Chapter 9
GIANA
My father sits quietly,watching the television.
I barely slept last night, waiting for him to go to the bathroom. I heard him stumble. Mom didn’t hear him as he gets around the house in stealth mode. She was upset when she heard our voices outside her door. For the remainder of the night, I listened out for every noise, every painful groan that came from him in their bedroom.
I reach over and squeeze his hand.
“How is your pain, Dad?”
He tentatively traces a finger near the wound. “My head throbs.”
“You hit it hard. Do you want some more pain meds?”
“I can get them.” Mom stands and leaves the room. It’s the first time since his accident that we’ve been alone.
“How are you really feeling?” I whisper. He stares at me with wide eyes. His pupils look fine, which is reassuring.
“How do fools feel?”
“Dad,” I say gently. “It was an accident.”
His brown eyes glaze over. Please don’t cry. I won’t be able to hold it together if my dad cries.
“I know I haven’t been myself.” He shakes his head. “Your mother worries enough about me. I don’t need you getting worked up too.”
I link my fingers through his. “I want what’s best for you.”
“The time will come when I can’t stay here, but until then, I’m grateful to stay in my home.”
“You’re decades from going anywhere.” It might not be true, but it’s what I feel in my heart. If my dad wants to live here, then I’ll do everything I can to get him the care he needs to remain here so he never has to leave his garden.
“Gigi, I know I’m becoming more forgetful, and your mother covers for me. I trip more times in a day than I did a year ago. Most times, I gather my balance before I fall. Not this time.”
“I’m getting rid of all the rugs and mats on the floor,” I tell him. “Even I’ve tripped on the one in the living room.”
“I told your mother to get rid of it years ago,” he snaps.
“It’s fine, Dad.” I pat his hand. His mood swings will become more frequent as his dementia progresses, and it’s not surprising, given the stress of his fall.
“I worry about you just as much as you worry about me,” he says.
“Why is that?”
“In a different country living with strangers. I can’t protect you when you’re that far away.”
“Oh, Dad.” I hug him. “Thank you for wanting to protect me.”
“I have to keep my little girl safe.” He squeezes my hand. I stare at his wrinkled skin, tanned all year round with white spots along his arm from sun damage.
I swallow before saying my next words. “I’m home now. There’s no need to worry about that any longer.”
Mom enters the room and hands Dad a glass of water and some pills. “You should go paint, Gigi. You’re on a schedule.”
“I will later.” I squeeze Dad’s hand. I love having this time with him.
“I’ll come and sit outside with you,” Dad says. “There’s nothing on the box I want to watch.”
Dad prefers to be outside, so I leave him to set up my easel and add an extra chair for him in the shade.
After lunch,Dad goes back inside so he can have a nap. The breeze lifts and carries the leaves in small gusts, so I move my art to the studio upstairs.
My piece is almost finished, and I have ideas for another. Unfolding my second easel, I set it up next to the canvas of painted bougainvillea in a rainbow of color. I take a shot and send it to Isabella.
My ideas for the next spring/summer fashion line. The second canvas will be gardenias on a cornflower blue background. The third will be blue hydrangeas. What do you think?
I need her to love it so I can get another contract. It’s close to midnight in Southern Italy, and Isabella will be dining on the streets, drinking wine. I can picture her laughing and can see the wine glass always in her hand. There will be pizza, bread, and all the things I miss.
I take a step back to look at the outline I drew while my thoughts ran away. It’s not bad. The gardenia petals need more detail.
Mom is adamant I fulfill my dream and return to Italy. She knows if they need me, I’ll be on the next flight home. I want to spend this time with Dad. How many years do I have while he remembers me? It’s quality time I won’t get back, and I’ve already lost five years studying and living in Italy.
And then there is Byron.
Falling for his charm was not part of the rules of coming home. The way I wanted him, yearned for him the moment we were together, it lacked class.
