Chapter 23
GIANNA
The restaurant I’ve been eying through my bedroom window turned out to be French.
I went with the chef recommended coq au vin even though I’d probably prefer a Ratatouille, which has been my favorite French dish since I saw the cartoon of the same name.
Matteo opted for the menu gastronomique, which involves several dishes that look to be enough to feed a whole family.
But he’s been making them disappear and is showing no signs of stopping.
“You were really hungry,” I say, smiling at him across the table, hoping I don’t have anything stuck in my teeth. “Good thing I suggested dinner, right?”
He nods and smiles in a way that doesn’t involve opening his mouth, which is currently full.
I lean back and sip the red wine, the taste of which reminds me of late summer, sitting in the soft sun, snacking on berries and being happy and content. I don’t even need anything stronger.
He swallows the food he was chewing and leans back to drink some wine too. “I haven’t been eating much lately.”
“Glad that’s changed. We don’t want you losing any weight.” Oh, God, I sound just like my grandmother. What is wrong with me?
The smile stretching across his face and eyes tells me he finds me amusing. Like a little weird girl… that kind of amusing. Totally not what I’m going for.
“You keep feeding me like this and I won’t lose any weight,” he says. “Probably the opposite. And you won’t like that either.”
I almost say, No problem, because I like a little bit of meat on my men.
No idea where that came from, maybe some movie I saw, because it’s certainly not something I think or say. Good thing I managed not to do it. Maybe this rich wine we’re drinking is going to my head faster than I thought.
“But I’m thinking your father wouldn’t like that very much,” he says and cuts off another chunk of his steak.
“We used to go out together to dinners like this as a family,” I say since I don’t really want to answer his other question.
“Until my brother died… we haven’t been anywhere together since then.
That’s why I really wanted to try this place.
Before it closes down, as so many restaurants in this city tend to before I can try them out. ”
“I’m sorry about that,” he says and takes another sip of his wine. “About your brother, I mean. Were you close?”
“He was a lot older than me,” I say. “But he was always there for me. I miss him a lot.”
“I lost my older brother too,” he says, looking down at the piece of steak stuck to his fork.
There’s a war going on in his face, shadows and light, and something that looks a lot like sadness. I wish I could see his eyes, but he’s keeping them averted. Maybe for the best.
“How did your brother die?” I ask, not sure I want to know. Maybe the same way mine did.
He visibly pulls himself together, and I can see the strain it’s causing him to do it, to keep the sadness from his eyes as he locks them on mine. “Not a great conversation to have in this nice restaurant. I also have a younger sister. Don’t see her much and I try not to miss her.”
“How come you don’t see her much?” I ask.
He shakes his head and he loses the battle to keep his emotions out of his eyes. The war on his face turns even more ferocious. “She made her choices and they cost us a lot. Maybe one day I’ll forgive her.”
But his face is telling me that’s a big lie.
The shadows have won and he looks downright scary in the light cast by the candles on our table.
I don’t think I should continue this conversation.
But I want to know what happened. I want to know what caused all that scary darkness that holds him captive. I want to make it all go away for him.
“Why can’t you forgive her?” I ask.
He looks at me like I’ve startled him with the question. Then he grins wide, which chases most of the shadows away.
“You don’t want to know about my family drama,” he says. “It’s all very boring.”
But I do. I want to know everything about him. And I’m pretty certain that nothing about him is actually boring.
“I want to get to know you better,” I say, the words just slipping out of my mouth because I was thinking exactly that so hard.
He grins one of his mysterious grins. The ones that make his face prettier, but also somehow more dangerous.
“Oh, you do, do you? And what would your father say to that?”
“Talking about my father is kind of a bummer.”
The answer, of course, is nothing good. Which is the reason for my sudden anger.
“Or your future husband, for that matter,” he adds. “I’m sure your father’s got someone lined up for you already. No, no, Goldie, you see, we’re neither of us free to do whatever we want.”
My head is positively spinning from the truth of those words. And the terribleness of them.
“There will be no fiancé or husband for me,” I say. “My curse kills them all.”
Shock crosses his eyes. Good. That’s what I was aiming for. To shock him. To make him see me, not just my father.
“What kind of curse?” I expected him to flat out laugh at me, so I have no snappy answer to this question ready. Truth is, I don’t talk about the curse to anyone, but my sisters and that fortune teller lady one time. She couldn’t help me at all. No one can.
“I’m surprised no one’s told you about it yet, seeing as you’re my bodyguard now,” I say. “Bloody Gianna, Gianna the Cursed. That’s what they call be behind my back, have been doing it for years. It’s because no man I get engaged to survives more than a couple of months.”
He leans back, holding his wine glass in one hand and looking at me like he’s just now seeing me for the first time.
“Go ahead, laugh,” I say. “But it’s true. I’m unmarriable.”
“I don’t think curses are funny,” he says. “I’m carrying one myself. My whole family does. It’s been there for generations.”
A second time tonight, he’s saying something I never expected to hear come out of his mouth in a million years.
My mind is spinning, thinking that we must truly be soulmates because we’re both cursed and both worried about it.
I’m already kind of seeing our wedding. Definitely a nice big house with a view of the ocean and a bunch of children running around in the garden.
But when have two curses ever canceled each other out?
It always takes a non-cursed to break the other’s curse. In fairytales at least.
“What does your curse do?” I ask.
He just starts laughing instead of answering, and I’m pretty sure this is the most genuine thing I’ve seen him do since I met him. His laugh is contagious, I can’t help laughing too. Even though I don’t know what’s so funny. Except everything.
“So if we do get to know each other better, I’ll fall by your curse too, won’t I?” he asks after a while, trying to catch his breath from all that laughing.
“I’m pretty sure it only applies to fiancés,” I say, still laughing, but the mirth is fading.
“Remind me never to get engaged to you then.”
“Sure, we don’t have to get married. I’m perfectly fine with that.”
He chuckles then finishes his glass of wine and I take a sip of mine too. The summer aroma explodes in my mouth and in my mind, making those visions of a house on the beach that we share with our children much more vivid. More like a memory than a fantasy.
“What’s your curse all about then?” I ask.
“Probably best not to talk about it,” he says and waves to the waiter. “I should take you back home. It’s late.”
This abrupt ending to what I thought could very well be the beginning of the rest of my life feels exactly like that initial plunge on the rollercoaster. And now I’m riding all the flips and turns as I watch him pay for our dinner and stand up, waiting for me to do the same.
I could’ve told him I’m not done with my food yet, but I am. I could say I don’t want to go back home yet. Which I don’t.
But no. What I did do was tell him about my curse.
Of course he wants to get away from me now. Either because he thinks I’m insane for believing in curses. Or because he’s afraid of getting too close to me so it doesn’t kill him too.
When will I learn to control what comes out of my mouth?