I shrug. “I’m not so sure.”
He hands me a fig. “Trust me.”
The surface of the fruit feels smooth against my fingers. And for the first time, I feel completely at peace with Giovanni.
Chapter 17
Tessa
The number of dishes on the kitchen table is twice that of the spread at Lucia’s. American Thanksgivings have nothing on this. And it’s not just the table covered in food; when I turn around, I notice an auxiliary table with burrata cheese and tomatoes on it.
“Are there other people coming for dinner?” I ask Maria, who is busy cutting a crusty loaf of bread into thick slices.
“What?” she asks absentmindedly. “No, no, just us four.”
Who is going to eat all of this?I eye a particularly mouth-watering dish, eager to dig in.
“That’s Osso Buco. It’s veal shanks braised in a white wine broth. Gremolata is the topping, which is a combination of lemon, parsley, and garlic,” Giovanni explains in his deep voice behind me.
“Well, it looks absolutely delicious. Maria, I can’t believe you made all of this. The presentation is gorgeous. It could be in a magazine,” I praise, drawing a blush from her. “Is this risotto?”
“Yes, we love our risotto in the north. This one is made with saffron, that’s what gives it a golden color. But I also made polenta in case you’d prefer that instead—a family favorite.”
My mouth waters as I eye the feast. When I lower myself into an empty chair across from where Giovanni is standing, he responds with nothing other than a classic glare.
“I figured you two would want to sit together, so I made a place setting for you by his usual seat…” Maria trails off with a confused look on her face.
“Right! Right, of course.” I scramble to the other side of the table and take the seat she saved for me. “I just wasn’t sure where he was going to be sitting.” The lie coats my tongue like cough syrup.
“Let’s eat,” Giovanni commands, sitting down and effectively ending the awkward incident.
“Sounds great,” I reply, scooping a little bit of everything on my plate.
I take a bite of the risotto and the flavors hit my taste buds in a religious, life-changing way. “This is incredible, Maria, thank you again.”
Maria blushes. “I’m glad you’re enjoying it. Why don’t you tell us more about yourself, Tessa?”
“Oh, um, I’m not that exciting.” I quietly set down my fork.
“I doubt that,” Roberto cuts in. “Our Gio tells us you’re quite the designer. That you moved from Ohio to New York and worked your way up fairly quickly in the industry.”
That comment surprises me, as it hasn’t felt quick, especially since I’m the most tenured in my position. “I’m still just a junior designer, even after five years.”
“She’s very innovative,” Giovanni chimes in.
He might be a little too over-the-top with all of the pretend compliments, but Maria just beams at him, eating up her son’s glowing praise.
Roberto takes a bite of polenta, making an “mmm” sound. “And tell us, how’s your family? Gio hasn’t shared much about them.”
It makes sense that Giovanni hasn’t shared much about his pretend girlfriend’s family, as he didn’t even know who his pretend girlfriendwasuntil recently.
I smile anyway, loving the question. I don’t get to talk about my family much in New York, for obvious reasons. “My mom’s a photographer. I get all of my creativity from her. My brother, Daniel, runs a foundation, and his wife?—”
“Her brother is a retired professional American football player. He was the best wide receiver in the league last year,” Giovanni cuts in.
Both parents, having absolutely no experience in American football, tilt their head.
“Like the Paolo Maldini of American football,” he adds.
