Chapter 22 #2
I wring my hands together nervously and look down at my outfit. “Even so, I don’t have anything to wear.”
“What you’re wearing is fine, Tessa.”
The wide-leg trousers and sleeveless blouse I’m wearing aren’t quite right for a romantic photoshoot. “I don’t know…”
His throat bobs on a nervous swallow. “If you wanted to wear something else… I, ah, might have something.”
“An ex-girlfriend’s dress?” I don’t think I can stomach it after the whole “Cara” fiasco this morning… I’d just be thinking of that the whole shoot.
“No.” Giovanni walks into the room and steps around me.
He pauses in front of his closet. “Before Nonno died, we worked on a collection together. There’s a sundress I sewed.
” His voice comes out quieter than before.
“I actually think it’s, ah, perfect for your measurements, but it has room to breathe, too. ”
He reaches into the very back of his closet, so far that his entire arm disappears behind the wall.
When his hand emerges, I almost gasp at the beauty of the garment.
It’s a floor-length ivory sundress, overlayed with a floral lace pattern so intricate it must’ve taken days to sew.
Made of a breathable linen with a boat neckline and a true waist, it looks forgiving, yet fitted in a way that would be flattering for any body shape.
My legs move of their own accord, slowly walking toward the garment. I reach out and brush my fingers against the material, picking up the bottom to admire the hem.
I pause and look at Giovanni.
“It’s spectacular,” I breathe. “But I can’t wear this. It’s too special, too delicate.”
“I’d like for you to try it on,” he says quietly, his breath caressing the top of my head.
“I… I guess I could just try it on. It might not fit,” I say, already knowing that if he said it’ll fit, it’ll fit. He is an expert, after all.
“I’ll turn around to give you privacy.” He angles his body to face the window.
I pull off my top and remove my shorts, setting them on top of the bed.
Then, I delicately slide the dress over my head like it’s made of bone china.
Ever-so-carefully, I tug the garment down.
There’s no mirror in his room, which makes me even more nervous.
I know how much his nonno means to him, and I can only hope I’m doing it justice.
I clear my throat. “I’m ready. You can look.”
Giovanni slowly turns around, and a swell of anxiety swirls within me as I wait for his reaction.
He studies me in silence, completely still. The only thing that moves are his eyes, raking over the dress, over my body, over my face.
“I totally understand if it looks odd on me. I don’t want to ruin any memories you have with him, so it’s probably best if—”
“It’s even better than I imagined on you,” he murmurs.
On you. My attention is entirely focused on those two words. Certainly, he hasn’t imagined me in this dress before, right? Definitely a slip of his tongue.
His hand moves near my collarbone before brushing his thumb over one of the tiny embroidered flowers that decorate the neckline. I shiver in response.
“If you can believe it, the embroidery was harder than the lace. Probably because my fingers were so tired. Everything was hand sewn, and my nonno saved the neckline for last.”
I take a deep breath in and out, trying not to disrupt his train of thought.
He suddenly averts his eyes and drops his hand. “We don’t want to be late. Let’s go.”
* * *
A smiling man with a camera around his neck and sandy blond hair greets us as soon as we arrive at the gelato shop.
“Gio! Sei ancora vivo!” Enzo laughs, crushing Giovanni in a hug and kissing him on the cheek.
“Sì, I am still alive, Enzo.” Giovanni claps him on the back, grinning wide.
“And this must be your girlfriend. Maria was telling my mamma all about you.” Enzo trains his light brown eyes on me, wrapping me in a hug so strong he lifts me off the ground.
Setting me back down, he leans in to kiss my cheek.
Before his lips make contact with my face, a large hand wraps around me, and I’m pulled backwards into my pretend boyfriend.
Enzo snickers in response. “He’s quite protective of you.”
The man with his arm around my waist grumbles something in Italian under his breath. I roll my eyes at his whole charade. He’s really laying it on thick.
I don’t… hate it, though.
“First, thank you for coming today. I wouldn’t make the deadline if it weren’t for you both. I owe you one.”
“You don’t owe me,” Giovanni replies easily. “If anything, I owe you.”
“Thank you, my friend.” Enzo throws him a grin. “Okay. First, I’ll go inside and get the gelato, but we’ll be outside for the shoot itself. Any flavor, Tessa?”
Giovanni cuts in before I can speak. “She can’t eat almond, hazelnut, or pistachio.”
“Thank you, sweetie.” I nod toward Giovanni with a mock flourish. “Lemon would be great, please.”
