Chapter 2 #2
In other words, she was absolutely correct about him.
Kitty was a woman of her word, and she established the fund she’d spoken about—and surprised me by appointing me the executor. But her will has been stuck in probate for nearly a year, so I haven’t been able to do anything with it.
The Gallaghers have slowed down the process as much as possible, filing legal objection after legal objection. It doesn’t matter to them that this was what Kitty had wanted, or that she didn’t forget her family in her will.
Rhett’s tried to make me buckle, too, by taking shots at my family, and when that didn’t work, he bought The Rotten Apple days after I took a job there. He made it out to be a romantic gesture to win me back, but I knew the truth. He still wanted to control me, and he wanted access to that money.
Of course, my grandmother is sick over the whole thing. She’d thought the world of Rhett, right up until he showed his true colors. Now, she’s taken to throwing pretty boys at me as if they were candy.
Giovanni’s not the first. She took a shine to one of the young men who delivers packages, and for a week, we had near constant deliveries until I caught on.
Giovanni looks embarrassed, which is adorable, damn him. “Oh. Well. I’m not really—”
Laughter gushes out of me. “Oh my God. You think I’m interested in you?”
“What’s wrong with me?”
Now, I’ve offended him, but I can’t help smiling. “You’re not my type. Besides, you completely sidestepped the question of why you’re here in North Carolina. I don’t buy that you came to protect your grandmother from a big, bad home health nurse.”
“Why not?” He cocks his head, smiling at me. He’s probably used to smiles paving the way for him, but they won’t soften me. “If the nurse is anything like you, it would be a worthy cause.”
I glare at him.
He lifts his hands, his eyes sparkling now. “Don’t try to kill me again. My grandmother needs me.”
“Sure she does. You know, you don’t really strike me as the selfless, giving type.”
The sparkle goes out of his eyes. “And I suppose you are?”
“So I’m told. Is that why you’re here? You figured you could hand your grandmother’s care over to me?”
I’ve clearly hit a nerve, because his expression instantly hardens, his jaw resembling marble.
“No, that’s my job. I’m going to take care of her.
She needs to be with family, not some stranger.
” Silence lingers between us for a moment before he adds, “I heard you used to be one of those death nurses. Taking care of people on their way out. Nonna doesn’t need someone fussing over her constantly to see if she’s declining.
If you ask me, that kind of thing makes people go faster. ”
“I didn’t ask. But I’d argue it allows them to pass peacefully in the comfort of their own homes.” I just barely avoid rolling my eyes. Plenty of people, mostly men, have said the same to me.
“Nonna’s doing fine. She doesn’t need someone putting ideas into her head, telling her she’s got dementia.”
I can only assume that word has been floated around by someone. His siblings? Or was it a medical professional? I should know, if she’s staying here, but he’s obviously not interested in telling me.
“I didn’t invite either of you here,” I point out.
“If you have trouble with what I used to do for a living, then you should have stayed in Maine. But no, in case you were wondering, I’m not going to follow your grandmother around with a wheelchair at the ready, or trick her into taking drugs.
That’s not what nurses do outside of whatever teleromanzi you watch. ”
He smiles. “Your grandmother watches those too?”
“She doesn’t have anyone to speak Italian to most of the time. I only know a few words, but I don’t need the subtitles to understand the shows. Everything is said like this.” I clap my hands and lift them up.
His smile slips. “Look, I shouldn’t have said all of that to you. It was shitty. It’s just…anyway…”
“Was that an apology?” I ask incredulously.
His smile reappears, showing those white teeth. Still straight, although I notice a slight overlap in his lower teeth, thank God. It makes him more human.
“A shit one,” he acknowledges.
“I’ll accept, but I notice you still haven’t answered my question.”
He sighs, shifting his gaze toward the stairs as if he’s considering whether taking a tumble would indeed be worse than talking to me. “Have you ever wanted something so bad and then regretted getting it?”
“Not really.” I try not to sound bitter, but at this moment I’m feeling that way.
He runs a finger along the pile of the rug before glancing over and meeting my gaze. “Well, it’s a hell of a thing.”
I raise my eyebrows and make a keep going hand gesture.
He smiles again. “You’re no more patient than my grandmother.”
“I’ve lived with Nonna Rose nearly my whole life. What do you expect?”
“I’m here because I don’t know what I want to do. I just know that I don’t want to be stuck anymore. That’s what it felt like being in my hometown. It’s been like that awhile.”
“How does this translate to you getting what you want and finding fault with it?”
He ducks his head, his hair tumbling a bit, then looks up at me with an impish smile. “Same old Bianca. You still give Miles a hard time too?”
My skin prickles, and I sit up straighter. “You don’t know the first thing about my brother.”
“Don’t I?”
He groans as he gets to his feet. He lifts an arm, the bicep bunching beneath the fabric, and rubs the back of his neck before cracking it.
My mind is racing. Does this mean…?
I’d figured he hadn’t talked to Miles much since the car accident. Maybe I got it wrong, though.
Maybe he knows more about my brother right now than I do.
It’s a dark thought, and I snap, “You shouldn’t do that. It’s bad for your neck.”
Giovanni watches me, and does it again.
“Very mature.”
“Thank you,” he replies. “Now, let’s go downstairs and be told we haven’t eaten enough before we take our first bite.”
He holds out his hand, and I feel a small tremor of—
Let’s call it stupidity.
Still, I accept the boost, feeling his easy strength as he closes his fingers around mine and hoists me up.
“Have you talked to Miles recently?” I ask, trying to sound like the answer means nothing to me.
He studies me with bemusement. “You changed your clothes, and you smell good, but you’re still wearing all black. Is it because of the hospice thing?”
“I like black. I’ve always liked it. The same way you like that necklace you still wear.”
He lifts a hand to the golden chain beneath his shirt as if to say, This one?
“Yes, that one. I’ve noticed you don’t like answering questions. Have you talked to Miles?”
“Sure. He’s still a good friend.”
Jealousy spears into my heart. “What have you talked about?”
“He’s working through some things.”
“When isn’t he?” My voice sounds bitter to my own ears, so I swallow and try again. “What’s he working through this time?”
“That’s between me and Miles, Dr. Death.”
“That’s Nurse Death to you.” I stand up straighter. Doesn’t matter much. I’m five-three, and he’s a foot taller. But I will not let any man think he can look down on me, even if it is true in a literal sense.
“Enjoy the promotion, Bianca.”
With that, he heads down the stairs, whistling, and I very nearly regret not having let him fall.