Chapter 22 Valentina
VALENTINA
Walking into my mother’s new hospital room, I’m honestly stunned.
It’s bigger than our entire house in the US, with large windows that overlook the coast and spill sunlight across the floor.
The bed isn’t one of those narrow, squishy single beds Mom is used to.
It’s a proper double, with crisp sheets and space to stretch out.
Mom looks as surprised as I feel. “Tesoro, can you believe it?” She glides her hand across the breathtaking view not even a bedridden patient could miss.
It shows the coastline in all its glory and reminds me of the luxuriousness of Giovanni’s penthouse.
“I keep asking the nurse if they’ve made a mistake. This can’t be my room.”
She strays her eyes to me before gesturing for me to come closer.
She’s missed my presence as much as I have hers the past twenty-four hours.
I nuzzle in when she pulls me into her chest and hugs me tightly.
I’ve missed her smell and her smile, and thanks to Giovanni’s generosity, I’m no longer dreading that their absence will become permanent before I’m ready.
This treatment doesn’t guarantee a cure, but it will give her the best chance of going into remission.
When the strength of my mother’s caress tenses my weary bones, my heart aches with an equal amount of gratitude and guilt.
I wish I could refuse Giovanni’s generosity.
Pride is a hard thing to get over. It constantly whispers that it’s imperative to stand on your own two feet and that accepting help is a sign of weakness.
But the reality is too stark to ignore. We can’t afford the treatment my mother desperately needs.
My wages are too low to compete with the endless stream of bills constantly landing in my inbox, much less thousands in medical expenses.
I probably wouldn’t be so opposed to help if I weren’t worried Giovanni will think I’m using our fire-sparking connection to take advantage of him. That’s not what I’m doing. It isn’t his job to solve my problems.
I tried to talk him into a payment plan when we discussed my mother’s medical bills while showering together in my aunt’s poky bathroom. Giovanni wouldn’t hear a word of it. He said gifts weren’t given with invoices.
I still plan to pay him back. It’ll probably take seven centuries, but I won’t stop working until I’ve repaid every cent he spent for this treatment.
After feigning innocence about the new scent coating every inch of my skin, my mother inches back. Her eyes glisten with happiness and appear pain-free. “Are you sure our insurance covers this, tesoro? I didn’t think I could use our US health insurance here.”
Giovanni jumps into the conversation before a single excuse formulates in my lust-hazed head. “Your dual citizenship altered the rules. The Sicilian government is always happy to get money out of a foreign company.”
My mother’s giggle is true and genuine.
She already likes Giovanni. I can tell she does.
A pink hue creeps up her neck as she returns her eyes to me. “Are you going to offer an introduction, tesoro? Or shall I keep referring to this young man as your Dark Knight?”
“Dark Knight is fine with me.”
I whack Giovanni in the stomach before plopping my backside onto a portion of my mother’s bed. It’s not a squeeze since she takes up barely any space.
“Mamma, this is…” My throat constricts. I knew this moment would inevitably come, but with my brain on the fritz for countless orgasms, it isn’t firing on all cylinders.
I can’t call Giovanni my boyfriend. Surely not.
We met weeks ago, but the “we” part of our relationship is as fresh as a newborn baby. “He’s—”
Giovanni doesn’t let me drown in hesitation. He steps forward with his hand extended as if he owns the space.
I snort. He probably does.
“Giovanni Caruso.” His voice is steady and full of pride. “The man obsessed with your daughter.”
His confession jolts through me like electricity, and my breath catches. He said it just like that. No hesitation. No shame. It sounded so truthful it could be mistaken for gospel.
My stomach flips. Don’t ask me if it is a good flip or a bad flip, as I wouldn’t be able to tell you.
Mom’s brow lifts, but there’s no judgment in her eyes. Recognition is the only spark I see.
“Caruso?” She swirls his surname around her mouth as if tasting its familiarity. “As in Vittoria Caruso?”
Giovanni’s demeanor shifts. Only slightly, but it’s enough for me to feel the burden of it.
“Yes,” he answers, nodding. “Vittoria is my mother.”
Endearment softens Mom’s expression as her eyes flicker with a memory. “How is she? It’s been years since I saw her.” Her eyes glaze over with fresh tears as she corrects herself. “Decades.”
A moment of silence stretches between us before Giovanni says, “My mother passed a little over a year ago.”
