Chapter 30
Giovanni
With an hour left to go before my family arrives for the party, I head down the hallway to check on my date.
My bedroom door is cracked, but Tessa mentioned she was going to maybe call her mom, so I don’t want to intrude.
I lean closer to the door to make sure she’s off the phone.
But I only hear her voice, and she’s speaking Italian.
“Sono la sua ragazza.” I am his girlfriend.
“Amo il tuo vestito.” I love your dress.
“Quanto lontano vivi da qui?” How far do you live from here?
Who is she talking to? I carefully push open the door a bit more and find Tessa wearing headphones and holding her phone with her back turned toward me.
“E un piacere stare qui con voi.” She practices “it’s a pleasure to be here with you” in a clumsy accent.
My heart twists as I watch her stumble through small talk. When she attempts to roll the “r” in piacere, I feel an unexpected stinging behind my eyes.
I gently close the door before she notices me and head toward my parents’ room to get ready. My closet is overrun with clothes from my school portfolio, so my old suits are in their closet for funerals and weddings.
I slide hangers across the bar until I find my favorite one.
Navy blue pants that I tailored myself, along with a crisp, fitted ivory button-down shirt.
I admire the fabric for a moment, brushing my thumb across the Cattaneo Bespoke label, before I throw it on and look in the mirror.
I’ve always appreciated Tessa’s taste in fashion.
I wonder what she’ll think of the design.
My feelings for Tessa are like a funnel. A large amount of swirling, complex emotions that slowly narrow into something small and simple: I like her.
I like the way she speaks with my family. How she really listens to them, teases them back, asks to help them. I like spending time with her. And she’s funny. And so fucking interesting. Playful, when she wants to be. Incredibly smart. Gifted.
We didn’t talk about the massage in the countryside. I do better with actions, not words. I don’t want to mess things up with Tessa, not when they’re so unbelievably good.
While I wait for her to finish getting ready, I head back toward the kitchen area to see what Mamma needs help with.
“Wow.” To my surprise, my pretend girlfriend is already talking with Mamma at the dining room table, looking radiant. Timeless.
Both of them turn toward me and smile.
I think Mamma says something, but my eyes are dedicated to staring at Tessa, and my ears are busy listening for anything she might say.
Tessa stands up from her chair and walks my way, her mid-length, cornflower blue sundress swishing with every step.
The dress has cap-sleeves with ruffle detailing and a V-neckline.
When she gets closer to me, I reach out for a hug and she walks straight into my arms. The dress is open around her shoulder blades and upper back, and I idly rub her skin.
She rests her head on my chest long enough for me to smell the pear notes in her hair.
“Aren’t you two the most handsome couple?” Mamma’s voice calls from the table.
Tessa chuckles, pulling away. I gently tug on her hand to bring her back to me, high off her touch.
“You are captivating, Tessa,” I murmur in her ear.
“Thanks.” She blushes.
“Where was this for the photoshoot, hm?” I tease.
“I had this sundress from before, but it was wrinkly, and there wasn’t time to steam it. Your mom was nice enough to let me borrow her iron today or else it’d still be wrinkly, and—”
“Can I kiss your cheek?” I ask softly.
“Yes,” she whispers.
And I do. I let my lips linger a bit longer than necessary before pulling away.
When I do, I don’t see Mamma. “Do you know where my mamma went?”
“I went away from you two lovebirds! Thought you needed some privacy!” she shouts from outside in the garden.
We both laugh, Tessa’s shoulders silently shaking.
“I need help with the chairs, Tesoro!”
Back to reality. “I’ll be back as soon as the guests arrive.” I give her hand a squeeze, my heart still beating fast from a fucking kiss on the cheek.
“Sounds good,” she whispers, face flushed. She gives me a flustered little wave, and I begrudgingly head outside.
After setting up way too many chairs, I head back inside and find Tessa standing next to Mamma, being introduced to guests.
She’s currently speaking with my runner up for least favorite cousin, Matteo, in her broken, adorable Italian.
He gives her a confused look, before glancing up at me, and I respond with a harsh glare.
