I fold my arms and scoff, giving an Oscar-worthy performance.
“To cut it up, of course.”
Giovanni blinks at me, probably mulling over how he’ll break me out of prison after this, since cutting spaghetti with a knife is practically illegal here.
Roberto coughs into his water cup, sputtering a few drops on the table. Maria starts clapping him on the back, angling her head behind him, hiding her smile. Biting my lip to avoid giving myself away, I stare Giovanni down.
He hastily picks up the napkin on his lap and sets it down with a little too much force on the table, rattling the silverware. I allow myself a small smile, a tiny reward for my flawless charade.
Meanwhile, the vein in Giovanni’s forehead might as well be playing a supporting role at this point. As he shoots up from the table, I settle in for a rant, eagerly awaiting the “gotcha!” moment.
To my shock, the rant never comes.
“Fine,” he chokes out, slightly keeling over in what appears to be physical pain.
It’s my turn to swivel my head, and I look directly at his parents, whose mouths are ajar.
Giovanni departs from the room on an exaggerated huff. A string of angry Italian gets quieter and quieter. I may not be fluent, but I understand perfectly.
“Mio Dio,” Roberto whispers in awe.
I shift in my seat awkwardly. His parents are busy planning our nonexistent wedding; meanwhile, I haven’t ruled out the possibility that the knife he gets will be for my organs.
A few moments later, our ears are treated to loud, stomping footsteps. I hear a deep breath, and then Giovanni appears in the arched doorway, holding the knife like it’s a bomb. His eyes flit between me and the knife several times, in ayou still want this, or have you come to your senses in the two minutes I’ve been having a coronary in the kitchenkind of way. I maintain eye contact, standing my ground, as he trudges in my direction. He briefly breaks his gaze to shrug at his parents on my behalf…Silly American, his desperate eyes communicate. When he sets the knife down on the table like it physically pains him, I burst.
“Oh for God’s sake, it’s a prank!” I throw my hands up in the air.
Roberto starts laughing, a deep molasses type of laugh. Maria’s sweet, staccato giggles complement him perfectly. Their laughter is contagious, and I simply have to join them.
My mouth opens, my eyes close… and no noise comes out.
I’m a silent laugher through and through.An amateur comic’s worst nightmare, Daniel always jokes. A change in facial expression and shallow breathing are the only signs anyone ever gets that I find something really funny.
“Are you…laughing?”
A heavy hand rests on my shoulder and I open my eyes, mid-laugh, to find an incredulous Giovanni staring at me in wonder.
“Yes?”
Appearing to forget we’re boyfriend and girlfriend, he murmurs, “I’ve never heard you laugh like?—”
I cut him off before he blows our cover. “What do you mean,babe? You have me laughing like this all the time!” I quickly glance at Roberto and Maria, who are thankfully still giggling in their own little world.
He shakes his head like he’s snapping himself out of something. “Oh, yeah. Ha ha,” he says woodenly, “you got me.”
We resume eating, though Giovanni keeps glancing at me. A minute passes before I notice him slowly slide the knife closer and closer toward his plate, like he’s not convinced I won’t snatch it back.
Roberto, still smiling from our success, shouts, “That was for your rudeness toward your brother. Leave Giuseppe alone.”
Instead of retorting back with a classic rib, Giovanni says, “Mhm.”
He’s looked a little off ever since I laughed, and I can’t put a finger on why. Maintaining eye contact with me, he reaches for his glass of water, nearly spilling it when he knocks it awkwardly with his thumb. I reach over and hand him the glass.
His lack of usual finesse intrigues me. I suppose even perfectionists falter, showing little slivers of humanity along the way. I study him closely, curious aboutthisGiovanni, the one who doesn’t have it all together.
Chapter 21
Giovanni
