Chapter 21
Giovanni
After dinner (and three more embarrassing childhood stories from Mamma), Tessa and I get ready for bed. I head back to the room first to get changed, while she goes to the bathroom to brush her teeth. Then we switch.
It hurts, Giovanni. I’m kind of scared… You’ll stay with me, right? Please don’t let go of my hand.
I replay some of the things Tessa mumbled last night from her hospital bed. In between stretches of sleep, she clung to me, begging me not to leave. As if the thought would even cross my mind.
When she woke up this morning, I could tell she didn’t remember anything. I didn’t want to embarrass her by bringing it up, but her pleas have stuck with me all day. They’ve affected me in a way that only adds to the tension I feel when I’m around her.
The anticipation of sharing a bed with Tessa still unnerves me, but after last night, I think I’ll sleep more soundly beside her, where I can make sure she’s safe.
And I suppose even the smallest bed will be infinitely better than sleeping in the plastic hospital chair last night, worried out of my mind.
As I walk down the hallway, I hear a buzzing noise that gets louder and louder the closer I get to my bedroom. I open the door and immediately cover my ears.
My gaze lands on my pretend girlfriend, who is peacefully sitting up in bed, legs under the covers, applying lip balm.
“Why does it sound like a Grand Prix in here?” I ask loudly.
Tessa shrugs. “It’s just my sound machine. It lulls me to sleep.”
“The sound of a space shuttle launch lulls you to sleep?”
Rolling her big brown eyes at me, she scoffs. “Don’t be dramatic, Giovanni. It’s background noise. Like a regular fan, but a little louder.”
“A little?” I run my hand through my hair. “I’m surprised you don’t have hearing loss yet.”
Tessa holds her hand up to her ear. “What did you say?”
“I said…” Trailing off, I realize she’s fucking with me.
We both grin at the same time. She turns down the sound machine, and I awkwardly slide into bed next to her.
It’s a tight fit.
“This actually isn’t as crowded as I thought it’d be.” She places her hand in the sliver of space between us on the bed.
I clear my throat. “Really?”
This bed feels very crowded to me.
Leaning back on the two pillows stacked behind her, she burrows her neck into them. “Yeah. My apartment is pretty small. I’m used to sleeping in a twin bed.”
Huh. Tessa’s made comments before about her small apartment, but I assumed she was exaggerating. Her brother has money, and I just thought she’d use some of it for housing. Given her height, a twin bed can’t be that luxurious. Her feet probably dangle off the edge.
She reaches to the side table and turns off the lamp, blanketing us in darkness.
I’m as rigid as a board, lying flat on my back.
The last thing I want is for her to feel uncomfortable.
I picture the night light in my bedside table drawer.
I think it was the small space and not the dark that caused her to panic in the elevator, but I wanted to be prepared.
How can I offer it as an option without offending her?
I go back and forth in my mind, before realizing that I haven’t heard any noise in the past five minutes. She must’ve fallen asleep.
I settle into the bed and turn on my side, extending my arm underneath my pillow. Knowing she’s comfortable, I let myself relax a bit more. My eyes start to feel heavy.
“Do you think it’s going well so far? You know, pretending?
” Both her gentle, low tone of voice and her question surprise me.
I squint in the dark, doing my best to see her facial expression, but only the planes of her face are visible, illuminated in the blue moonlight spilling through the cracks in the shutters.
I answer truthfully. “Yes, Tessa. I think it’s going well.”
“It’s not too painful, then, pretending to be my boyfriend?”
At first I assume she’s joking. But, after a few moments, when no playful jab or teasing snickers come from her side of the bed, I realize she’s serious.
I think about her panic attack in the elevator. How her past relationships have all been with careless assholes. How her brother said “she’s one mean comment away from moving back to Ohio.”
And I wonder where the fire in her, the one that burns brightest for me, goes in the dark.
I don’t want to make a big deal out of it, so I choose the simplest answer.
“It’s… easy, being your pretend boyfriend.”
A pause. Then, “Easy? How so?”
I search for the right words. “It’s not hard, being with you. It feels normal, Tessa.”
Nice, even.
Her tone is quieter than usual when she asks, “Normal?”
“Mhm.”
The bed moves, and I feel her body shift to the side, facing the window—away from me.
“Goodnight, Giovanni.”
I turn on my side, facing the door.
“Sleep well, Tessa.”