Chapter 41
Tessa
Iblink open my eyes, scan my shoebox of an apartment, and immediately shut them again.
I miss Gio’s place, with his shower. And his couch. And him. Maybe in that order.
Groaning, I stretch my arms above my head and accidentally scrape my fists against the popcorn wall in the process. I wince and gingerly flex my feet, which were hanging off of the bed all night. Why did I decide to sleep here again? Oh yeah. Space.
Space is such a shitty word, and I shouldn’t have used it with Gio. What was I even asking for? I could’ve just gone on a walk.
And because waking up alone wasn’t bad enough, my subconscious is protesting, too.
I didn’t realize how much of a grip Brescia still has on me.
Last night, I listened to an Italian lullaby to fall asleep, like some sort of lovelorn lunatic.
And now that I’m awake, I’m already craving a plate of fresh figs for breakfast.
At this point, I’m teetering on the edge of yearning to bike, for fuck’s sake.
Lifting myself up out of bed, I think about the way Gio lifted me off the floor in Brescia, both of us tipsy.
You’ve got to stop wearing these shoes, he’d said teasingly. You make me crazy, Tèssa.
I sigh. The past 24 hours have felt like 24 years, and I need to see my boyfriend before I wither away like my succulents.
When I’m finished brushing my teeth, I grab my phone to check the weather.
Then, I slide into my favorite Doc Martens and pull on a lavender sweater and a comfortable pair of black jeans.
I look around the room for a bag large enough to fit my gift for Gio, finally landing on the one I use to carry renderings.
Swiping on some strawberry lip gloss, I smile to myself.
Gio would be so proud of me for dressing weather-appropriately.
After a subway ride full of sad songs, I’m happy to breathe in the familiar scent of Cattaneo’s Bespoke as soon as I cross the threshold.
Steam, leather, cedarwood. Home.
Anxious to see Gio, I head straight for the back and find him sitting at his sewing machine.
Glasses on, sleeves rolled up to his elbows—he’s definitely in tailor mode.
But there’s an off-putting energy about him, and upon closer inspection, I notice that he’s glaring at the fabric like it personally betrayed him.
Like the high-end silk attended a family dinner and insulted his mother’s cooking.
“Gio, I—”
“If you’re here to break us up, it’s going to be a no from me.
” He doesn’t even look up to greet me. “Absolutely not. I don’t know what you’re thinking in that very beautiful but severely misguided head of yours.
But I regret to inform you that we’re not breaking up.
It’s probably the New York air pollution that has you feeling this way,” he mutters grumpily.
My mouth hangs open in shock, and after a few breaths of silence, Gio stops sewing and starts nodding excessively, like he’s cracked the code to my uncalled-for behavior. When I don’t respond, he finally faces me with a frown.
I raise an eyebrow. “Are you done, because—”
“Well, I don’t know what it is, but there’s no way you’d have this God-awful ‘space’ idea in Italy,” Gio mumbles, followed by a string of exasperated Italian I don’t understand. “Listen. Unfortunately, you’re stuck with me. I’ve gotten a little too used to loving you, and I’m not going back.”
He shoots up from his chair and plants his feet, his volume increasing with the movement.
“In fact, I’ve become accustomed to certain things!
Meaningful sex, for one! My pillow smelling like you!
Being nice to you at work! It was exhausting acting indifferent toward you, and I’m not doing it again!
I’m too old for it! The stress’ll probably give me a stroke!
Do you want me to have a stroke, Tèssa?”
He starts aggressively pacing, muttering angrily in Italian, before whipping his head once again in my direction.
“AND ANOTHER THING! You’re not dating fucking Luca.
” He gestures wildly, wiggling his finger in a ‘nuh-uh’ motion that looks comical coming from a grown man.
“No matter what Mamma tells you. He made his last girlfriend compete in a triathlon. You hate biking! Is that what you want, Cara? To bike the rest of your life?”
Gio puts his hands on his hips, out of breath from all the gesturing and yelling.
I roll my eyes. “I’d never date Luca. I saw him drink a glass of wine at your mom’s house, and he held it with two hands like a chalice.”
He looks vindicated. “Ha! See? A blasphemous wine-glass holder, bike-riding psychopath!”
I set my bag on the floor and walk towards him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Gio. Can I talk now?”
“Not if you’re ending things. You can just keep that pretty little mouth shut.”
I smile. “I’m not breaking up with you.”
“You asked for space.”
“Yeah, I needed, like, a day of space. I know it might be a foreign concept for Mr. I-Kiss-Strangers-On-The-Lips, but I needed a minute to figure out my next move.” I give his arm a squeeze. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry I asked for it. I missed you yesterday.”
He narrows his eyes in suspicion. “You’re not ending things?”
I bring my hand to his cheek, and he immediately leans his face into my palm. “I regret to inform you that you’re stuck with me. I’ve gotten a little too used to loving you, too.”
I watch the tension leave Gio’s body slowly as he releases a heavy sigh. “Can I hold you? I need you in my arms. Sleeping alone last night was awful.”
“It really was. I missed your voice.”
He wraps me in a hug and kisses my hair. “I missed everything about you. Ti amo, Cara.”
I squeeze him back, at peace once again in his arms. “I love you, Gio.”
All of my emotions seem to fall into place with the exchange of words we didn’t get to say yesterday.
