Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 94124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Fortunately, that’s all it takes for Valentina’s resolve to crumble. As her shoulders meet and her muscles shake, the words I’m seeking slip from her kiss-swollen lips.
“I’m yours.”
22
VALENTINA
Walking into my mother’s new hospital room, I’m honestly stunned. It’s bigger than our entire house in the US, with large windows that overlook the coast and spill sunlight across the floor. The bed isn’t one of those narrow, squishy single beds Mom is used to. It’s a proper double, with crisp sheets and space to stretch out.
Mom looks as surprised as I feel. “Tesoro, can you believe it?” She glides her hand across the breathtaking view not even a bedridden patient could miss. It shows the coastline in all its glory and reminds me of the luxuriousness of Giovanni’s penthouse. “I keep asking the nurse if they’ve made a mistake. This can’t be my room.”
She strays her eyes to me before gesturing for me to come closer. She’s missed my presence as much as I have hers the past twenty-four hours. I nuzzle in when she pulls me into her chest and hugs me tightly. I’ve missed her smell and her smile, and thanks to Giovanni’s generosity, I’m no longer dreading that their absence will become permanent before I’m ready.
This treatment doesn’t guarantee a cure, but it will give her the best chance of going into remission.
When the strength of my mother’s caress tenses my weary bones, my heart aches with an equal amount of gratitude and guilt. I wish I could refuse Giovanni’s generosity. Pride is a hard thing to get over. It constantly whispers that it’s imperative to stand on your own two feet and that accepting help is a sign of weakness. But the reality is too stark to ignore. We can’t afford the treatment my mother desperately needs. My wages are too low to compete with the endless stream of bills constantly landing in my inbox, much less thousands in medical expenses.
I probably wouldn’t be so opposed to help if I weren’t worried Giovanni will think I’m using our fire-sparking connection to take advantage of him. That’s not what I’m doing. It isn’t his job to solve my problems.
I tried to talk him into a payment plan when we discussed my mother’s medical bills while showering together in my aunt’s poky bathroom. Giovanni wouldn’t hear a word of it. He said gifts weren’t given with invoices.
I still plan to pay him back. It’ll probably take seven centuries, but I won’t stop working until I’ve repaid every cent he spent for this treatment.
After feigning innocence about the new scent coating every inch of my skin, my mother inches back. Her eyes glisten with happiness and appear pain-free. “Are you sure our insurance covers this, tesoro? I didn’t think I could use our US health insurance here.”
Giovanni jumps into the conversation before a single excuse formulates in my lust-hazed head. “Your dual citizenship altered the rules. The Sicilian government is always happy to get money out of a foreign company.”
My mother’s giggle is true and genuine.
She already likes Giovanni. I can tell she does.
A pink hue creeps up her neck as she returns her eyes to me. “Are you going to offer an introduction, tesoro? Or shall I keep referring to this young man as your Dark Knight?”
“Dark Knight is fine with me.”
I whack Giovanni in the stomach before plopping my backside onto a portion of my mother’s bed. It’s not a squeeze since she takes up barely any space.
“Mamma, this is…” My throat constricts. I knew this moment would inevitably come, but with my brain on the fritz for countless orgasms, it isn’t firing on all cylinders. I can’t call Giovanni my boyfriend. Surely not. We met weeks ago, but the “we” part of our relationship is as fresh as a newborn baby. “He’s—”
Giovanni doesn’t let me drown in hesitation. He steps forward with his hand extended as if he owns the space.
I snort. He probably does.
“Giovanni Caruso.” His voice is steady and full of pride. “The man obsessed with your daughter.”
His confession jolts through me like electricity, and my breath catches. He said it just like that. No hesitation. No shame. It sounded so truthful it could be mistaken for gospel.
My stomach flips. Don’t ask me if it is a good flip or a bad flip, as I wouldn’t be able to tell you.
Mom’s brow lifts, but there’s no judgment in her eyes. Recognition is the only spark I see.
“Caruso?” She swirls his surname around her mouth as if tasting its familiarity. “As in Vittoria Caruso?”
Giovanni’s demeanor shifts. Only slightly, but it’s enough for me to feel the burden of it.
“Yes,” he answers, nodding. “Vittoria is my mother.”
Endearment softens Mom’s expression as her eyes flicker with a memory. “How is she? It’s been years since I saw her.” Her eyes glaze over with fresh tears as she corrects herself. “Decades.”