Mom twists her hand in her blanket. “Oh… Giovanni, I’m so sorry.” Her brows furrow with genuine affection. “She was a good woman.”
“She was,” Giovanni agrees.
Mom smiles as her eyes glisten with curiosity. “And your father? How is he?”
Giovanni runs his hand along his jaw, tracing the tremor there, before he answers.
“He’s been unwell lately.” His eyes shift to me, and their hoodedness makes it impossible not to squirm.
“But he’s improved in leaps and bounds over the past thirty-six hours.
He’s like a new man.” Then, in a gentler tone, almost like a vow, he adds, “If you knew my mother, I’m confident he’d love to meet you. ”
If Mom’s lips didn’t part, I would have missed what she replied. That’s how softly she speaks. “We’ve already met.” Her gaze darts away as if tugged by a memory she isn’t ready to share before her tiny frame shivers. “The air-conditioning is a little cold. Could I get a blanket?”
“I’ll grab one.”
I leap up from the bed and charge for the door, but Giovanni beats me to it.
“I’ll get it,” he says, already in the corridor that reeks of medical equipment.
His shoulders are bunched, and he looks like he needs a minute to get his head straight, so instead of protesting that I generally use these requests for a quick breather, I nod.
The instant the door clicks shut with Giovanni on the other side, my mother pats the empty space beside her with her frail hand. “Hop back in,” she whispers, her eyes bright with urgency. “And tell me everything.”
Everything? I wouldn’t even know where to start.
Many hours later, I stand and stretch. My legs are now stiff from sitting so long instead of being curled around Giovanni’s shoulders when he took me to the brink in my aunt’s cramped shower.
Although I usually stay until Mom is asleep, I switch tactics today.
Giovanni hasn’t left Mom’s room since he returned with a blanket, and as much as my mother is putting on a brave face, I can tell she is exhausted.
Her eyelids are heavy and her complexion is pale, but I’ll admit, there’s a softness in her smile that makes my chest ache with joy instead of fear.
Leaning down, I kiss her cheek. Her skin is cool and smells freshly cleaned.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say, already mapping out the route in my head.
This hospital is further east than Ospedale San Giorgio’s, so it will take longer to get here, but I need to switch buses only twice instead of the usual three.
Mom’s decisive headshake shocks me. “No, you won’t.”
I blink, thrown off guard by her suggestion. “What do you mean?”
“I’ll be doing nothing but resting and sleeping for the next few days.” Her mischievous eyes dance between Giovanni and me. “Perhaps you should try to do the same.”
Even though I love her playfulness, her suggestion lands harshly in my gut. “I don’t want to leave you alone.”
Her IV line sways with the wave of her frail hand.
“Your aunt will visit every evening. And…” She retrieves a fancy phone from her bedside table.
It isn’t outdated like mine. It’s the latest-model iPhone, which gleams under the harsh fluorescent lights as brightly as my cheeks when I realize only one person in this room can afford such extravagance.
“This hospital’s services include internet connectivity.
We can keep in touch using FaceTime. I already downloaded the app. ”
My stomach flip-flops. Once again, don’t ask me if it’s in despair or excitement. I hate lying.
“See?” Mom twists the phone screen to me. “You’re at the top of the list, ready to be bombarded every evening at six.”
“Every evening?” I can’t believe I’m already folding. I usually fight until I’m out of breath.
Exhaustion truly is a brutal beast.
“Every evening,” she confirms, nodding.
“Okay.” I force my voice to stay steady even as emotions constrict my throat. “Every evening at six.” I collect my stuff before turning to face Mom. “Please keep me informed. If anything happens before or after our call, contact me immediately.”
“I promise,” she says, squeezing my hand.
Even though I feel like I’m surrendering, I say, “I’ll see you on the weekend. Love you.”
She mimics my declaration of love before watching us walk to the door.
As we enter the corridor, she murmurs, “Have fun, you two.”
I glance back at her and shoot daggers. There’s no heat in my scorn. It’s so weak it doubles the size of her smile. Her goofy grin is the same one she wore when she and Giovanni played Scopa. Unfamiliar with the rules, I chose to sit out and watch them play.
Their banter between games was more entertaining than being a participant. They laughed for hours, and on multiple occasions, I forgot today was Giovanni’s first time meeting my mother. It’s as if he’s always belonged in our family.
As we move down the hall, the quiet thud of our feet breaks the hushed emptiness of patients sleeping. “You’re really good at that.”