up the coffee machine. ‘Usual?’
he says as an afterthought.
    I nod, and he slides his eyes in Simon’s direction. ‘No thanks,’ Simon replies, loud
and nervous over the high-pressure hissing and squealing. ‘Already wired.’
    Paolo mock sniffs then pushes my long macchiato across the counter at me, together
with change from my tenner. ‘Didn’t I say you have the good taste in men?’ he reminds
me archly. ‘But remember, I am the first.’
    I jam the coins into my pocket, juggling the coffee and the little bag as I back
up. ‘The one and only, Paolo,’ I say in a rush. ‘You can have this one; I can’t get
rid of him fast enough.’
    Paolo grins at the discomfort on Simon’s face. I turn and say over my shoulder, the
way I always do, as if this is a normal day, ‘See you next week; have a good week.’
But my voice sounds joyless and mechanical, even to my own ears.
    Paolo reaches out and stops me, hand on my elasticised cuff. ‘You tell your mother,
the occhi di bue will be back on Monday, eh?’ He gestures behind him at the pastry
display. ‘She was asking.’
    My fingers go nerveless and I almost drop my coffee. Paolo can’t know, because if
he did it would be cruel to say what he’s just said, and he’s the kindest man I know.
    ‘When?’ I say breathlessly. ‘ When was she asking?’
    Paolo’s head tilts right. ‘Tuesday?’ My insides loosen then tighten as he says, ‘No,
Wednesday. Yes.’
    He can see I want more and his head tilts further. ‘It was morning, not afternoon;
she looked very tired. She bought the big one, not the regular.’ He points at the
two sample coffee cups taped to a corner of the countertop. ‘She never buys the
big one, and never a latte, only espresso—double, no milk—but it was a latte, I’m
sure, two sugars. I wonder to myself, Will she finish it? She is like the doll, your
mother. And she wanted three biscotti —you know, with the apricot jam—but we sold
out.’ Paolo’s eyes rake my frozen face. ‘ What? What is it?’
    I shake my head, unable to answer, and he says more kindly, ‘You tell her; I will
keep some. You tell her to come back, okay?’
    I don’t remember leaving the shop. All I know is that I suddenly find myself halfway
up the hill towards the State Library, bawling down the front of my jumper while
Simon holds my