Chapter 14 #2
“I’ll read the top one,” Beatrice whispered. She was not sure why she felt the need to lower her voice; she only knew that it felt appropriately reverent—both for Giovanni’s pain and the memory of the woman inside the letters.
“My dearest love,” Beatrice began, gently giving voice to Giovanni’s mother.
She read the simple Italian, halting a little over the difficult words.
“I have missed you since we were parted. Your son kicks me daily, and I pray he will be as strong as his father. I hope that he shall be brave and kind, like you. When he is born, I hope you shall be there to hold him in your arms. Together, we shall teach him to be a good man. I am proud my son shall be a gentleman, but I am prouder that he will be yours. I hope to see you soon, my dearest love. I pray for you daily. May God guide you in every way. Your dearest wife, Evelina.”
By the time Beatrice had finished, tears were falling from her eyes. Whoever had written this letter loved their child and the father of that child very dearly. She looked at Giovanni. She could see that his chest was rising and falling heavily, and he was biting his bottom lip intensely.
“Gio?” She set the letter down and reached out to touch him gently. “Gio?”
“Oh, God!” In a sudden outburst of emotion, Giovanni rolled to face her, burying his head in her shoulder and clasping his hands around her back.
For a second, Beatrice thought he must have been overcome with amorous intent, but then she felt his shoulders shaking and could feel his wet tears against her throat.
“Gio, it’s all right,” Beatrice whispered, soothing him gently and stroking her fingers through his hair. “It’s all right.”
He was sniffling and keening gently, his tears soaking into the shoulder of her gown. Beatrice had never seen Giovanni like this, so raw and emotional. She half expected him to pull away at any moment. Instead, he pushed his body closer, his hands gripping her back as sobs racked his body.
“It’s too much,” Giovanni gasped into her hair. “It’s too much.”
“I know.” Beatrice blinked against her tears, instinctively pressing a kiss to the side of his head. “It’s a lot to process. But she clearly loved you, Gio. You must believe that.”
“Yes,” Giovanni sighed heavily. Beatrice felt the warm sting of his hot breath against her skin. “Yes, I believe she did.”
Giovanni pulled away slightly and Beatrice mourned the loss of his closeness, assuming that he would, as he always did, withdraw both physically and emotionally.
But he didn’t. He shifted slightly and put his head on the cushion beside hers, looking at her with bright, slightly wet eyes.
He held onto her hand between them. It wasn’t an erotic touch, but companionable and loving.
It made Beatrice’s heart feel full that he trusted her like this.
“Her name was Evelina,” he breathed, gently squeezing her hand. “Until I saw these letters, no one had said her name aloud to me. Now Thaddeus has, and you, too.”
Thaddeus must be the name of the man who had said he was Giovanni’s father.
Beatrice quickly tried to think of all the Thaddeuses of her acquaintance, but it was difficult to run through so many names.
Silas and Giovanni knew so many more, besides.
She didn’t want to pester Giovanni with questions, so instead, she said something to encourage him to talk.
“Evelina is a beautiful name,” she whispered, tentatively reaching her other hand out to stroke his hair.
“Evelina Amante. She was a maid in his father’s house. They fell in love and married before his father separated them.”
“Then you are not a bastard, Giovanni Amante,” she smiled at him.
“It appears not,” he shook his head in disbelief, “in fact, I might be more than—". He stopped himself. “Well, it doesn’t matter.”
Beatrice wondered what he had been about to say, and why he had diverted. She noticed the way his eyes flickered from her face to something over her shoulder. There was part of the story he wasn’t quite ready to tell her yet.
“His name is Thaddeus,” she probed gently. “Thaddeus Amante?”
“No,” Giovanni shook his head, “I was given my mother’s name. I was not good enough for my father’s name. Or so my grandfather determined.”
Beatrice didn’t press him to name the man. He clearly was unsure about him still, and Beatrice knew that if Giovanni was still suspicious, he would want to keep her safe from any potential danger.
“But Thaddeus gave you the letters. He is a gentleman, isn’t he?” Beatrice suggested gently. “He loved your mother very much.”
“I… I don’t know what to believe anymore.” Giovanni sighed and rolled onto his back to stare at the ceiling, dropping her hand. “Yesterday, I was just Giovanni Amante. Today, I could be Giovanni Thaddeus Christophe…” Giovanni’s voice trailed away.
Beatrice could see the conflict and confusion inside his eyes. A father coming into his life so suddenly, claiming to have loved him, offering him a family and potentially a heritage—though Beatrice didn’t know what it could be—was overwhelming him.
“Today, you are still Giovanni,” she said. “Having a father does not change you in the ways that matter, Giovanni.”
“But what if it could?” Giovanni looked at her eagerly, almost suddenly. “What if this man could change everything about me?”
Beatrice couldn’t see how that could be true, but she could see it mattered to Giovanni. She spoke slowly, trying to make sure he took in her every word.
“It wouldn’t, Gio. It couldn’t,” she said. “Today, you are still the man who rescued a puppy for me, nearly lost all of his money on a horse, and swore to me you would always be there for me when we came to England. You will always be those things.”
“I know.” Giovanni looked back up at the ceiling, suddenly sounding defeated. She hadn’t wanted to make him miserable; she was trying to encourage him that no matter what happened, he would still be the incredible man she saw before her. It didn’t seem to be working.
“I know you don’t feel like you can trust this man,” Beatrice said. “But I confess, I can only be happy that you will potentially find answers about your past.”
“I don’t know if the answers are worth the risk,” Giovanni muttered. It was as if he wasn’t speaking to her but instead just quietly saying what was on his mind. “What if he’s lying? What if it is all a ruse?”
“Well, did it seem like a ruse?” Beatrice asked reasonably. “You are a good judge of character, Gio. How did it feel? Did he feel genuine?”
Giovanni seemed to be struggling with his answer.
“Yes,” he said finally. “But I am so unsure. I do not trust myself.”
It was shocking to Beatrice to hear such insecurity come out of Giovanni’s mouth. He was always so confident, so carefree, so ready with a witty retort or a charming remark. The fact that he was sharing his feelings like this with her assured Beatrice to speak truthfully, too.
“I trust you, Gio.” She traced her fingers down the side of his cheek, watching his eyes flutter closed at her touch. “I trust your judgment. I trust you with my life. Do you trust me?”
“Of course, I do,” Giovanni whispered hoarsely. “You know I do.”
“Then trust my judgment of you.” Beatrice set her palm against his cheek and smiled. “You will make the right choice.”
“Beatrice,” Giovanni placed his hand over the top of hers. She saw his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. “The only reason I am cautious is because of you, because of you and Silas. No matter who this man is, whom he claims to be, you two are the only family I’ve ever known.”
He moved his hand to her waist, drawing her even closer, and Beatrice’s breath caught in her throat as his dark eyes shone brightly.
“I won’t do anything—anything—that means that I might lose you two,” he muttered softly. “Even if that means denying what is in my deepest heart.”
Beatrice looked up at him with dawning realization. His resistance, his changing moods, his sudden eagerness followed by coldness suddenly made sense. It wasn’t because he thought she was too innocent or her feelings for him weren’t real. He had just been using that to hide his true reasons.
“You mean...?”
Giovanni nodded and twined a piece of her hair around his finger longingly.
“This is about Silas, isn’t it?” She gently demanded.