Chapter 36
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
GIOVANNI
Bianca and I sleep intertwined that night and the one after. We spread our “hope” plants all over the house.
On Monday, I speak to the talent agent, and after we assess the numbers for the videos I posted this week, plus the thousands of orders we’ve gotten for the Shirties T-shirts, she offers to become my agent.
She’s actually on board with what I want: my show, like it was, but with steadier and more reliable sponsors.
Sponsors she can negotiate with on my behalf.
She tells me there are Food Network shows that will be interested in having me on as a guest judge or possible participant, and I agree, as long as the filming won’t take too long.
I also tell her I’m interested in possibly writing a cookbook with my nonna. She’s all for it.
I send the contract to Enzo, who’s the kind of responsible adult who has a lawyer, and he replies within the day that it’s all aboveboard and looks good.
So now I have an agent.
An agent who helps me craft my plan to defend my family, the Murphys, and the residents of The Rotten Apple.
I don’t have a fully formed strategy yet, but an idea is forming—a crazy fucking idea that I kind of like, but I’m not ready to share it with everyone yet.
I’m still not sure whether it’s possible.
Unfortunately, part of it requires me to talk to Rhett in person. I suck it up and meet him at his house on Monday afternoon, because I don’t want to be seen with him. The meeting ends with him thinking he got what he wanted and me thinking I got what I wanted.
Time will tell which of us is right.
I spend the rest of Monday and all of Tuesday working the pumpkin patch and sweet-talking the apple pie judges on Whit’s list. One of the judges is O’Connor, and I’m feeling pretty solid about getting him to vote the right way, especially after I give him advice for approaching Judy.
I’m starting to get a pretty good picture of everything that’s been going wrong in Apple Ridge.
Mr. Mayor hasn’t been listening to his constituents.
Mr. Mayor has been feeding his own interests and letting other people’s opportunities wither.
Mr. Mayor is a piece of shit, and I have to do whatever it takes to make sure Bianca is freed from him for good.
On Wednesday morning, Bianca’s day off, she awakens beside me, drowsy as a cat, then glances out the window and says, “Fuck” right into my ear.
“I’d love to,” I murmur, “but I worry we’d get caught.”
“We’re going to get caught. Look at the sun. It must be past nine, and I’m only half dressed.” She climbs out of the bed and gestures to her bare legs.
“Yes, they’re very nice.” Maybe I should be a little more worried about the nonnas seeing her leaving my room, but it doesn’t seem like such an emergency anymore.
“Giovanni, take this seriously.”
I sit up, yawning, and stretch my arms, gratified that even though she’s worried about being caught in my room half naked, she still has her eyes on me.
She says my name again, and I grin at her.
“You worried about being driven to the church?” I ask. “Because I don’t mind. Let’s give those reporters something else to talk about. Maybe they’ll lose their taste for talking about other people in our families if the two of us are interesting enough.”
She smiles even as she starts frantically opening drawers. A few drawers down, she finds a pair of athletic shorts and rolls down the waistband several times.
“Won’t they find it strange that you’re wearing my clothing?”
She gives me the finger, and I climb off the bed to suck on it.
“The things you do to me, amore mio.”
Her gaze meets mine, and she kisses the side of my mouth, then my lips. “I probably have terrible breath.”
“You do, but I don’t care.”
She laughs, pulling away. “I’m going to run for it.”
“Do it,” I say. “I’m going to watch your butt as you go.”
She bites her lip. “They probably have a camera set up on the stairs.”
“Theo would have had to help them with it, but I wouldn’t put it past him. Did I tell you he approves of us?”
“Oh,” she says, making that one word full of satisfaction. “When did you and Theo talk about me?”
“It happened after Biceps Before Bingo, but before I ravaged you that night.”
She cracks the door open, and I grin as I watch her tiptoe out of the room, her pace so much less forceful than usual. Of course, she makes it no more than a foot when I hear her nonna from the stairwell.
“Bianca? What on earth are you wearing?”
Bianca glances back at me, her gaze rueful, as both of the nonnas step into view. “Giovanni was screaming like a big baby, and it woke me up. I ran into his room, thinking he was dying, but it was just a daddy longlegs. So I borrowed a pair of his shorts to preserve my modesty.”
I cough my way through a laugh.
“Is this true?” Nonna Francesca says, shuffling over to stand shoulder to shoulder with Nonna Rose on the landing. “You’re still afraid of little spiders? You always did need one of your brothers to take them away.”
Now Bianca’s laughing at me. Fantastic.
But she darts a glance at me and then nearly shocks me dead by saying, “Look, don’t buy the wedding linens yet, but Giovanni and I aren’t in a fake relationship anymore. We’re dating.”