The plan was to play hard to get. To slowly uncover the man he has grown to become. My heart is still stuck on the guy I loved in my teens. I am no longer that girl, so there’s no reason he would be the same guy. While I loved the guy who knew all the answers in class, he wanted to be a jock and known for his athleticism, not his intelligence. With it came years of rejection and ridicule of not being good enough on the court—too skinny, not tall enough, not strong enough.
I remember his pain.
Byron Hendricks has great genes. His family did not inherit their wealth by luck. They are all geniuses and have a good work ethic and determination. Everything the Hendricks family touches turns to gold.
“It’s perfect, Gi. Stop frowning.”
I turn at the sound of Byron’s voice.
He comes to stand beside me, resting one hand on my shoulder. “You don’t need to change a thing.”
“Thanks. I was thinking about something else.”
“Do I want to know what?” I study him for a moment. Those beautiful blue eyes flick over my face, his pink cheeks a clue he recently finished training. His forest scent with a hint of lemon wafts around me, informing every cell in my body that Byron is standing close to me.
“I was thinking about getting to know you again… how you’ve changed and how you feel now about the old Byron from school.”
His eyes don’t leave mine. “And… did I pass some test?”
“It’s not a test,” I emphasize. “More an understanding of everything Byron while I’m coming to terms with unfinished business between us. I’m asking myself if you’re still the Byron I knew in high school or this guy who is just as hot but with more muscles and an even bigger attitude than the younger version?”
Byron grabs a chair and drags it close, then sits on it backward so he is facing me. His arms fold and lock over the back. Resting his chin on his hands, it’s his turn to study me. “Your painting offered you answers?”
I laugh. “I was looking blindly at it while I was deep in thought.”
“The notion of you thinking about me is pleasing. However, if there is something you want to know, I’d rather you ask than come to an assumption where I can’t defend myself.”
“There’s nothing to defend.”
“Not entirely true if you’re comparing the old me to the now.”
“We’ve both changed. I’m not the same girl from high school.”
He reaches out and cups my face. I lean into his touch and close my eyes momentarily.
“You’re beautiful, Gigi. Inside and out. While I adore this womanly version of you…” His eyes lower to my breasts, and damn my nipples for reacting to his attention. “I’m also attracted to the girl I knew in school. I simply like you for you, no matter how you change. While there’s physical attraction, we also have a connection I’ve never felt with anyone else. You understand me.”
There is no denying I crave attention from Byron. Is it a deep-rooted craving from wanting him to want me, or is it more? “Do we have the same connection now as we did then? That is what I was pondering. I guess time will tell.”
“How much time do we have?”
The big question.
“I like how we can discuss things openly, ask questions, and not be afraid of answers that might hurt us.”
His brows crease with concern. “Is this your way of saying there is an expiration date?”
My cell buzzes before I answer Byron. I check the caller. It’s Isabella. “I have to take this.” I turn to my painting to focus on what she is calling about. “Hi, Isabella. Did you get my message?”
“I did, my stellina, and I love the new piece. I can’t wait to see all the color.” I smile while staring at my art. Isabella has called me her little star since I arrived in Italy.
“I’ll start on it this afternoon and send a picture when it’s complete.”
“When do you expect to finish it?”
While I’m not painting as often as I would if I were living in Italy and not distracted by anything in Isabella’s studio, I’m not prepared to leave home just yet. “In a few days.”
Byron stands and knocks the leg of the easel. “Shit.” He stops it from falling.
“Who is with you? Is it a man you’re not telling me about?” Isabella probes.
I stare at Byron, and his eyes are fixed on mine. “Maybe.” He fails to mask his curiosity. “I should go. I’ll message you when it’s done.”
“Giana, we need to discuss your return. When you complete the five pieces, I need you here for the next stage.”
“Of course.” The last time we were at the stage before printing my designs on fabric, the lead-up time was about a month. For the celebrations and the fashion show, I can always come home in between unless Isabella demands otherwise. “Enjoy your night, Isabella. I’ll message you soon.”
