Earlier, I made out that I hate how well his attention pinches my smarts. I lied. I love how carefree his doting has made me, and that the world doesn’t seem as scary as it once did. I guess this is where I’m meant to say it was the hormones talking during our argument. I would if I didn’t think it was the cheat’s way out.
Eager to fix my rights, I ask, “Should we do the cake?” Even though I’m asking a question, I don’t give Giovanni a chance to respond. “We should do the cake.”
With a quick adjustment of his position, which announces he’s aware of the cause of my eagerness, Giovanni signals to the head butler to fetch the cake.
I’m not solely requesting we tick off the last item on our agendatonight because I’m a horny wench endeavoring to make up for years of abstinence in a month. My mother also looks tired. She’s putting on a brave front, but the more the festivities continue, the wobblier her steps become.
I brush my lips against the edge of Giovanni’s mouth before gathering my mother from across the room and placing her at the king’s spot, as per Giuseppe’s silent offer when he pulls out his chair for her.
Although Mom’s relieved sigh is silent, I still hear it. I was right. She’s exhausted.
“Just a few more minutes, Mamma. The cake is the last item on the agenda. Then you’re free to go. I promise.”
She pats my hand and smiles up at me. “Thank you,tesoro. Tonight has been wonderful, but I am exhausted.”
“Don’t thank me. I only toldhimyour approved date.”
Her eyes gleam with a sparkle I haven’t seen before when she follows the direction of my gaze. As if he can sense my mother’s presence as well as Giovanni can mine, Giuseppe cranks his neck to face us the second Mom’s eyes land on him.
When she mouths her thanks, he dips his chin, bowing out of a shower of praise with a gratitude I’m certain my mother has never witnessed.
The cake arrives like a crown jewel, carried on a silver tray by a butler dressed in a tuxedo, and everyone moves in close. Tears prick my eyes when the attendees break into the familiar melody of“Happy Birthday.” I’m not being emotional solely because they sing it in Italian. It’s because this time last year I was told it would be Mom’s last birthday.
I’m so glad she proved the doctors wrong.
My mother must be feeling the same heavy sentiment. After brushing a tear off her cheek, she blows out the candles in one graceful breath and then giggles as if she’s years younger when the guests cheer, “Hip hip hooray!”
I glance at Giovanni when his father warns my mother of the consequences of the knife hitting the base of the cake tray, while drifting closer. “You have to kiss the closest boy. That is the rule, Concetta. And we both know how much you love following the rules.”
Giovanni’s smile is there, but it’s tight, like a mask stretched too far. That is, until he spots my gawk. Then his smile turns genuine, and it makes my pussy ache.
I’m about to join him, craving his closeness, but Aunt Maria cozies up to my side, thwarting my wish.
“Tell me you see that too,tesoro?” Her eyes snap to my mother, who’s glowing like a woman half her age and in love. How do I know this? She looks exactly how I did while putting on makeup hours ago. “I swear, Valentina, if Giuseppe isn’t careful, she’ll faint from excitement before he gets anything good from her.”
“Stop.” I gag to hide my grin, but my lips curve anyway. It’s good to tease and gossip. It feels normal. “Her cheeks are heated because she’s tired?—”
“Of sidestepping all the duds who chased her after she let that god go.”
Absentmindedly, I accept a dessert plate from someone on my right. My mind is too fogged trying to decipher my aunt’s riddle to offer my thanks, let alone name the person who handed me a slice of my mom’s favorite dessert.
The chocolate fudge cake with raspberry filling and ganache frosting smells so divine that I pick at it while prying for more information. “What do you mean? They were only friends, right? Giuseppe is years older than Mom.”
“With age comes experience,” my aunt practically croons. “And who are you to talk? Giovanni is ten years older than you.”
I talk around swirls of chocolate frosting melting on my tongue. “How do you know that?” I’ve shared many things with her and Mom during our daily visits to the hospital, but since Giovanni is inattendance with us, I keep most of the conversations centered on Mom’s prognosis and upcoming radiation schedule. “I’ve never mentioned his age.”
“The walls in this town whisper.” I slap her hand away when she snatches a raspberry drizzled with a sweet nectar and crushed almonds off my plate and pops it into her mouth. “And I’m always listening.”
After bumping me with her hip, she shadows closely behind Mom and Giuseppe when he guides her out of the dining room. They can’t be leaving. Since we’re not guaranteed a set amount of time, my mother never leaves without first saying goodbye. Giuseppe is most likely directing her to the closest bathroom since most guests washed down their meal with half a dozen glasses of wine.
Even though my heart sings a happy serenade when it detects Giovanni’s closeness a second before his torso warms my back and his lips find my neck, my tone sounds firm when I say, “If you eat a single morsel of my dessert, I won’t be held accountable for my actions.” Unladylike, I shove a forkful of cake into my mouth and talk around it. “There are plenty of leftovers”—I nudge my head to the table housing more slices of cake than there are guests hovering in close to collect a slice—“over there.”
I sense his smile more than I see it. “I’m good.” His prickles graze my skin when he drags his lips down my neck to pepper my skin with kisses. “I’ll have my favorite dessert later.”
A delicious shiver rolls down my spine. It has nothing to do with the bursts of flavor activating my tastebuds. It’s from recalling why he calls me sweetness. He said I’m the sweetest dessert he’s ever tasted and that he’ll never settle for second best, sodolcezzawas the perfect nickname.
I breathe deeply while trying to remember that not every second in Giovanni’s life must be devoted to me. God, he makes it hard. Justhis lips on my neck and the heat of his body pressed against mine have my hips naturally gyrating.