Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
BIANCA
One minute, Giovanni and I were sneaking around, having fun, kissing. We were connecting in a way I honestly haven’t connected with any man in a long, long time.
Then this morning, he told off my shitty ex in the only truly satisfying display of male dominance I’ve ever witnessed. Now, I’m doing a live broadcast with him, which is being watched by an insane number of people.
We just told the story we concocted this morning, all while Giovanni played with my hair, each movement of his hand sending little sparks of pleasure through my body. We sat in front of his phone, staring into its camera, our bodies so close together it was all I could do to keep breathing.
He brought his phone’s tripod stand with him, which suggests he thought he might need or want it sometime during his stay here. That contradicts what he’s been telling me about giving up on The Shirtless Chef, but I can hardly think about that now, with his hand on my thigh.
Questions and comments keep flooding the phone screen while we’re live.
Holy shit, holy shit, this needs to be a movie. @hallmarkchannel MAKE IT HAPPEN
OMG, I LOVE HIM.
What’s their celeb name? Gianca? Biovanni? GAH. I’m obsessed.
They are the CUTEST. This is giving me life.
I want him biblically. Like, it’s not even funny.
brING BACK THE ABS.
Wait, does he have amnesia or what? I feel like I’m missing something.
Does anyone else think CONSPIRACY. I’m going to direct message Eva St. Claire. She seems to know more than she’s saying.
Bianca is NOT hot enough for him. She’s, like, a five or a six, and he’s a ten thousand.
Giovanni, who’d started talking about Mr. October and the activities we’ll be doing in Apple Ridge, cuts himself off as soon as the insulting comment appears at the bottom of the screen.
His brow furrows, and he sits up straighter.
“No,” he says, his tone furious. “No one talks about my girlfriend like that. You want to tell me my nose is too big, or you don’t like my face, or my gnocchi’s no good, go ahead.
I can take it. I’m the one who chose to put my abs and my cooking online.
But my girlfriend is bellissima. I’m lucky she wants to look at me twice.
I won’t stand for any insults to her or her family, whom I’ve known nearly my whole life.
You treat her like the angel she is, or you stay off my channel. ”
“It’s okay,” I say in an undertone, even though his words lodged a knot of emotion in my throat.
“It’s not okay.”
“Look,” I add, “I’m not some supermodel. I’m a regular person. A nurse. So, yes, I have a normal person kind of face.”
Giovanni shakes his head and turns toward me. “You’re beautiful. Every time I look at you, you take my breath away. I was trembling before I kissed you that first time. I was worried you could tell.”
I’m tempted to tell him to dial it down, because my knees feel weak, but he’s obviously doing this for the camera. He’s doing it for me, too, of course, but not in the way it seems. I asked him to save our farm, and bless him, he’s truly trying.
He’s still staring at me, his gaze posing a challenge, as if he wants me to tell him I’m wrong so he can whisper more sweet nothings. But I don’t know if I’m strong enough to listen to him continue to compliment me, peppering in Italian endearments, without losing my slipping grasp on sanity.
“I was nervous too,” I admit. “Before that first kiss.”
“You didn’t seem the least bit nervous,” he says with a smile. “You did it in a take-charge way, same as you do everything.”
“I knew you’d kissed lots of girls.”
“I’d kissed none,” he says without hesitation. I almost believe him.
Then he dips his head toward me and brushes his lips softly against mine. “I still can’t get enough,” he says, his eyes on mine. “I can never get enough with you.”
My lips tremble as he turns back toward the camera.
“Now that we’ve settled that, I expect I’ll see no more stupid comments about my girlfriend.
Only praise for this beautiful woman I’m lucky enough to call my own.
So there you have it. There’s been no amnesia.
No mind control. No coercion. I’m here because it’s the exact place I want to be. ”
I just stare at him, nearly believing him. And he smiles in return before shifting his gaze back to the camera.
“If you would like to meet me here in Apple Ridge, I’ll be working at the Evergreens & Apples pumpkin patch.
” He grins charmingly, and I can practically hear the collective oohing and aahing echoing in hundreds—no, thousands—of rooms across the country or even the world.
“I’ll even sign your pumpkin for you if you ask nicely. ”
A new comment floats across the screen, jolting me the moment it catches my gaze:
Will you sign my tits? [kiss emoji]
“No,” I say, scowling at the camera. “Giovanni will not be signing any body parts—and if you try to grab him, or flash him, or talk dirty to him, you will have me to deal with. I may not look tough, but I’ve been trained to take down a two-hundred-pound muscular man.
Trust me when I say I will not hesitate to tackle anyone who tries any funny business.
That goes for photos too. If anyone sends him any perverted photos, you will be reported to the authorities.
