Chapter 23
GIANA
Byron promisedhe would visit after his family’s Thanksgiving dinner.
When I heard the knock, my heart thumped in my chest. Why am I nervous? He has met my family and is no stranger to my house. I don’t need to pretend with him. This is the first time he has visited on Thanksgiving, and it speaks volumes he would leave his fancy family to visit mine.
I spring from the table to answer the door. Looking through the peephole, I suck in a breath. He is wearing a freaking suit. I’m not used to seeing him dressed like this, yet with all his family functions and outings, he would have a collection of designer suits. I yank the door open, then lean against the jamb and stare at him. “You are a very handsome man, Byron Hendricks.”
He steps closer to me, his gaze holding mine. “Is that so?”
“Mm-hmm.” I eye his fancy navy suit, white shirt, and pale-pink tie as I imagine what Thanksgiving at his home would be like. “Come here.” I undo his tie and slide it off, then loosen the first three buttons on his shirt. “That’s more like it.”
“And what do you intend to do with my tie?” he says in his best toe-curling sexy voice.
“I’ll give you one clue.” I wrap the tie around one wrist as I look up into his eyes. He pulls me into his arms and kisses me.
“Giana Monroe. You drive me crazy.” He kisses me like there is no tomorrow—only today, this minute, this second.
I wrap my arms around his neck, arch my pelvis to his, and grind against him. He lifts me into his arms and carries me through the door, his lips still on mine. “That’s the only way I was getting inside,” he murmurs against my lips. “Otherwise, I’d carry you to my car.”
I giggle and jump out of his arms, my hands still looped around his neck. “Did I tell you how much I love that you’re here?”
He flashes a smile. “Did I hear you say the L word?”
I playfully hit his chest. “I love that you’re here. Love you in a fancy suit.” I waggle my eyebrows.
“And?” He pulls me into his side and nibbles my ear. “What else?”
I haven’t told him those three words, although I’m sure he knows how I feel about him. I wanted the first time I say it to him to be special, yet every second I get to spend with Byron feels special. I take his face in my hands and pull his lips to mine. “I like you.”
He embraces the humor, wrapping his arms tightly around my waist and pushing his crotch into mine with a single thrust. “You’re using me for sex.”
I giggle like a horny teenager. Blame Mom’s cognac. “Come and say hi to my parents.” I take Byron’s hand and lead him into the kitchen, where we are serving dessert.
“Happy Thanksgiving,” Mom says to Byron. He goes to her and gives her a hug. “You look very handsome today.”
“Just today, ma’am?” he jokes. He moves to my father, now standing by his chair. “Happy Thanksgiving, Mr. Monroe.”
“Happy Thanksgiving, son.” The way Dad says son makes my stomach flip. I can see in his eyes he likes Byron. He covers his top hand so he has both hands on Byron’s, and it almost brings me to tears.
Mom seems more reserved about her feelings for Byron. She wants what’s best for me, and mostly wants me to explore my career choices in Italy. She hasn’t said it, but I sense she feels Byron will hold me back emotionally. Dad has flipped the situation, showing Byron his support. I move behind Dad and wrap my arms around his middle to lean my head on his shoulder. “I love you, Dad.”
Byron leans close to my father. “You know she hasn’t told me that yet.”
I lift my head and eye Byron. “Do not make me look like the bad person here,” I say, half joke, half serious.
“I think someone has had too much to drink,” Mom says with a laugh.
“Wait for the right time, son.” Dad winks at Byron. Winks.
“Okay, let’s eat dessert,” I suggest, and sit next to Mom. Byron sits beside my father on the other side of the table.
“I hope you all had an enjoyable Thanksgiving,” he says on a more serious note.
“We did, thank you, Byron. And we have Giana’s new contract to be grateful for. The Lord is blessing her in so many ways.”
Fucking hell. I glare at Mom.
“We do. But as I told you, I’m not sure I’m going to accept it.”
“New business is always good,” Byron suggests. “You have to accept it, Gi.”
I twist in my seat to meet his gaze. “It’s a contract to remain in Italy for the next season. Maybe two,” I say, hearing the quiver in my voice.
“Season? Like spring and summer?”
“No. When Isabella talks seasons, she means years.”
Byron stares down at his pumpkin pie and twirls the spoon. “I see.” He looks at Mom, then at me. “If it’s what you need to do for your career, then you have to do it.”
“I told you he would understand,” Mom adds. “Byron, you would do the same if it was your career, right?”
I am so angry with Mom right now.
“Without a second thought,” he rasps out, his eyes boring into mine.
I scan his beautiful face, his blue eyes framed with long dark lashes. I see hurt there but also understanding. I take his hand and squeeze it. “We were chatting about my travel commitments before you arrived,” I say to him. “I need to return this weekend. The movie’s release has been moved forward. It’ll be for a couple of weeks.”
Byron stares at me, his expression unreadable. If I knew what he was thinking?—
“Do you remember us talking about the Italian movie and the film stars wearing Leto Designs? That now includes my latest prints. Isabella believes the film stars wearing designs before they are marketed to the public will be the best promotion for our new lines.”
He slowly nods as though absorbing what I’m telling him. “I agree. It’s a great marketing plan.”
Mom serves Byron another piece of pie. “We’re all proud of you, Giana.”
He glances at me and forces a smile before shoving a spoonful of pie in his mouth.
“Did you have turkey for dinner, Byron?” Mom asks. Why didn’t she ask these questions first and allow me to ease into the subject of Italy?
“Yes, ma’am, and a few sides. I declined dessert as I promised Gigi I would eat with your family.”
“And we appreciate you being here.” She places a spoonful of pie into her mouth. “Our day was good. The weather is still nice enough to sit outside. I’m not looking forward to winter.”
“You would hate Italian winters, then,” I say to Mom. “It’s colder than LA.”
“And hotter. Well, more humid in summer,” Byron adds.
I hold back a grin, remembering how hot my villa was, especially without power.
The night continues with more and more chitchat, and I regret telling Byron about Italy on a day that’s meant to be about gratitude. The mood in the room has dulled, and Mom’s small talk makes it worse.
At around eight thirty, Byron stands. “Thank you for a lovely evening. I’m sorry to leave, but I have an early training session tomorrow.”
I walk Byron to the front door. “Do you want me to come home with you?”
He takes both my hands in his and stares at our linked fingers. “I am happy for you, Giana.” He looks up, and our eyes lock. “I need an early night. Coach has been kicking my ass since I took off to Italy without permission.” What? “I can’t risk further distraction. Enjoy your trip, and we’ll catch up when you get back.”
We have more time together. I don’t leave until Saturday.
“What are you doing tomorrow after training?”
“BJ and I are teaching ball skills to kids in the schools program. Now that the season has started, we have even more external commitments as players.”
“Tomorrow night?”
“Training. Then it’s game day on Saturday.”
I should know this. I let go of his hand and cup his cheek. “This is not the end of us. It’s a work commitment. I hope you understand.”
He leans down and kisses my cheek. “Safe travels, Gigi.”