A glare that says you better compliment my pretend girlfriend on her Italian or else.
“How nice it is that you speak some Italian,” Matteo stammers unconvincingly.
Tessa, not seeming to notice his lack of enthusiasm, responds happily. “Grazie! I’ve been studying!”
She wipes a bead of sweat from her hairline. I quickly run to the sink and grab her a glass of water.
When I come back, I see her with… I’m going to kill Mamma. She’s gleefully introducing Tessa to fucking Luca. I pick up my pace, nearly spilling the water to run interference.
“Tessa, this is Luca. Luca, this is—”
“My girlfriend,” I interject, wrapping my arm around Tessa’s shoulders.
“Oh, piacere di conoscerti. Sei bellissima,” Luca tells her, with a lower tone of voice than I’m used to hearing from him.
I mentally note that he’s flirting with her, slowly crossing him off my list of extended family members who will be beneficiaries should I ever win the lottery.
“Here you go.” I hand Tessa the glass of water.
In an unexpected show of affection, Tessa leans closer to me and places her free hand on my chest. She lifts her chin and presses a feather-light kiss to my jaw. “Thanks, darling.”
Her loyalty causes a slow warmth to unfurl in my stomach as a proud smile spreads across my face. I feel taller, almost, as her hand begins to stroke my chest. Leaning into her touch, I decide to add Luca back onto my list of beneficiaries.
I clear my throat, giving him a strained smile. “Good to see you.”
My parents’ neighbors come in next. Tessa tells the wife, who’s wearing a skirt, that she loves her pants in Italian. Following the neighbors, five members of our church join us. Tessa tells Rocco, who is bald, that she loves his hairstyle.
I spend the night glaring at almost all of the guests she interacts with, daring them to correct her and nodding approvingly at only a select few who convincingly compliment her accent.
After greeting three more guests in Italian riddled with inaccuracies, she asks, “How am I doing? Are you impressed with my Italian?”
“It’s perfect, Tessa.”
She beams in response, and I decide that white lies are underrated.
“I feel like I’m running out of material, though, with how many people I’ve met.”
You ran out of material about five minutes into this party, I think.
“Also, I thought you said this was ‘low-key,’ but it’s creeping into intimate wedding territory.”
I chuckle. “This is low-key, baby.”
We both freeze. Regardless of my feelings for her, “baby” was an unintentional slip. I nervously bite my lip, hoping she’ll just let it go. After staring at me for a few seconds that seem to stretch into eternity, she slips her hand through mine. Taking a sip of water, she asks, “Hey, Gio?”
A pleasant feeling washes over me when she calls me by my nickname, akin to how I feel when I sew on Nonno’s vintage machine.
With the exception of Lu and Micheletto, who use the shortest version of my name, everyone in New York calls me Giovanni.
When I speak with my family, the people I love most, I wear “Gio” like a cashmere blanket.
And it feels right, her calling me that, too.
“Sorry. I mean, Giovanni.”
Clearly taking my reflective pause for aversion, I hastily correct her.
“No, don’t stop calling me Gio. I like it when you call me that.” She widens her eyes, and I wonder if I’ve revealed too much of myself. The desperate edge to my voice serves as a reminder of how real this is for me.
But Tessa’s surprise doesn’t shift into something stilted. Instead, her lips curve into a private smile, one that seems crafted just for me. “Okay.”
“So, what did you need?”
Her eyebrows knit together. “What did I need?”
“Yeah, you said ‘hey, Gio.’ Remember?”
“Oh.” She pauses, then a crimson blush blooms on her face.
“I just wanted to say you look good tonight. I know I don’t say it often, but…
” Her eyes scan my fitted pants and button down.
“Your work is so well crafted. I love the stitching on the cuff of the trouser.” She gives me a shy smile. “You look really handsome, Gio.”
The countryside massage and gelato shop kiss have absolutely nothing on the lust-filled look in her eyes at this moment. I try to scrounge up my remaining willpower to get through this party without rudely kicking everyone out—including Mamma and Papa—and taking Tessa to bed.