Chapter 7 #2
Michael grabs my hand and guides me down the short hallway to his door, which has a drawing of a dragon hanging on the front.
He ushers me inside, and I take a look around.
While the space is small, there’s still enough room for a substantial bookshelf, which is—of course—filled with plenty of gaming guides, as well as two large card binders.
Michael beelines to his shelf. “I have something to give you.” He yanks a binder off the bookshelf, unzipping it and removing a card.
I pull my wallet out of my small crossbody purse and retrieve the vintage Charmander card my thirty-one year old brother (reluctantly) gave me from his old collection. “I also have something for you.”
“This is for you. It’s a full art card of Eevee,” he says solemnly, gently placing it in my hand.
“Michael, are you sure?” I don’t know the precise value, but I know that full art cards are good cards. He simply nods and throws me a huge smile. Before I can get emotional over his generous heart and make things awkward, I place my card in his hand.
He checks the year on the bottom of it. “A vintage rare?! I need to show Zio!”
Michael drags me by the hand all the way to the kitchen, only letting go to hold the card up triumphantly. “Zio Gi, look what Tess got me!”
“Tess?” Giovanni asks, seemingly perturbed at Michael’s use of my nickname. Ruffling Michael’s hair with the oven mitt, he says, “A vintage? That is special. I’m happy for you, ometto.” He gives me an unreadable look before straightening, but I think I see a small smile forming on his lips.
“Dinner’s ready.”
The four person kitchen table is covered in large, shallow bowls of food. The biggest one features spaghetti in a golden-colored, creamy sauce, sprinkled with little chunks of meat, pepper, and cheese.
“This smells heavenly. What are these bits here?” I ask, pointing to the meat pieces sprinkled throughout the pasta.
“Guanciale. Kind of like bacon, but fattier,” Lucia explains. “It’s spaghetti alla carbonara. The pasta is tossed in an egg-based ‘sauce’ and sprinkled with parmigiano-reggiano.”
“It looks absolutely incredible. Thank you so much, Lucia.”
She picks up some pasta on her fork. “I actually only did the bread. Out of the two of us, Gi’s the better cook.”
I glance at Giovanni. “You cooked this?”
He rubs the back of his neck. “It’s a family recipe. You don’t have to eat it.”
Men are so dramatic. I heap a big portion onto my plate.
“Lucia confirmed it’s poison-free earlier, so I’m good.
Although, I’d appreciate it if one of you would take a bite first, just to be sure,” I add, throwing Lucia a wink.
She takes a bite of pasta, before pretending to choke on it.
Michael laughs hysterically, leaning all the way back in his chair.
“Enough. The three of you,” Giovanni grumbles, shoving a forkful of spaghetti in his mouth.
Lucia glances between Giovanni and I. “So, are you both ready for Milan? The design is so special. And the appliqué, I still can’t believe—”
“Micheletto, why don’t you tell our guest about your drawings?” Giovanni interjects.
Michael flushes crimson and ducks his head. “She’s a real designer. She doesn’t want to hear about my stupid drawings.”
Swallowing a huge bite of the best pasta I’ve ever tasted, I chime in, “Well now you have to tell me, because I’m a firm believer that no art is stupid, as long as it’s original.”
“Um, okay,” he replies quietly. “I like to draw characters. I kind of want to do a graphic novel one day.”
“Whoa. That’s majorly cool. I can barely draw the models underneath the clothes in my sketches. Bodies are so tricky. I’d love to see any of your drawings one day.”
He beams from my praise, happily chewing a bite of his bread. “I guess I could show you when I’m done with the first chapter.”
“I’d be honored, Michael.”
He sits up a little straighter in his seat, looking extremely pleased with himself. My eyes dart to Giovanni, whose face gives absolutely nothing away.
Two additional helpings of pasta and a few cannoli later, Lucia yawns and starts clearing the table.
“Well, I hate to kick you out, sort of, but this guy needs to go to bed if he wants to be awake for school tomorrow. And, frankly, I want to change into pajamas and take my bra off. So, have a good night!”
“Can you not talk about your bra?” Giovanni stands and shudders, acting like a surrogate big brother.
Ignoring him, she says, “Tessa, we loved having you. Don’t be a stranger. You can come over without this guy, too. In fact, we would probably prefer that—right, Michael?”
Sweet Michael giggles, while his grown-ass uncle wears a frown.
I reach down to pull on my booties. “You’re too kind. Thank you so much for having me. This was lovely.”
She leans in for a quick hug. “It’s dark outside. Gi will walk you to the subway.”
I vigorously shake my head. “That’s really not necessary.”
A rumble escapes Giovanni as he opens the door.
“He insists. He’ll take care of you.”
“Let’s go,” Giovanni mutters. He marches straight out of the apartment to the elevator, pressing the down button.
Fuck.