“Fior di latte for me, thank you.” Giovanni turns toward me. “Sweet cream,” he translates, as Enzo heads into the shop to place our order.
A few minutes later, Enzo comes outside bearing two giant gelatos on skinny, waffle-esque cones. I eagerly grasp mine, lighting up at the smell of bright, zingy lemons and baked vanilla flooding my senses.
I take a small lick of my gelato and moan. “Oh my God, this is so good. I don’t think I’ve ever tasted anything better in my entire life.”
Giovanni licks his gelato and gives me a funny look I can’t place.
Enzo picks up his camera. “The good news about this shoot? It’s going to be quick.
Have to finish before the product melts.
” He tosses a wink in my direction. “We’ll start with these flavors, then for the second half of today’s shoot, you’ll each get a second gelato.
The campaign is all about bringing people together.
The owners want to focus on love: love of people, love of gelato. It will be easy for the two of you.”
At this point, I might melt before the gelato does. I can tell how much Enzo means to Giovanni, and I don’t want to make this difficult for them. But pretending will be ten times harder with a lens in our faces.
I hedge a glance at my surly companion, who appears to be extremely interested in the texture of his gelato, looking anywhere but at me.
“Let’s begin. Start by hugging each other with one arm. Loosely wrap the other one around your partner, so your gelati are posed behind the back.”
We turn and gently hug each other, careful not to touch the gelato to our clothes.
“Tessa, tilt your chin up at him, and Gio, look down into her eyes. That’s perfect,” Enzo praises, snapping picture after picture.
“I feel so awkward,” I mutter to Giovanni through my wide smile.
His smile drops for a moment. “You’re fine.”
“Now, take a lick of each other’s gelato.” He chuckles. “This is so much easier than a regular shoot, because I don’t have to worry about germs.”
“Right,” I say a bit too loudly. “Because we make out all the time.”
Enzo’s face twists in confusion as Giovanni sighs. “Nice one,” he deadpans. “Very believable.”
I say nothing as I raise my cone toward Giovanni and tilt my head down to take a lick of his gelato.
He does the same, while Enzo takes more shots, complimenting us in between clicks.
It’s getting hotter and hotter outside, unseasonably warm for September, and both of our breaths are melting each other’s gelato.
Giovanni glances at my hand, where gelato drips down my thumb.
Before I process what’s happening, he sweeps his finger over the melted gelato and sucks it into his mouth.
His lips pucker and his cheeks cave in before removing his finger on a “pop” sound and returning to our pose.
My heart stutters, and I feel so aware. Aware of his eyes, his hands, his mouth. Him.
“Alright, relax for a minute. I have to run in and get more product. We only have a few more shots left. You’re doing great.” Enzo jogs into the shop for more gelato.
Giovanni straightens and throws his gelato away in the garbage can next to the bench, but I haven’t moved my hand since his finger touched it.
Gelato is melting all over my fingers now, and he quirks an eyebrow at the sight of me.
Grabbing some napkins from the bench, Giovanni brings them over, snagging my now-liquid gelato in the process.
“I’ll just throw this away. You okay?” He gives me a once over.
I bark out an uncomfortable laugh, throwing my disintegrating napkin in the trash can next to him, missing the rim by at least a foot. Much to the chagrin of my middle school basketball coaches, my height never intersected with my aim.
I pick it up quickly and drop it in the bin. “Oh, yeah. It’s so easy to get stuck in these poses.”
Enzo comes out of the shop with two new cones.
One appears to be peach, the other strawberry.
He hands them to us, giving me the muted pink one.
I can’t help myself from taking a quick lick.
This time, I’m prepared for the delicious burst of flavor, so I suppress my moan.
The strawberry, tasting creamy and fresh, might be my favorite.
“Both of you hold your gelato level with your collarbones. Move closer together. Gio, I want you to stand slightly behind Tessa and whisper something in her ear to make her smile.”
We both look at each other for a minute. There’s nothing he could possibly say to make me comfortably smile right now. I’m still slightly stressed out, grappling with some very complex feelings that linger from watching Giovanni suck melted gelato off his finger.
“Whenever you’re ready,” Enzo calls from behind the camera.
I brace myself as Giovanni leans closer to me and whispers in my ear, “Lamont, wearing tacky red headphones, houndstooth gaucho pants, and a rainbow bubble shirt, riding a miniature horse while holding a football in one hand and a torch in the other.”