Chapter 31
Tessa
An hour of mingling later, Gio is pulled away to patch up someone’s ripped hem. Music plays, and everyone dances in the garden area. The thought of dancing mixed with the lack of Gio’s presence unsettles me. I wander into the kitchen for a moment to gather myself.
Although we’re physically in Italy, the complex emotional state I’m in is more aligned to Greek mythology. If life here were a tragedy, I’d star as the Hydra, but with emotions instead of heads. Each time I have one under control, two more feelings grow.
A few dishes linger in the sink, and I grab Maria’s apron from where it’s hanging on the wall.
After tying it around my neck and waist, I pick up a dish and start washing it with a sponge.
I peer through the window above the sink into the garden, where Gio’s relatives dance.
Everyone seems so full of life, moving without inhibition.
Roberto skillfully twirls Maria, her laughter rising above the music.
Gio seems so happy and vibrant tonight surrounded by his family and friends. I can’t imagine how lonely he is in New York. I wonder why he’s stayed in New York for so long when it meant leaving his loved ones behind. They’re not even my family, and I know I’ll miss them when this—if this—is over.
The massage in the countryside plays in my mind on repeat. The gentle way he took care of me. Every time I see him, I remember the intimacy of it all. The thought of this ending…
“Is it an American thing? To hide in the kitchen during a party?”
I smile at the low, teasing tone of voice that caresses my back.
Placing the dish on the rack to dry and rinsing my hands before wiping them on the apron, I spin around to face Gio.
“I can’t speak for the rest of Americans at parties, but washing dishes is certainly not a me thing.
Sometimes I eat soup directly out of a pot to avoid washing a bowl. ”
Smirking, he takes a step toward me.
“I’m actually ashamed at the amount of paper plates I’ve bought over the course of my lifetime. I’m considering taking up volunteer work to atone for my environmental sins.”
Another step closer now, and I can smell the bergamot notes in his cologne.
“And I’ve tried, Gio, believe me. I even bought glass tupperware once.” I pause for dramatic effect. “There was only one problem.”
Standing directly in front of me now, looking down with rapt amusement, he asks, “And what was that?”
“I don’t eat leftovers. I always say I will, like how I say I’ll make salad at home with the fresh spinach I buy every week at the store. But it’s aspirational.” I sigh, my breath wafting over his neck.
He chuckles, and his breath warms my forehead.
“Anyways, the leftovers grew mold.” Lowering my voice, I whisper, “I ended up throwing the tupperware in the trash.”
Covering my eyes with my palms and peeking out in between my fingers, I admit, “It’s one of my most shameful secrets.” I drop my hands and grin up at him.
Gio playfully shakes his head and a brown curl falls in front of his eye. I lace my fingers behind my back to prevent myself from reaching out and brushing it off his face.
“You know that glass is washable, right?”
“But there was mold on the glass, Gio. It was contaminated. Any other food I’d put in there would be mold-adjacent.”
“Of course,” he placates, grazing his fingers across my shoulders and snaking them under the apron’s collar.
He gently unties the bow, the two ends hanging loosely down my back.
He rests his hand on my shoulder, rubbing the bend of my neck.
I close my eyes at his touch, relishing the feeling of his skin on mine.
With each brush, I feel increasingly special. Sliding his hands down toward my hips where the waist is tied, he starts undoing the bow. Shivers follow in the wake of his fingers, which appear to possess a sort of goosebump-inducing magic.
“So, why are you really in here?”
“With you being pulled away… they started the music, and I guess I’m just nervous. I’m kind of a terrible dancer.”
“You? In those stilettos? No,” he teases, cocking an eyebrow.
I huff and spin away from him. The loosened apron drops to the floor. Facing the garden window again, I sigh. “How does everyone in your family know how to dance so well?”
He places a hand on either side of the sink, enclosing my body with his. The heat of his chest warms my back, and the stubble of his chin brushes up against my temple. Dipping his head lower near my ear, he whispers, “You’re mistaking skill with trust. Take a closer look.”
He gently grasps my chin in his hand, slightly smooshing my cheeks in. He carefully turns my head toward Maria. “Look at Mamma. You see?”
“She looks beautiful,” I sigh. “Light as a feather… like she’s floating.”
“Look closer, Tessa. She looks like she’s floating, because she is.” His low tone of voice causes my ear to tingle.
He’s right. Roberto has lifted Maria lightly off the ground, maybe by a couple inches.
Two hands grab my waist and spin me around.
