Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
GIOVANNI
The nonnas are asleep, so I use the hall bathroom and then shut myself into Miles’s old bedroom. I check my phone, but whoever took the photo hasn’t done anything with it yet. Still, it’s inevitable that they will.
I blocked Janine’s number, but there’s an email from her sitting in my inbox, and the website Where’s the Shirtless Chef?
has been updated to disclose my new location along with the operating hours of the farm’s apple barn.
I swear and pace my room, but Bianca made it clear this is what she wants.
So if a busload of horny tourists shows up at the barn tomorrow, asking for me, my guess is she’ll greet them with a smile.
I have a brief conversation with Nico, who informs me that several people have stopped by the shop to ask about me today. Business continues to boom, especially for our catering.
After we hang up, I hear Bianca climbing the stairs. A few seconds later, a sheet of paper is slipped under the door.
If I were a cat, I would have lost all nine of my lives to curiosity, because I don’t hesitate before picking it up. She’s waiting on the other side of the door—I can feel her presence there—as I unfold the paper.
Will you be my fake boyfriend?
Yes
No
Fuck off
I shake my head ruefully as I circle both Yes and Fuck off and slide the paper back under the door.
I hear laughter as she reads the note, followed by the creak of her door as she opens it.
I’m fucking pissed off, but I have to smile. My trust in Bianca has been shaken, yes, and yet I still admire her. It would be impossible not to. She’s going to do what she thinks is best for her family, and she’s right to. I’m just sick of feeling used.
I undress and slip into the crisp sheets, completely exhausted. Sleep is a pleasure reserved for people with quiet minds, though, and my thoughts are a tangle of Bianca’s soft lips, the Shirtless Chef, and whoever took that damn photograph. I want to erase it from their phone and their memory.
I also want it in my possession, so the moment that belonged to Bianca and me can be ours again.
I start doomscrolling through my phone, then grit my teeth and read the email from Janine.
Same old bullshit. She loves me. She loved me all along. She only needed to know that I could apply myself, and now that I’ve proven I’m not a total waste of life, she’s willing to sacrifice her two-month-old marriage for me.
I probably shouldn’t respond, but fuck it. I’ve never been a cautious man.
I write back:
Wow, Nick’s one lucky guy.
So am I.
As you’ll see tomorrow, I’ve moved on.
It was probably a mistake, but it’s not like she can show anyone without making herself look bad, and if there’s one thing Janine doesn’t like, it’s that.
I switch my phone to airplane mode and play a coloring game app to help my mind reset. So I’m still very much awake when I hear a soft buzzing on the other side of the wall—from Bianca’s room.
I jolt to intense awareness as the sound continues.
I tell myself it could be a lot of things. Maybe she’s got a muscle spasm, and it’s some kind of muscle relaxer. Or…
A soft moan seeps through the wall, barely audible.
Maybe she’s dreaming. Or she saw a mouse.
But my throbbing dick knows the score. Bianca’s in there using a vibrator.
She’s pleasuring herself a few feet away from me.
Is she thinking about kissing me as she does it?
I knew that kiss was a ten out of ten. I’d been so dazed by it that it had taken me several seconds to clear my head after that asshole took our photograph. If it had been any less amazing, I would have caught the intruder, no question, but my reflexes had been off.
I flatten one hand against the wall between our rooms, imagining what’s happening in her bed.
In my mind’s eye, I can see her with her pretty head thrown back as she slides the toy inside of her.
Maybe her hand is pressed to the wall, just like mine is.
I like the thought that our hands could be pressed together on either side of the wall in a silent question and answer.
My hand tightens into a fist, and I almost knock on the wall—the special knock that signifies it’s time to sneak out. Maybe she’d know what I meant by it. Maybe she’d come over and climb into my bed, and I could sink into the sweet heat of her and forget everything, just for a while.
But I’m still mad at her, and it would only complicate everything if we start fucking, even though I want it so bad it hurts.
My dick is impossibly hard, and I reach down and start stroking myself as the buzzing continues. Every now and then, I can hear the sounds she’s making, but the walls are thick enough that they’re muffled.
I resent that wall more than I’ve ever resented any human. If it would have the decency to disappear, then my life would immediately be one thousand percent better.
I keep one palm pressed to the wall as I bring myself to the brink with the other, imagining Bianca the whole time. Her hips pushing up to meet the toy’s thrusts. Her pretty lips parting. Her rosy nipples exposed and waiting for my mouth. Her—
Oh fuck.
