Chapter 24
Tessa
Iswivel my head slowly toward the man, the myth, the liar-liar-custom-pants-on-fire. He has the decency to look moderately mortified.
“And Gio asking you to be his girlfriend on Christmas Eve in the falling snow? It sounds like something out of a fairytale. But that’s our son, the romantic.”
I squint at the romantic with a clenched smile.
“How did you feel, Tessa? When he told you that you were his ‘future’ that night?”
My boyfriend—Mr. Future himself—swallows, and his Adam’s apple looks more like an orange in his throat.
“I felt… surprised.” Then, narrowing my eyes at Giovanni, I add, “I felt emotions I’ve never felt before, that’s for sure.”
Maria sighs. “That’s lovely. And then what happened?”
“What… happened?”
“Yes, from your perspective. We’ve heard it all from Gio before, but I’m sure your version is better.”
Giovanni leans in front of me, blocking my view of his mother. “Oh, I don’t think she needs to—“
Standing up, I interject with, “I’d love to tell you, Maria.
He read me a poem. A poem so touching, it nearly moved me to tears.
When I heard it, I felt as though I was soaring through the sky on the wings of an eagle.
” I turn toward him, my clenched smile relaxing into a shit-eating grin.
“Do you want to share, Giovanni? I’d just love to reminisce. ”
The sound of the garden door creaking catches all of our attention, and Maria turns around to find Roberto quietly sneaking out, no doubt on his way to visit Giuseppe. “Roberto! Gio is going to recite a poem!”
With Maria’s back turned toward us, my pretend boyfriend shoots up from the loveseat and mouths, Soaring through the sky? Really?
Three fucking years without telling me? Really? I retort.
Roberto walks into the room, and we both freeze.
“Well? Go on, Tesoro.”
Giovanni actually looks kind of nervous now, and a sliver of me starts to feel bad for putting him on the spot. Then I remember his tall tale: Giovanni and Tessa’s Love Origin, featuring the Fallen Snow, and the remaining shred of guilt evacuates my body.
He faces out toward his parents and begins reciting something by memory in Italian.
“Più fine del più raffinato abito,
e più forte della cucitura più resistente.
Avvolge di bellezza tutto ciò che sfiora.
Sono legato a lei.”
Then, slowly, he faces me directly. Staring into my eyes with furrowed brows, he then repeats the last line of the poem: “Sono legato a te.”
No, it’s not the same line. One word changed. What does it mean?
Light applause from his parents interrupts my reflections, but Giovanni’s focus is relentless, his eyes glued to mine.
Shaking my head, I snap out of my Italian hypnosis. I’m burning to ask for a translation, but my practical side takes over, knowing that any curiosity would alert Maria and Roberto to the smoke and mirrors of it all. Instead, I try to quell my intrigue.
He clears his throat and shifts his gaze to his beaming mother.
“Gio, who knew you were such a poeta?” She throws a look to Roberto. “He gets that from me, you know.”
“Of course he does.” Roberto kisses Maria on the cheek and tosses me a wink.
“Tessa, I didn’t get to say it earlier, but you look bellissima in my father’s design.” Roberto gestures to the dress I’m wearing. “I haven’t seen it in quite some time, at least five years. It’s even better than I remember. I’m so happy Gio asked that I get it out of storage for you.”
Giovanni clears his throat awkwardly. “We should start the game before it gets too late.”
Maria’s eyes sparkle as she scoots one of the armchairs closer to Roberto’s and sits down. “I agree, Gio. And now that you have a partner, we can play in teams. How wonderful!”
I lean closer toward Giovanni’s ear, and we both sit back down on the sofa. “Your parents are so sweet,” I whisper.
He gives me a wry grin as Maria passes the cards out. “Prepare to have your ass handed to you by my ‘sweet’ parents.”