When we lean back, he tucks a piece of hair behind my ear. “I’m sorry for what happened with your father. I didn’t know—”
I shake my head. “I know you didn’t. You couldn’t have known. I didn’t share everything with you.”
Gio places a finger underneath my chin. “I’m going to support you with whatever you decide. Anything you need, and—”
“I blocked him.”
He pauses, a completely neutral look on his face. “How do you feel about that?”
I shrug. “Confident, but in a sad way. I feel… smart, but not good, if that makes sense?” My eyes lock with Gio’s. “Truthfully, I feel so much peace here with you, that it’s hard to overanalyze anything right now.”
Gio simply nods, saying nothing, before giving me a gentle kiss on the cheek, followed by one behind my ear.
Then he reaches into his pocket and retrieves a square envelope with my name written on it.
“I made something for you.” He hands me the envelope.
“You weren’t here, so I had to busy myself with something else. ”
The envelope feels light in my hands, and when I slide my finger under the flap, the pad of my finger brushes smooth silk. I pull the fabric out of the envelope and smile. Another pebble for my collection.
The deep magenta silk, a near-perfect match for my favorite color, catches my eye first. The quality of the swatch is pristine. It almost looks like liquid, like it’s moving under the lamps of the shop. My thumb skims over some threading, and when I move it to the side, I suck in a sharp breath.
“Gio,” I whisper, placing my other hand on his chest. “It looks identical to—”
“The sketch you showed me three years ago. You were doodling on your sketchpad while you waited for me, and I asked you what you were drawing. You never told me what it was, only that you were ‘dreaming above your paygrade.’ But I saw the letters.”
The corners of my lips tilt up, and I move my thumb back and forth over the two embroidered letters. My initials: TC. Gio didn’t miss a single detail. He captured the swooping “C,” expertly interlocking the “T” with no puckering. He even remembered the curved, vine-like line underneath the letters.
“I can’t believe you remember that.”
Gio nods to his pocket notebook on the table behind him, and chuckles.
“I jotted it down. I’m sure you’ve thought of updates since then.
But I wanted to give you something you could hold in your hands.
That I made. As proof that I always believed in you, and I will always give you space to grow.
” He kisses my forehead. “When—not if—you design your first line, I’ll be the first of your many loyal supporters. ”
A tear runs down my cheek. It’s all so… so…
“Hey!” I exclaim as the swatch is snatched from my hands.
He shakes his head, watching my tear drop onto my sweater. “It’s silk, Tessa. And I hand-stitched this.”
Raising an eyebrow, I ask, “But what about the whole ‘I’ll be your first supporter’ thing, huh?”
“Water weakens fibers,” he mutters, delicately placing the fabric on the table.
Smiling, I shake my head. “I have something for you, too. You know, I researched fig trees after that first day in Brescia. I wanted to learn more about them, in case they came up in conversation with your family. One of the things I learned is that fig trees are resilient. They’re able to survive in flood and drought-prone areas.
They’re also strong. Living bridges created by the tree’s complex root system can sometimes be more reliable than man-made structures. ”
I quickly walk over to where I dropped my bag, and Gio follows closely behind. I carefully retrieve the frame from my bag and hug it to my chest.
“The day you finished the appliqué, Lu came into the shop as I was packing up. You were in your office. She ended up telling me that it was your nonno’s last piece.”
I never shared with him what Lu told me, and even when we got closer, he never explained the meaning behind the appliqué.
“My stomach dropped when she told me, Gio. I felt awful that I forced you into using—”
“You didn’t force me.”
“But I persuaded you, and I almost changed it. I mean, I did change it. The fan shape still changed it. And I couldn’t let it go.
Even though our relationship was shaky, I knew I couldn’t let the scraps go to waste.
Not when they meant so much to you. So I gathered them up and brought them to Italy.
The sewing book wasn’t the only reason I didn’t want you looking in my suitcase. The scraps were inside.”
His eyebrows are furrowed, head tilted in question. “Cara…”
I shake my head, wanting to continue. I practiced this speech last night, trying to get it perfect for him, and I don’t want to forget anything important.
“I didn’t know what to do with the scraps, not at first. But as I grew closer to your dad, I had this idea.
To put them in some sort of memory box for you.
And your dad proposed a wooden frame made out of the fallen branches from the fig trees in your backyard.
” I hold out the frame to Gio, where the scraps are protected behind glass.
“Now, you can have a piece of the trees here in your shop.”
I suck in a nervous breath, hoping he likes it.
Gio’s eyes are wide. He opens his mouth to speak, but I place a hand on his arm to stop him.
“Can I just say one more thing?”
He nods.
“Sei l'amore della mia vita, Gio.”
I know my Italian is perfect. I’ve been practicing every day: you are the love of my life, Gio.
Gio’s lips part in surprise. He goes still for a moment, like he doesn’t dare breathe over the frame.
Carefully taking it out of my hands, he studies it up close.
His hand moves, seemingly on reflex, across the fig branches encasing the scraps.
He trails the back of his finger over the glass.
Then, he sets it gently on the table next to him.
“No one’s ever… This is the most meaningful… I don’t know how to…” Gio breathes out a laugh, not finding the right words.
He doesn’t need them. I understand entirely.
Gio pulls me into a long hug, resting his forehead against mine.
“Sei tutto per me,” he replies, his voice gruff with emotion.
“…everything?” I question, not getting all of the words.
“Yes.” A tear falls from his eye. “You are everything to me.”