Chapter 26
Tessa
Iyawn and stretch, flexing my feet and wiggling my toes.
Still bone-deep in a hazy morning fog, I snuggle deeper into Giovanni’s chest. I breathe in the familiar smell of him…
bergamot and leather, but now a different scent, too.
Something sweet, like figs. His stubble tickles the side of my nose in the most pleasant way when I nuzzle my face into his neck.
Warm air wraps around me as his breath fans my forehead.
“Buongiorno, Tèssa,” a drowsy voice murmurs in my hair.
“Good morning, Gio,” I whisper, tilting my chin up, eyes still closed.
Running my fingers through his thick curls, I release a happy sigh. I feel his hand on my hip as it snakes up my pajama top and rests on my ribcage underneath my breast. My fingers move on their own accord from his hair to his neck, tugging him forward.
He kisses me, and his full lips feel soft against mine.
Humming lazily, I gently suck his bottom lip into my mouth.
We take deep, slow breaths in between drowsy, languid kisses.
I release his bottom lip, and his tongue teases the corner of my mouth, beckoning it open.
Responding in kind, I open my mouth just enough for his tongue to slide in.
I love the feel of us, how we fit together. Lips still fused, I slowly blink open my eyes, squinting at the morning sunlight spilling into the room.
What. The. Fuck. Is. Going. On. Here.
I rear back, causing Giovanni to open up his eyes. His shocked reaction matches mine, wrinkles all the way up his forehead, pupils blown out.
Did we just kiss on reflex? Oh my God.
Was the best kiss of my life accidental?
I jolt up in the bed, scrambling to exit the room as soon as humanly possible. But I can’t, because I’m tangled up in the fucking bedding, flailing like an octopus caught in a fisherman’s net.
I roll around, but my foot keeps kicking the inside of the sheet. I don’t dare look back at Giovanni. I finally free my left leg and launch myself out of bed, directly onto the floor. On my ass. My shirt flips up, exposing my stomach, and I grasp at it to pull it down.
I shut my eyes and try to pretend that this isn’t real. That I am on a different Tessa timeline. This version of Tessa should be prosecuted for the crime she has committed this morning.
“Are you okay?”
The cool of the tiles against my back reminds me that this is a tragic reality. I open my eyes and find Giovanni’s icy blues peering over the bed.
This is not how I imagined being on my back for him for the first time.
Wait. Why am I imagining that at all?
“I’m going to the bathroom.” I quickly stand and power walk out the door and down the hall. Frankly, I’m amazed I don’t trip halfway down the corridor.
This bathroom has swiftly become my Emotional Support Room. Stepping inside and closing the door, I wash my hands, holding them underneath the cold water for longer than normal.
I bring two fingers to the border of my lips, gently swiping the skin there, like there’s smudged lipstick I need to fix. The memory of Giovanni’s mouth on mine comforts my nerves in a concerning way. We only have a few days left in Brescia, and I’m overthinking everything.
I didn’t want to hash things out last night.
My feelings about him are changing—have changed, but there’s still a piece of my heart that believes New York Giovanni won’t share the same feelings about me as Italy Giovanni.
Every time I think about becoming even closer with Giovanni here, I wonder what it’ll be like there. There, with Lamont. There, with Dad.
Is it just being here, at his home, that’s shifted his emotions toward me?
Or will he change his mind the second we’re back to subways and stress?
I already have so many relationship hazards in my life, it’s hard to freefall into risk.
And now, I don’t even know if I’ll be able to look at him without blushing.
A knock sounds on the bathroom door, but I’m not ready to face Giovanni yet.
“Breakfast is ready!”
I breathe a sigh of relief. “Okay, great! Thank you, Maria, I’ll be out in a minute.”
A few minutes later, I walk to the bedroom to change my clothes before heading to the kitchen. Giovanni and his parents are sitting at the table. When he sees me, he shoots up from his chair.
He slowly strides toward me, then leans down and pecks my forehead.
“Good morning, Tessa.”
“Um, good morning? Good morning,” I stumble awkwardly.
“My. The two of you are so sweet,” Maria sighs as Giovanni grabs my hand and leads me to the table.