I come suddenly, violently, her name unspoken on my lips, and moments later—my release hot on my hand—I hear a moan from the other side of the wall. The buzzing stops.
My heart is beating hard in my chest as I reach over and grab some tissues to wipe off my hand.
I half expect her to say through the wall, Goodnight, Giovanni, or, You’re welcome for the orgasm—I could tell you needed it.
But she says nothing, and I say nothing. I pull on a pair of boxers, suddenly feeling too exposed, slip back under the sheets, and fall into an uneasy sleep.
I’m woken up the next morning when the covers are whipped off me.
I sit bolt upright, swearing, and find my grandmother leaning over me in her usual outfit of black on black. “Mannaggia! You don’t tell me this? I’m the last to know.”
“Tell you what?” I moan, grateful that I at least put on boxers last night. Having your grandmother wake you up first thing in the morning is bad enough when you aren’t buck naked.
“You know what.”
“What time is it?”
“Time to get up.”
Sighing, I stand and grab a shirt from the bureau, pulling it on blindly. The house smells like gingerbread, or maybe pumpkin. Then again, it always does. The nonnas are constantly baking to supply the apple barn and pumpkin patch with treats.
“Oh, now he cares about wearing a shirt,” Nonna Francesca says. “Now, he cares about decency.”
She doesn’t sound pissed off, though, she sounds almost…happy. Like she’s teasing me.
I turn toward her, surprised, as I step into a pair of gray sweatpants. “Nonna?”
She shakes her head and pulls me to her, wrapping me in a tight hug. “Finally, you wise up. Finally, you act like a man.”
I hug her back, because I’m a man who loves his nonna, and I’m not embarrassed to show it. But I still have no idea what she’s talking about.
She pulls back, beaming at me. “Rose and I once dreamed about this day. You and Bianca never seemed to get along, so we hoped maybe Aria and Miles would marry or Nico and Isabella, but no matter. We couldn’t be happier.”
That’s when it dawns on me…
Either she saw the photo, or Bianca decided to go all in with this fake dating bullshit. The thought makes me queasy. I was straight with her last night—I don’t want to lie to my grandmother’s face. Keeping the truth about the Shirtless Chef from her for so long was bad enough.
“Did Bianca say—”
She swats the air. “Oh, no. She told us the photo of you two was a lie, but there’s nothing wrong with my eyes.”
I know an optometrist who’d disagree with that, but relief softens the prickly energy arcing through me. “And you saw this photo somewhere?”
“Your brother Enzo sent it to me,” she says. “Someone sent it to Rose, too, of course. Several people. They publish it online. In the local paper here, and the website that searches for you. Also The Tea.”
Fuck, that’s no good. The Tea is a major gossip website, one that’s been mercilessly interested in my story, ever since my face was accidentally captured on camera.
“They have another photo, too, of you wearing a silly crown. They call you Mr. October.”
Thanks a lot, Jason.
That photograph could only have come from him.
“Bianca and I aren’t dating, Nonna,” I insist, rubbing my forehead. “We’re not together.”
“You think I know nothing about this hanky-panky? Enzo told me there was nothing going on between him and Lucy either. She told me this, too, and now they’re getting married.”
Oh Christ. I have to cut this short before she and Nonna Rose decide to drive Bianca and me to the closest church with a shotgun aimed at our heads.
“We knew that guy was going to take a photo of us. That’s why we kissed. We’re only pretending we’re dating,” I say in what can only be described as a fit of exhaustion.
I tell myself it’s only a partial lie.
She shifts her weight and plants a hand on her hip. “Pretend? Why would you pretend? What good comes from pretending?”
I glance at the open door, hoping Bianca will appear and smooth things over. But no one’s out there.
“The farm’s not doing so good,” I say. “Bianca thinks it’ll be helpful if we stick around for a while. I told her I’m good with it as long as you’re happy here. Are you happy here, Nonna? We could go back home early, if you want.”
“We will not be leaving early,” she says staunchly. “I am very happy here. Rose and I, we have forgiven everything, and she needs me after losing Ted.” She pauses, gazing intently at me. “And from this photo, I know you’re very happy here too.”
“Sure,” I mutter, threading a hand through my hair. “Anyway, Bianca thinks more people will come to the farm if they know I’m working there.”