A huge grin spreads across my face, and the nonnas both exclaim at once, speaking over each other.
Then an unexpected voice travels over theirs. “So it worked?”
It’s a man’s voice, and holy shit, Miles steps into view next to the nonnas. He looks so much better than he did when I last saw him, as if he’s actually been sleeping.
A patch of cling film is taped over his arm—a new tattoo, knowing him—and his brown hair is slightly overgrown.
The first time I met him I thought he was wearing colored contacts, because of one of his eyes is blue, the other green.
He told me the green eye belonged to his inner demon, trying to claw its way out.
His words—so it worked?—only register as Bianca plows past me, my shorts practically falling off her waist, and stampedes down the stairs and into his arms.
He doesn’t care that I’m with Bianca.
He wants me to be with Bianca.
He was maybe hoping we’d hit it off all along.
I’m grinning as I step into her room to grab a pair of real pants for her. No doubt she’ll want them in another five minutes.
When I come down the stairs, I can hear lively conversation from deeper within the house, probably the kitchen, but my nonna’s waiting for me at the bottom of the steps.
Something in my stomach sinks, because there’s a serious look on her face. It occurs to me that maybe she’s about to remind me that October’s about to come to an end, and with it our trip.
But she shocks me by wrapping her arms around me and pulling me close.
“Mio bel ragazzo,” she says, her voice rough with emotion. “I am so proud of you.”
I have to laugh. “Because I’m in love with Bianca? I’m still a fuckup, you know.” I cringe as she slaps my arm. “A screwup. I’m trying to fix it, Nonna.”
“You will do it.” There’s no uncertainty in her voice. “You will do it because you are like your nonno, and there was nothing that man couldn’t do. He brought people together, Giovanni. That is a gift my son never had, but I see it in his son. I know you will do great things.”
I want to join the others in the kitchen.
To give my girl her pants and hug my buddy.
To make everyone a big meal that we can share together.
But something keeps me where I’m standing.
“Nonna, these journalists are digging where they shouldn’t.
They asked about the apple fight…” I pause.
“The reporter who was talking to us…he seemed to think it had something to do with Bianca’s great-uncle Ted. ”
My grandmother purses her lips. “It did.”
My mouth falls open, but no words come out. “Nonna?” I finally say.
“I will say no more. It is not my secret to tell.”
“So it wasn’t some kind of love triangle between you three?”
She slaps my arm lightly. “Don’t be a pazzo. You know your nonno was the one and only love of my life. My other half.”
I raise my hands. “I know, I know. I just…okay. I have a plan for shutting them up.”
“You do this plan. Rose should be able to keep her secrets for as long as she wishes.”
I’m curious—anyone would be curious—but I know better than to ask more questions. My grandmother knows how to keep a secret when she wants to.
“Nonna…”I pause. “Are we going home at the end of October?”
She frowns at me. “Of course not. What’s the matter with you? You belong here. I feel it in my chest.”
“But Nico will need help with Hidden Italy, and—”
She’s already shaking her head. “I told Nico this last night, and today I tell you. Your nonno and I started Hidden Italy to give our family security, and it made us all happy and safe for many years, but it was always our family that mattered, not the place. If Nico wants to keep it running, then good, he does it. If not, he can sell it.”
“I don’t know what to say,” I mutter in shock.
My whole life I was made to believe that Hidden Italy was our family legacy. I haven’t bothered thinking about what future I wanted, because everyone knew what my future would be.
Enzo was the smart one. Nico was the more talented chef. And my sister was always the adventurous one.
I was the one who’d run Hidden Italy, because I liked talking to people and working with the staff.
It was always supposed to be that way. At one time, I’d bristled from the expectation.
Then Nonno died, and I’d stopped fighting fate.
I’d made peace with it, even though it had never been my choice.
Hell, I’d made peace with not having a choice.
Except now everything is changing, again.
“I’ll talk to Nico,” I say.
“You do that.”
“But Nonna, don’t you want to go home?”
“No, not just yet. There’s no rush. And Rose and I have an announcement to make.”
I stare at her in bafflement. “What kind of announcement?”
“We’ll do it when all the family is together.”
“And when will that be?”
She pats my arm. “We’ll have everyone together for Thanksgiving. Rose and I thought we should have it here.”
I’m having a massive what the fuck? moment, but I know better than to say that phrase in front of my nonna. I’ll say it to my siblings later. Presumably the nonnas aren’t going to jointly announce that they both have some kind of inoperable cancer, but hopefully it’s not bad news.
She pats me again. “Now, what are you waiting for? Madonn’, you’ve slept half the day away. It’s time for breakfast.”