A light sweat breaks out at my hairline, and my hands get clammy even thinking about being enclosed in the small space. I consider my options. I could take the stairs, but I’m still a little sore from the paparazzi fall, and I don’t want him to ask questions when I inevitably wince.
Deep breath in.
It might not be so bad… It’s not like we’re on the thirtieth floor. It won’t be long.
“Please, take your time.” His teasing voice snaps me out of my thoughts.
He’s already inside the vertical transportation device from hell, checking his watch and holding his hand on the door to prevent it from closing.
I drag my feet into the dimly-lit elevator, and he presses the ground level button.
Trudging straight to the back wall, I prop my back against it for support.
Tilting my head up towards the ceiling, I close my eyes and take some deep breaths. I just need to power through it.
I was going to make my final decision on Giovanni’s pretend girlfriend offer on my way down the stairs, but now I can’t think of anything else other than surviving this ride.
The elevator dings, and we head down. Unfortunately for me, the elevator is moving slower than a side character in a horror movie.
The monstrosity creeps and creaks along at a pace so diabolically insensitive that it forces a tear down my cheek.
Everything’s okay. It’ll be over soon. I thank God that the elevator is giving mood lighting and pray Giovanni isn’t watching me too closely.
I open my eyes just a sliver, and that theory flies out of the window right along with my bearings. His gaze bores into mine as he runs a hand through his curls.
“What’s wrong with you?”
“Hey, I don’t want to be stuck in here with you, either.” I try to respond in a condescending tone, but it comes out weak instead. Almost all of my energy is spent on not having a panic attack in front of him.
“Are you scared?”
“If you could just leave me alone right now, that’d be great.
I’m trying to pretend I’m—agh!” The elevator jolts to a stop, the lights turn off, and I slowly slide against the back wall to the floor.
Cold sweat prickles at my neck, my hands won’t stop shaking.
This can’t be happening. Putting my hands over my ears, I curl up in the fetal position, taking shallow breaths.
A few more tears leak out against my will.
If I wasn’t so focused on my impending death, I’d probably be embarrassed.
It’s hard to focus on anything other than the alarm bells sounding off in my nervous system.
I catch only bits and pieces of action and speech in between shuddering breaths.
I think Giovanni pushes the help button.
And as I dig my nails into my palms, I catch him rattling off the building address through the speaker.
Even though my mind knows it won’t be long before someone comes for us, my body is screaming otherwise.
Sweat drips down my temple, and my chest feels so tight.
I can’t believe this is happening again.
A smell wraps around me—leather, bergamot, cedarwood—and a body sits next to mine. Two strong hands come to my waist and hoist me up, setting me on a lap.
“Is this okay?” Giovanni asks, his voice low and gruff. He wraps his arms around me, pulling my back to his front.
Too pathetic to argue, all I say is “yeah” in response.
“Micheletto had a panic attack once, and he likes pressure. A tight hold, I mean.”
“I think it’s… um, helping.” My body is still trembling, but I feel my heart rate begin to slow. If I’m being honest with myself, it feels pleasant to be firmly held, protected like this. I almost feel dainty in his lap.
“You’re safe. With me.”
I’ll regret this later, but I lean back into his broad chest, resting my head on his shoulder, my chin brushing his neck. His breath skates along my exposed collarbone, causing me to shiver.
“Sorry about this, I just—”
“Don’t apologize,” he murmurs.
“Okay.”
Five minutes later, it’s still dark, he’s still holding me, and we’re still silent.
My breaths even out, and I clear my throat. “I haven’t always been this way, you know. Scared of elevators. I was always fine throughout childhood. But my ex-boyfriend…”
Giovanni’s body tenses and… Is he tightening his grip on me?
Deciding to ignore his reaction, I continue.
“My boyfriend at the time lived on the twenty-second floor of a high rise. Halfway to his apartment, the elevator stopped. I tried to press the help button, but it was broken. After ten minutes of frantically maneuvering myself all around the elevator, I eventually got one bar of service. When the call finally went through, he said he was wrapping up a meeting, but promised he would contact building security.”
I take a deep breath through my nose, warmed by the bergamot notes in Giovanni’s cologne. My body feels safe, but my heart still feels vulnerable.
“And, um, he never did call them. He was fucking his coworker at the time and completely forgot about me. So, I was trapped in the elevator by myself in the dark for two more hours. It was the middle of summer, and it was so hot. I couldn’t stop sweating, and it was hard to breathe.
” Sighing quietly, I whisper, “I guess people thought it was under maintenance, so it took a while for anyone to notice anything.”
I’ve never shared this story with anyone before, not even with Daniel. And I can’t believe I’m sharing it with him.
Giovanni doesn’t say anything at first, instead tightening his other arm around my waist. Engulfed by his strong arms, he matches the pace of my breath for a few moments. We breathe in and out at the same time. I wonder if he’s timing his to sync up with mine on purpose.
When he does speak, it’s only three words.
“You deserved better.”
Tightening my grip on his arm, I say four back.
“I’ll be your girlfriend.”