Michael didn’t tell me to keep it a secret, but I don’t want to overstep. I decide to answer truthfully, while keeping the manuscript close to my chest.
“It’s Michael’s graphic novel.”
His jaw drops. “He…gaveyou his graphic novel?”
Remembering Roberto’s words about Michael trusting me, I smile. “I’m an alpha reader.”
“…an alpha reader?”
“Yeah, I did my research. An alpha reader is someone who reads the book first and provides honest feedback.”
His eyebrows knit together. “You’re providing Micheletto with ‘honest feedback?’”
I sigh, looking down at the pages. “I said ‘honest,’ notmean, Giovanni. Do you think I’m going to write a one-star blog review for him or something?”
“Well…”
I snap my head back up, ready to tell him off, when I notice he’s smiling. Is he beingplayful?
He leans in, trying to get a peek of the pages. “Can I see it?”
“Absolutely not. Michael said it was for my eyes only, and I’m not breaking his trust. It’s a sacred code of alpha readers everywhere. Probably.”
He smirks and steps back. “Mhm. I came out here to tell you that my friend Enzo called. We’re going to hang out with him tomorrow, if that’s okay.”
I quirk an eyebrow. “You… have friends?”
This time, I’m the playful one, throwing him a grin.
“Very funny.”
“Dinner’s ready!” Maria’s voice shouts through the kitchen window.
“That probably means dinner will be done in twenty minutes, but we should go inside anyway,” Giovanni mutters.
* * *
“One moment on the spaghetti!” Maria scurries out of the dining room to the kitchen. Five minutes later, she comes in holdinga massive bowl of pasta and sets it down in the only remaining table space.
I dart my eyes conspiratorially toward Roberto. His pale blues twinkle back at me.
Showtime.
Raising my fork up, I dramatically frown at the dangling spaghetti.
“Giovanni, sweetheart,” I say sweetly, “would you mind grabbing me a knife?”
Giovanni drops his fork, and the sound of it banging against his dish echoes off the walls. His eyebrows knit together suspiciously as he asks, “…for what?”
Roberto takes a sip of his water, trying not to laugh.
I study the pasta. “The spaghetti. Obviously.”
Giovanni blinks a few times. A forehead vein I didn’t know existed makes an appearance, pushing against his reddening skin. I keep my smile firmly in place as I wait for his mouth to catch up to his brain.
I glance at Maria, who’s grinning at Roberto, clearly onto us.
Giovanni meets my eyes in disbelief, as I lower my fork gently to my plate. His lips press into a thin line. “And… Why would you need a knife?”