“Because of this Shirtless Chef?” she says, making the sign of the cross over her chest.
“Yeah. She knows I don’t like some of the attention I’ve been getting, and if people think we’re in a relationship, they’ll back off. There won’t be any scenes like there were back home.”
“Oh, they’ll definitely back off,” Bianca says as she steps into the room, already dressed in a black sweater and maroon leggings that cup her ass like they were made for it.
She’s holding a cup of coffee, and I tell myself that’s why I’m staring.
She lifts the mug. “Would you like some coffee?”
Maybe I do want to marry her.
I nod and reach out to her, our fingers brushing as I claim the cup. Touching her, I’m struck with a memory of last night. Did she hear me through the wall too?
I meet her gaze, but she gives nothing away.
“Thank you, Bianca.”
She nods, a smile playing on her lips. “It’s fixed the way you like it, distasteful as it is.”
Nonna Francesca clears her throat.
Turning toward her, Bianca says, “Giovanni is very talented, Nonna Francesca. He has many fans.”
My nonna sniffs. I try to avoid getting puffed up. No doubt this is part of Bianca’s plan to talk my grandmother around. I take a sip of the coffee.
Bianca eyes my nonna shrewdly, like she’s about to talk her into buying a giant pumpkin. “How would you feel about your grandson continuing to make videos if he keeps his shirt on?”
I choke on my coffee, then nearly slop it onto the floor, because I don’t know how to speak without waving my hands. “But a Shirtless Chef can’t wear a shirt. If I wear a shirt, it’s all over.”
Bianca’s gaze shifts to me, holding steady. “You don’t need to be shirtless if they can see your face. Your face will keep them coming back. You could tell your fans that your grandmother has insisted you keep your shirt on.” She lifts her eyebrows. “Or you can say it was your girlfriend.”
“You were thinking about this last night?”
“I couldn’t sleep. I also watched most of your videos.”
Is that why she wanted to touch herself?
For a moment, all I can do is stare at this woman who’s so much smarter than me.
I’m not a total sap. I know she’s not stepping up for my sake. She wants me to stay for her own reasons, and this is part of her grand sales pitch. She’s trying to make this situation a win-win for everyone—to show me that even if I’m being used, I might benefit from it.
Nonna glances back and forth between us, looking more pleased than she should be considering I just told her the relationship she and Rose have dreamed of since we were kids is as fake as ninety-nine percent of reality television.
Finally, Nonna nods. “If this helps save the farm, and those putanas leave him alone, then yes. We do it.”
My neck and palms start sweating, and suddenly my heart is beating too fast. I want to argue that viewers are only interested in seeing me shirtless.
That’s the hook. It’s always been the hook.
But I don’t want to get into a circular argument about my abs with my grandmother, or any argument at all with Bianca, who would obviously win.
“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea,” I say tightly. “But I guess we’ll need to issue some kind of statement. Not right now, though. I’ve gotta go work out.”
I take another sip of the coffee, then pad over and set the mug on the desk. The alarm clock sitting at the corner tells me it’s even earlier than I thought—just after seven.
My whole body feels jumpy and in need of exercise.
My grandmother is still standing in the doorway, staring me down, but to my surprise, Bianca wraps an arm around her shoulders and says something to her in an undertone. It’s a morning for miracles, because my nonna actually leaves with her.
Bianca did that for me. She could tell I needed a moment to process everything.
Not really for me, I remind myself. For her family. For the farm.
I tug on my sneakers, but before I head outside, I put on sunglasses and the “Smut Slut” hat. I’ve grown fond of it.
Once I’m outside, I run around the fir trees and down to the creek. I run and run and run, until my muscles ache. Even then, I’m tempted to keep going, but if I’ve learned anything, it’s that you can’t run from yourself. Not even from your alter ego.
Eventually, I circle back and find an unfamiliar black town car parked in front of the farmhouse. As I approach the door, Bianca emerges from the house with a pissed-off expression.
“What’d I do now?” I ask.
She instantly looks more pissed off. Fair enough. I’ve spent a good portion of my life living with my little sister and my grandmother. I should have known better.
“Sorry.” I swipe sweat off my forehead. “What’s up?”
“The mayor’s here,” she says. “He’d like to talk to us.” She hesitates before adding, “I think it’s probably time to mention that he’s my ex-fiancé. The one Kitty convinced me to dump.”