He pulls out my chair, and I wonder if I’ve teleported to the Pride and Prejudice movie. I carefully sit down, murmuring a quick, “Thank you.”
“So, what do you two have planned today?” Roberto pops a grape into his mouth.
Everyone in the kitchen answers at the same time.
“Tessa needs to rest—”
“I’d love to get outside—”
Maria claps. “Both of you should bike the hills!”
Giovanni zeroes in on her face. “Absolutely not. Tessa was just in the hospital.”
“That was two days ago.” I roll my eyes. “The doctor said I’d be perfectly fine by now.”
“Gio, you love the hills,” Maria says, before turning to face me. “The scenery is so romantic. Roberto and I used to bike them all the time when we were dating. Whenever Gio comes here, one of the first things he’ll do is get on his bicycle.”
“Tessa isn’t well enough to bike, Mamma,” Gio says.
“Actually,” I cut in, “I’ve been itching to move my body. I usually run every day. I’m not a huge cyclist, but it sounds fun.”
Plus, how hard can it be if Giovanni does it? I know he’s strong, having been effortlessly lifted into the air by him like I had the build of a woodland fairy, but cardio is sort of my thing.
Maria’s expression shifts to one of mischief, the corners of her lips turning up. “Well, if Gio doesn’t want to go, his cousin, the one I’ve been telling you about, does triathlons. Luca’s a very skilled biker, and I’m happy to call him…”
“Fine. I’ll go,” Giovanni announces. “But we’re taking breaks during the trip. And we’re stopping whenever you need to catch your breath. The hills aren’t easy, especially if you’re not used to them.”
Squinting at him, I say, “Thanks for the concern, but I think I’ll be okay.”
“Can you stop at the village shop for the wine we like, Gio?” Maria asks. “It’ll be perfect for the party tomorrow.”
“Party?” I ask.
“Oh, it’s just a small gathering. Nothing big,” Maria replies.
“It’s pretty much family only,” Giovanni adds.
“That sounds really nice. I’d love to meet more of your family, especially if they’re all as lovely as you.” I turn toward Maria and Roberto, who both beam.
And it’s true. I would like to meet more of the Cattaneo crew. With each day in Brescia, I’ve come to understand Giovanni a bit better.
I snatch a halved fig off the table and pop the whole thing in my mouth. “I’ll go get changed. It sounds like a really fun day. I’m looking forward to it,” I mumble through a mouthful of fig.
Giovanni smiles. “We’ll see.”
Grabbing the other half of my fig, he mimics me, popping it into his mouth.
* * *
“I thought I was going to be eating, praying, and loving, not sweating, aching, and dying,” I gasp in between shallow breaths, dismounting my bike.
Drops of sweat trickle down my hairline and burn my eyes. Which are already burning, because my entire body is on fire.
Giovanni shoots me a glare. “Who were you going to be ‘loving?’”
“That’s what you latch onto? Not the fact that you practically left me for dead?”
He cocks an eyebrow. “Please. I biked half a block ahead to see if the wine shop had a long queue before circling back to you. You could see me with your own two eyes the entire time.”
“Yeah, I could see you. See you leave me behind in this country, maybe,” I huff, flicking a bead of sweat off my eyebrow.
His eyes travel from my sticky hair down to the flimsy sneakers I wore. “Aren’t you a marathon runner?”
I unclip my helmet strap and hang it from the bike. “That’s different. I run on flat city streets. The only thing I have to worry about is the occasional rat.”
Smoothing down my sweaty helmet hair, I ponder what’s worse: not having a mirror but knowing I’m a mess, or having a mirror and confirming I’m a mess.
Looking entirely unphased, Giovanni pushes down the kickstand of his bike and tilts it against the side of the shop.
I lean my bike against Giovanni’s and fold my arms. “Why aren’t you even sweating right now? Is there, like, a special tonic you took at breakfast to survive this madness?” I squint. “It’s not nice to gatekeep, you know.”
“The hills are in my blood. When I bike, I become one with the hills.” Assessing my current state, he adds, “You anger the hills. You’re lucky they didn’t crumble on your poor attitude alone.” He snorts, pleased with his own joke at my expense.
