Chapter 5 #2
She moved closer to him, standing on the other side of the small table.
She reached down to touch his coffee cup, turning the handle to a right angle, trying to listen to his breathing pattern.
It seemed regular, but he was very still, very tense.
Giovanni was usually relaxed around her.
If they had been having this conversation a week earlier, he would have sat back down in the chair and invited her to join him.
She would have teased him about his strong coffee and he would have made her try it.
They would have giggled and teased each other as they always used to.
Now, he was standing completely erect, barely moving, as if she was a predator stalking him.
“Fuzzy?” His voice was low and quiet. His fingers were still on the newspaper. Beatrice didn’t dare look up into his face. “Fuzzy in what way?”
He shifted uncomfortably and Beatrice knew he was fighting for the right words. She knew he was watching what he said.
“What do you remember?” He finally asked.
“I remember coming down the stairs,” Beatrice swallowed, remembering stumbling on his arm, holding him close. “I remember us fighting, you being very curt with me…”
“Do you remember anything after we got into the carriage?” Giovanni asked urgently.
It was a sign that something was very off that he didn’t rise to her baiting comments about his behavior, instead focusing only on the carriage.
At that moment, Beatrice knew that she was right—that it had all happened.
They kissed inside the carriage, his lips pressed against hers, her hands on his body, his arms pulling her into his lap?—
Beatrice quickly stopped the train of her thoughts, feeling a heavy blush climbing up her throat.
She focused on the books for a moment before answering his question.
She wanted to watch his face, to try and see if he was hiding something from her when she answered.
She looked back up at him, watching his expression carefully.
“I remember leaning against you.” Giovanni’s eyebrows twitched together at her words. “I remember feeling tired, and then you bundling me into the carriage…”
She let her words trail off, watching him carefully. She thought she saw him pale slightly, and noticed his throat working, as if he was fighting to swallow.
“And after that?” He asked quietly.
She left him hanging for a moment, looking into his eyes, trying carefully to see any shifts and discern if memories were frittering through his mind. Was he thinking about her? About her lips against his and her body pressed against him?
“Nothing,” she whispered, then spoke a little clearer, not wanting to reveal how flustered her heart was by her thoughts. “Nothing at all. It’s, like I said, fuzzy.”
“You remember nothing?” Giovanni’s voice was guarded.
Beatrice shrugged, trying to look unruffled as if she wasn’t recalling in minute detail the sensation of his fingers on her legs.
She tried to casually pick up his coffee, with the same cavalier familiarity they had experienced in their lives together.
Her hand shook slightly but hid it with a quick sip of strong coffee.
She winced, as she was prone to, and said casually, “Good God, Giovanni, could it be any stronger?”
She would expect him to bat back with a quip about how she was silly and an English weakling, but he simply pressed his point harder, turning the newspaper in his hands.
“Are you saying you recall nothing of what happened in the carriage?” He asked.
“No,” she set the coffee cup down, looking up at him carefully. “Why? What happened in the carriage?”
She watched his face closely, hoping that this would be the moment that he might decide to own up to what had happened.
She hoped that she might be able to see a flash of the Gio she knew so well, the Gio who had fought with her so angrily in the carriage and kissed her with so much passion.
What she saw, however, was the quick, suave fa?ade of him clicking into place.
“Nothing happened,” he said smoothly. “You had a little too much to drink, as you said. You fell asleep.”
“I fell asleep? Nothing else?”
Beatrice didn’t know exactly what she had been expecting from Giovanni, but she knew she was disappointed.
She knew Giovanni must have had encounters with many different women like this one.
Perhaps this wasn’t even his only encounter with a slightly intoxicated woman in a carriage.
Maybe this was always how he dealt with those situations, both he and the compromised lady denying it ever took place, but it bothered her.
Giovanni was more than that to her. She had hoped she was more than that to him.
You fool! Giovanni has had ladies falling at his feet all over Europe. Who are you to think you’re something special to a worldly man like him?
“Nothing at all,” Giovanni said breezily.
Beatrice nodded, trying to swallow her disappointment. She knew what that meant. He was trying to forget. She must guard her heart and try to forget, too.