I’d never publish anything compromising online, but I won’t hesitate to put your name on blast. Be respectful. ”
Giovanni grins at me and adjusts the arm he has wrapped around my shoulder to play with my hair again. “I’m a lucky man. I’m sorry I’ve worried some of you. That wasn’t my intention. I’m just taking figuring some things out.”
I can tell he’s about to sign off, but comments continue to float up on the bottom of the screen.
When can we expect more videos, G? They help with my anxiety. PLEASE say we’ll get more soon. I want to know all about your life on the farm.
I NEED an apple pie video, like yesterday. Please, Giovanni.
Someone else adds:
Bianca, convince him!
Giovanni rubs between his eyes. “It’s under discussion. The thing is…I never intended for everyone to know I was the Shirtless Chef. This has been a big transition for me. I’m still thinking about my next steps, but you all will be the first to know. Thank you for understanding.”
According to the comments now flashing on the screen, there are plenty of people who do not understand, but he ends the video stream and turns toward me. There’s a furrow between his dark eyebrows.
“I don’t like that all these people know who you are, and where to find you.”
“That’s the whole point,” I say. We’re still sitting close together, with his arm draped around me, the way we positioned ourselves for the video. The broadcast is over now, but neither of us moves. “They’re supposed to find us.”
“If anyone harasses you, you tell me, Bianca. I mean it.”
I nod, feeling that knot of emotion in my throat again.
I’m not used to someone caring this much about my comfort.
My mother was mostly hands-off after my parents’ divorce, my grandfather was a strict man, and my grandmother was so busy running interference between him and us that she didn’t do much doting.
I don’t know how to handle it, so I say, “You didn’t need to defend me like that.
I don’t care if they think I’m ugly. I know it’s just because they want you, and they think I have you. ”
“You leave that to me, and if you want to tackle anyone who gets handsy with me, I’ll leave it to you.”
It’s tempting to protest, but the look in his eyes leaves no room for argument.
I nod, my attention torn between his expression and the feeling of his warm body pressed against mine.
“All right,” I finally manage. “Are you going to get changed before we go to the pumpkin patch?”
“You’re coming with me?”
He sounds so surprised and excited that I almost laugh. “Of course I’m coming with you. I’m not going to throw you to the wolves.”
He gives a half-hearted shrug. “I don’t mind so much. I like most people.”
“Some of those people are crazy.” I gesture to the phone. “You saw the comments.”
“Yeah.” He runs a hand across his chin. “Does it bother you, seeing them say shit like that about me?”
Yes.
I don’t like other women imagining him naked, dreaming about touching him and running their tongues up and down his abs. I don’t like the thought of them driving across state lines to visit the farm simply so they can feast their eyes on him. But I can’t say any of that, since he’s not really mine.
“A little, I guess,” I finally respond. “Does it bother you?”
His smile is almost sad as he bobs his head slightly. “Janine made it pretty clear that the only thing I had going for me is the way I look, so this sort of feels like more of the same.”
He’s opening up to me, expressing an insecurity that he mustn’t share with the world. He starts to rise, but I place my hand on his thigh, stopping him.
He darts a quizzical look at me. “Bianca?”
“There’s more to you than that.”
“Yeah?” He smiles, but it’s more regretful than happy. “You haven’t really seemed to think so.”
His words pierce me. I know he’s right. I was so prepared to see what everyone saw—the sexy, good-times guy—but like most people he has layers, and he’s already shown me some of them. I’d like to see more.
“What can I say? You’re growing on me. And, yes, I guess you’d better shower. If you show up in gray sweatpants, we’ll have to bring smelling salts. There’ll be a fainting epidemic.”
“Why?” he asks, looking genuinely baffled.
I tap the brim of his hat. “If you truly valued the art of smut, you’d know exactly what gray sweatpants do to a girl.”
His lips curl up into a half smile that make him even more attractive. “I guess I’ll have to do my research.”
I think again of last night. Of pleasuring myself while I stared at his photograph frozen on my screen. Am I any better than all of those other women thirsting after him?
I shake the thought away, swallow dryly, and stand. Giovanni does the same.
“I’d better go warn Fiona,” I tell him.
Fiona’s a middle-aged mother of four. She won’t know what hit her if she shows up to the Free Giovanni sheet and dozens of cars full of admiring women.
“All right.” He takes a step toward the door but hesitates and glances back at me. “Look, thank you for coming with me. It’ll be easier tomorrow, but today…I’m glad you’re going to be there.”
I watch as he leaves the room, my mouth still dry, my feelings all over the place.
I think I have a serious crush on Giovanni Cafiero…along with every other woman on the eastern seaboard.