“Glad you can find it within yourself to laugh at me,” I deadpan, reaching out to him for the water bottle he brought and chugging it.
Bemused, he says, “Don’t drink it too fast. You’ll vomit.”
“Mmhm, totally,” I gurgle, downing it as though it’s a teleportation elixir. Maybe if I drink enough, I’ll be back at his parents’ house eating pasta.
Having finished almost all of it, I slump against the wall and lower myself to the ground.
He studies me for a few moments. “Why are you staring into space with an odd smile? It’s scaring me.”
I sigh. “I’m just reminiscing.”
“About what, exactly?”
“About when I was dry and horizontal on my brother’s luxury couch, basking in his air conditioning.” I shake my head and look up to the heavens. “I promise to never take it for granted again. Amen.” I kiss my fingers and point them towards the sky.
That draws a laugh from Giovanni, and I can’t help but grin. It’s so weird, yet oddly nice, to hear him so happy. With me.
“We’ve got to get the wine. Let’s go.” He holds out his hand for me to grab.
I grasp it and squeak when he pulls me up by one hand with so much force it almost lifts both of my feet off the ground. He’s so strong.
In the past, I’ve always been treated as fragile. When I came during sex, it was always because I was pinching my own nipples or pushing on my own clit. More often than not, it felt like I was the one making myself come. Like glorified masturbation.
I wonder what Giovanni’s like…
Huh. The speed at which my train of thought moved from impressed to lust-filled makes me question if I’m actually high on endorphins. I need to snap out of it before another “accident” happens like this morning.
When we walk into the shop, all my insecurities walk in with me.
Everyone in here is dressed to the nines.
Ironed button downs, professionally creased wide-leg pants, tailored dresses made of crisp poplin cotton.
Meanwhile, I can only guess what I look like—beet red face, sweaty hair, limping on my achy legs.
“Why is everyone here dressed so nicely?” I whisper to Giovanni.
Completely ignoring me, he makes his way toward the front of the shop.
Wanting to stay as incognito as possible, I stand off to the side behind one of the larger shelves of wine.
Giovanni walks up to a pretty woman, about his age, who must be the shop owner.
He wraps her in a tight hug and whispers something in her ear.
She laughs and gives him a kiss on each cheek.
The woman says something in Italian that makes him grin, and it’s clear they have a deep connection. I wonder if they dated at one point. He pays for the wine, smiling ear-to-ear, and finds me waiting for him among the shelves.
“Ready to go?”
“Sure.” I follow him out of the shop, but my mind itches with curiosity. I shouldn’t say anything, but I can’t help myself. “Did you used to date that woman?”
He doesn’t even pause, grabbing my helmet off my bike and handing it to me. “Who?”
I place the helmet on my head and snap the chinstrap into place. “The woman you were hugging. Does she own the store?”
He blinks. “I just met her for the first time two minutes ago.”
“What? You’re joking.” Pushing up the kickstand with the heel of my foot, I hold the handlebars and start rolling it toward the main road.
Giovanni shrugs and rolls his own bike ahead of me. “We were just saying hi.”
“I thought you were going to get arrested for public indecency!” I sputter. “What do you mean you were just saying hi?”
“What, because she kissed me? Tessa, that’s normal here. You’re too used to New York. People put pepperoni on their pizza there,” he says, like it’s the gravest offense in the world.
I halt in my tracks. “Wait. Pepperoni pizza isn’t Italian?”
Giovanni shudders. “I cannot believe my pretend girlfriend doesn’t know that pepperoni on pizza is an American invention.”
He reaches his hand back and bops me on the helmet.
“Hey!”
“That was for not doing your homework before you came,” he teases, winking over his shoulder, before mounting his bike.
God, why was that so hot?
Throwing my leg over my bike and hoisting myself up to the seat, I follow him. Slowly pedaling, he glances back every once in a while to check on me.
I groan, already feeling the burn in my quadriceps. Nostalgic for marathons, I gulp the air as I bike down the village street.
“Don’t worry, we’ll stop to catch our breath when we’re halfway home,” he calls back.
“If I’m still breathing by then,” I mutter.