“Paolo and I are opening another bottle of vino. The night is young. Ciao, my stellina.”
I laugh before ending the call.
Byron’s eyes do not leave me. “Isabella owns Leto Designs,” I tell him to ease his curiosity. I do not tell him how I dated her nephew, Dante, for over a year and that when he hurt me, I decided to come home. “Isabella oversees my work for the fabric print of the new fashion line. Each piece is reproduced on a variety of styles… dresses, pants, formal wear. She’s the reason I’m invited to fashion shows around the world.” I wait for him to catch up. “You saw her at the fashion parade.”
He grins and looks somewhat bashful. “I didn’t notice. I only had eyes for you.”
Our gazes lock, and something passes between us.
“You’re a big deal,” he says in a husky voice that envelops me in his warmth. “I’m proud of you.”
“I appreciate your kind words, but I’m really not. Unlike you, there is no need for me to escape the publicity of being famous. My life remains pretty much the same.”
Bowing his head, he waits a few seconds before he meets my gaze again. “I do my best to maintain a private life, which meant mainly staying in. I’m boring compared to the life you experienced in Italy.”
To obtain his dream, Byron has had to give up what most of us take for granted. He possibly was lonelier than me, as we both know one-night stands for a physical connection never cured the loneliness we felt inside.
I wrap my arms around him. “Byron Hendricks, you were never boring to me.”
Byron wraps his muscled arms around me, hugs me tight, and kisses me the way every girl dreams of being kissed. It’s how I’ve always dreamed of being kissed by Byron, the man, no longer the kid out of high school.
His tongue finds mine in a slow dance, not desperate, all passion. He’s taking his time tasting me. My hands run through his hair, gripping and holding his face to mine. His lips soothe me, chipping away at the rock-hard ball of worry in my chest. He makes me feel special, as though he is here for me.
I have missed him, and I still want him. This thought makes me realize we should discuss what we want from each other.
“What is it?” he murmurs against my lips.
I shake my head. “Nothing. Keep kissing me.”
He repositions my long hair to the other side of my neck, gathering it in his hands in a loose ponytail. Those soft lips trail from my ear down the side of my neck, caressing my skin, and his name leaves my lips in a whisper.
“What’s on your mind?” He licks a trail to the front of my neck, then replaces his lips with a hand. It’s a hold of protection, authority, and security, but not threatening. He stares straight into my eyes, his expression unwavering. “I want to claim this neck, but not until you tell me what’s on your mind.”
“I want you to touch me.”
His eyes narrow a little in warning. “Is it the phone call? Do you need me to leave so you can paint?”
I step forward so his grip tightens around my neck. “No. I want you.”
He assesses me a moment longer. “While I’m happy to kiss you, nothing else will happen with your parents downstairs. I disrespected you once. I’m sorry, Giana. I won’t do it again.”
I take his face in my hands and guide his lips to my breasts. With one hand, I slide the strap of my dress over my shoulder. “I need you, Byron.”
I groan when he pushes my breast up and out of my bra so he can caress the nipple, sucking and nipping. It would be so easy to turn around and allow him to take me from behind, a burst of pleasure to quiet the noise in my head.
His cell buzzes on the table behind us.
“Fuck,” he says against my skin.
“I’d hoped we were leading to that.”
He groans, straightens, and stares down at me as though his resolve is weakening, then turns to his cell. He checks the screen with part of a message displayed.
“Penny had the baby. The family can visit tonight.” He looks at me as though he has an idea. “Come with me?”
I laugh, flattered he wants me there. “It’s too early. It’s a special time for your family.” His eyebrows pull together. “I’m not saying I don’t want to. I’m saying there is a right time, and tonight is not it. It’s not like I’m meeting them for the first time, although they mightn’t remember me.”
“You’re unforgettable, Gigi.”
I smile at him in a goofy way. “You need to be with your family. We’ll continue this…” I circle a finger between us, “… later.”