Page 75 of Giovanni
“I didn’t want any of this to happen—the misunderstanding, the hurt and pain. All I’ve ever wanted since I met you was to be there for you, to make you happy.”
I reach for her hand, gently enclosing it in mine.
“What I’m trying to say is that you matter to me, Kacie. More than I thought possible in such a short time. I don’t want to lose what we’ve started to build together. I want to be there for you, just like you’ve been there for me.”
Her hand feels warm in mine, that connection we have strengthening amidst the chaos Bex caused. It feels like we’re on the brink of something new and better than before, this misunderstanding bringing us closer. I hold her gaze, silently hoping my words have bridged the gap and done the job to move us forward.
The soft flickering of the LED candles creates a serene ambiance while the quiet music gently fills the space around us, setting a calm and intimate mood as I anxiously await her response.
“Giovanni, I . . . I’ve been confused and hurt. But hearing you explain everything, seeing the effort you’ve put into this evening . . . it helps. It means a lot to me.”
My grip tightens over her, wanting to kiss away the pain and hurt this has caused her. I glimpse at the numbers on her monitor, far lower than this morning.
“I’ll do anything for you, Kac. And I’m sorry I raised your blood pressure and caused you to be in here.”
Guilt washes over me. The numbers I saw flashing on the monitor this morning were downright scary.
“I know, and I appreciate this. But this . . .” She points to her in bed and the monitor. “It’s not your fault. Sure, the timing was coincidental, but it has nothing to do with you. It’s all stemming from my job. I’m going to have to make some changes soon.”
Worry blankets her features. That must have been hard news for her to receive, considering how important her job is to her and the victims she represents.
“I’m sorry, Kac.”
My thumb swipes over her knuckles, wanting to take her into my arms, kiss away the hurt from us and the news about her job. All of it. But we are not there yet, and I don’t want to misstep.
“Do you know of any hot trainers that can take on a middle-aged woman carrying excess weight and a growing list of health problems?” She jokes, but it falls flat in its delivery. “Ba-dum-bum.”
She releases my hand to make the drumming motion that coordinates with her failed joke. I take it as an opportunity to retrieve my poorly wrapped gift from the shelf and return it to her side.
“I’m unsure where we’re at or what you’ve decided. But for transparency’s sake, I want you to open this before you decide.”
I try to keep my tone light even though I’m terrified of outright rejection at this point.
She gives me a curious look, turning the small box and looking for clues before sliding the ribbon to the corners to open it. Nestled against some white tissue paper is a key. When those emerald eyes raise to mine, they’re wide with panic.
“Again, not what you think. I’m not asking you to move in. I realize that’s way too soon. But my place is far closer to your building and even closer to the courthouse than your apartment. If you need to take a break or nap, or I don’t know, have sex with me in the middle of the day. You have a key to let yourself in.”
Her panicked look is chased away with a bright smile, which has me sinking back onto the bed with her.
“Well, the doctor did recommend a stress reliever. He didn’t specify what kind, O.G.”
EPILOGUE
KACIE
As I step backstage with Giovanni, the world transforms into a tapestry of sights, sounds, and chaos. The air is electric, buzzing with anticipation, excitement, and determination. My heart races, not just with nerves for Giovanni but with the sheer exhilaration of being part of this momentous day in his journey. The one we meticulously planned together in his apartment on that brisk January evening after we had sex.
Bright lights illuminate the area, glowing on Giovanni’s perfectly sculpted body. His muscles, resulting from countless hours of training and discipline, stand out against his bronzed skin, oiled to perfection. Around us, competitors move with a sense of purpose, their bodies a canvas of human strength and artistry. Each athlete, including Giovanni, is a warrior in their own right, preparing for the battle on stage, as he put it when we first got together.
The sounds of clanking weights and determined grunts punctuate the pep talks from trainers and families to the competitors. Frank had already done that for Giovanni before leaving to compete in his class. When they were forehead to forehead building each other up, I stepped back, giving themspace and privacy. He’s in his element, and I can see the fire of competition light up in his eyes. It’s a look I’ve grown to love, one that sparks every time he speaks of his passion and commitment.
“Kac.”
It’s utterly quiet over the noise of the room overcrowded with competitors, their gear, loved ones, and rows of chairs. Posing oil and sweat hangs heavy in the air when he attempts to reach for me. I edge away, unwilling to mess up his perfectly applied lotion.
“I hate that I can’t touch you.”
This is not the first time he’s said that today. It’s his way of saying he needs physical comfort from the emotions he must be feeling, with this being his first competition.
