Page 67 of Giovanni
I swallow hard, the image on my phone flashing in my mind’s eye, reigniting the raw hurt and anger. The irritating blood pressure cuff starts compressing to take a reading at the most inopportune time.
“I saw the picture. You were kissing Jenna.”
The words are like acid on my tongue. He moves closer to me, his hand slowly extending toward mine, resting vulnerably on the bedsheet. His expression transforms, morphing from concern to guilt.
“Kacie, that picture . . . it’s not what you think.”
Frustration and desperation for the truth collide within me as I untangle my cold hand from his.
“Then explain it to me, Giovanni. Because it seems pretty clear from my end.”
He leans in, his eyes desperate, pleading.
“You’ve got to believe me. That picture was taken out of context. Jenna . . . she came onto me. I didn’t reciprocate, I swear.”
Part of me wants to believe him. Believe in the man, I spent the most wonderful week. Yet the investigator in me knowswhen things look precisely as they seem, and I can’t let that go as easily as he wants me to.
“I find that hard to believe with your lips on hers and your arms around her.”
And now, because of it, I’m here in this hospital bed. I want to add but don’t. There is no sense in pouring gasoline on an already lit fire.
He reaches out a second time, his hand enveloping mine. His touch is warm, but it does little to thaw the ice forming around my heart.
“I know how it looks, Kacie. But trust me, I care so much about you that I’d never hurt you. You’re the most precious thing in my life. You’ve got to believe me.”
Desperation clings to his voice, as does the strength of his grip on my hands. He’s as distraught about this as I am, the difference being he’s the guilty party. Usually, I’m of the adage of innocent until proven guilty and listening to all the extenuating circumstances, as photos can be doctored or taken from various angles. However, when the cuff releases and registers my blood pressure, an alarm goes off, and a nurse scurries in.
“Oh no, this is not good.”
She bustles toward me, forcing Giovanni to break his hold on my hand and step aside. He watches her take over, pressing buttons on the machine while a surge of heat races through my body. I push the covers down, wipe my forehead off the perspiration collecting there, and watch as she adjusts the cuff, preparing to retake my blood pressure.
“We’re going to retake this. If it rereads this high, I must get the doctor in here.”
Giovanni is stonily silent, his eyes wide, his mouth slacks in surprise as he studies her, me, and the numbers on the machine. His hands plant on his hips, pulling his wrinkled shirt tight across his developed chest and looking authoritative likehe did in the gym the first time I met him. However, the cheery confidence is lost in his worry, regret, and concern. Neither of us says a word, exchanging glances while the cuff tightens. The bubbly nurse decides the silence is too much, saying.
“Isn’t it nice that your cousin has been here all night? I offered him a pillow and a blanket, but he refused, saying he wanted to be ready when you wake up.”
Cousin?
It didn’t dawn on me how he got here, as I was too fixated on that picture. He lied to the hospital, lied to get his way. Is this who he really is? A liar. Lying to them and me to get his way.
When I raise an eyebrow in silent inquiry, my expression doesn’t fall into an apology. It remains stoic as those dark eyes move to the numbers that register when the cuff releases.The nurse looks at the readings and quickly excuses herself.
“Oh dear. I’ll be right back.”
I angle my head to glimpse the monitor, and what I see sends a wave of fear crashing over me. The numbers are alarmingly high, nearing two hundred. My heart races with anxiety. It feels like my body has taken the reins, making a decision that fills me with a deep sadness. The reality of my situation, reflected in the disturbing numbers on the monitor, seems to dictate a path my heart is reluctant to follow.
The silence that ensues is deafening, filled only with the mechanical beeping of the monitor and my labored breaths. Giovanni’s gaze locks onto mine, his eyes a silent plea for understanding, trust, and forgiveness.I muster the strength to speak the words I know are true.
“You need to go, Giovanni. I can’t deal with this right now.”
His shoulders slump forward when his hands fall from his hips. His expression is of marked pain and instant sorrow. He nods, wiping a hand over his weary face and trying to hide the sting of rejection.
“I’m sorry, Kacie. For the picture, for making your blood pressure high, for . . .”
His voice trails off when he runs another hand through his hair, turning his back to me and looking at the ceiling for answers. When he turns around, his hand returns to his side, and tears rim his eyes.
“I’ll go, but just know I’m here for you. No matter what. You’re mine, and I’m yours. That’s what we said. That’s what you said, Kac.”