Gio’s chest touches mine now, and the urge to kiss him overwhelms me.
It’s undeniable that things are changing, evolving in our relationship.
The air feels electrically charged between us, his touch generating sparks within the depths of my soul.
It’s almost like a runner’s high, being close to him.
I want him to make long-term promises. I want him to stick around so badly.
Keep me. Like me, I chant in my head, hoping he’ll somehow hear.
Why is it so hard to be honest? Why can’t I just open my mouth and tell him how I feel? I know we have feelings for each other. But the sliver of doubt I’ve stitched into the deepest crevasse of my brain, the one that whispers it’s just pretend, prevents me from revealing too much.
I don’t want to be this way, second-guessing myself, thinking the worst. But sometimes, the simple idea that someone could like me as much as I like them feels impossible to believe.
Taking a deep breath, I gaze longingly in his eyes and try to communicate my deepest desires. Kiss me for real. I want it. I want you.
He stares back at me, and for a moment, I think he understands. He looks at my parted mouth, but instead of pressing his lips to mine, he dips his head and laces our fingers together. Then, he guides my other hand to his waist. In this position, it’s almost like we’re… oh.
“Dance with me here?” he murmurs in my ear.
I nod, notching my head underneath his chin.
We gently sway together, silently, in front of the sink.
My eyes water, overwhelmed with affection for this man.
All I’ve ever wanted is for someone to go out of their way for me.
To be in a relationship where each person puts in emotional labor.
Not just a labor of love, but a labor of vulnerability, a labor of trust.
So, we dance. The music outside sounds distant, muffled by the window. But the soundtrack inside feels loud. His breathing mixed with mine, the dripping faucet, the gentle buzz of the refrigerator.
“Gio…” I whisper.
“I know,” he replies.
“Yeah?”
I desperately hope the unspoken words between us are the same.
This isn’t pretend. Not for me.
“Let me hold you for a bit, okay?” His voice comes out gruff, emotional even.
“Okay.” I press my nose into his neck.
We dance for an hour, or maybe five minutes.
And when he gently pulls away, I give him my biggest, widest, realest smile.
“Let’s get back out there. They’ll be looking for us,” he says quietly, tugging on our joined hands and leading me into the garden.
A few hours later, everyone is tipsy and happy, including us; although, Gio is teetering on affectionately drunk.
With every glass of wine, his affinity for physical touch intensifies.
I sit sideways on his lap on the bench, and he lazily twirls a strand of hair framing my face.
His other hand comes up to tickle my side, and I squirm with silent laughter.
“I love your laugh, Tèssa.” His melodic accent is back in full force.
I snort. “You can’t even hear it.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he says solemnly.
The warm breeze washes over me and nudges my hair off my shoulders. I close my eyes and peacefully breathe it in.
“What would you do right now, if this was never pretend?” My voice is soft.
A long beat of silence, and then, “If I brought you here as my real girlfriend?”
My eyes flutter open and gaze into his. “Yeah.”
He swallows, eyes slightly glassy, still looping my hair around his finger.
“I’d be doing exactly this.” His voice comes out throaty. “Hand in your hair, you on my lap, talking and drinking with my family.”
I hoped he’d say that.
“Gio, I…”
“Tessa. Luca is leaving soon,” Maria says, walking up to our bench. “You know, he can really hold his alcohol. Not like my Gio. If you want to—”
“Goodnight, Mother.” His words hold a healthy dose of sarcasm.
Maria winks at me, and I wink in return. I love it here. I love his family. I love… holy shit.
Do I love Gio?
I freeze, my back stiffening. All of a sudden, I’m itching to get up and sort out my feelings.
Gio cranes his neck in front of my face, garnering my attention.
“It’ll be okay, Cara. I’m with you, hmm?”
Cara.
It’s like a bucket of ice water is dumped over my head. Of course he’d call me another name when he’s not thinking straight. The realization that he might not like me in the bone-deep way I like him crushes me. Is he still hung up on his past?
I hop off his lap. “Alright, Gio. I think it’s time to turn in for the night.”
He gives me a curious look but allows me to lead him back into the house. When we arrive in the room, he shuts the door.
“You know I meant what I said… about being in this with you.”
“Yeah, but you’re also tipsy. It’s been a long night.”
He tugs on my hand. “No. I mean it.”
“Sure, sure,” I pacify. “Let’s get you in bed.”
“You’re coming, too?”
“Yeah, in a bit. I’m going to run to the bathroom, get ready, you know… girl stuff.”