The wide-leg trousers and sleeveless blouse I’m wearing aren’t quite right for aromanticphotoshoot. “I don’t know…”
His throat bobs on a nervous swallow. “If you wanted to wear something else… I, ah, might have something.”
“An ex-girlfriend’s dress?” I don’t think I can stomach it after the whole “Cara” fiasco this morning… I’d just be thinking ofthatthe whole shoot.
“No.” Giovanni walks into the room and steps around me. He pauses in front of his closet. “Before Nonno died, we worked on a collection together. There’s a sundress I sewed.” His voice comes out quieter than before. “I actually think it’s, ah, perfect for your measurements, but it has room to breathe, too.”
He reaches into the very back of his closet, so far that his entire arm disappears behind the wall. When his hand emerges, I almost gasp at the beauty of the garment. It’s a floor-length ivory sundress, overlayed with a floral lace pattern so intricate it must’ve taken days to sew. Made of a breathable linen with a boat neckline and a true waist, it looks forgiving, yet fitted in a way that would be flattering for any body shape.
My legs move of their own accord, slowly walking toward the garment. I reach out and brush my fingers against the material, picking up the bottom to admire the hem.
I pause and look at Giovanni.
“It’s spectacular,” I breathe. “But I can’t wear this. It’s too special, too delicate.”
“I’d like for you to try it on,” he says quietly, his breath caressing the top of my head.
“I… I guess I could just try it on. It might not fit,” I say, already knowing that if he said it’ll fit, it’ll fit. Heisan expert, after all.
“I’ll turn around to give you privacy.” He angles his body to face the window.
I pull off my top and remove my shorts, setting them on top of the bed. Then, I delicately slide the dress over my head like it’s made of bone china. Ever-so-carefully, I tug the garment down. There’s no mirror in his room, which makes me even more nervous. I know how much his nonno means to him, and I can only hope I’m doing it justice.
I clear my throat. “I’m ready. You can look.”
Giovanni slowly turns around, and a swell of anxiety swirls within me as I wait for his reaction.
He studies me in silence, completely still. The only thing that moves are his eyes, raking over the dress, over my body, over my face.
“I totally understand if it looks odd on me. I don’t want to ruin any memories you have with him, so it’s probably best if?—”
“It’s even better than I imagined on you,” he murmurs.
On you. My attention is entirely focused on those two words. Certainly, he hasn’t imaginedmein this dress before, right? Definitely a slip of his tongue.
His hand moves near my collarbone before brushing his thumb over one of the tiny embroidered flowers that decorate the neckline. I shiver in response.
“If you can believe it, the embroidery was harder than the lace. Probably because my fingers were so tired. Everything was hand sewn, and my nonno saved the neckline for last.”
I take a deep breath in and out, trying not to disrupt his train of thought.
He suddenly averts his eyes and drops his hand. “We don’t want to be late. Let’s go.”
* * *
A smiling man with a camera around his neck and sandy blond hair greets us as soon as we arrive at the gelato shop.
“Gio! Sei ancora vivo!” Enzo laughs, crushing Giovanni in a hug and kissing him on the cheek.
“Sì, Iamstill alive, Enzo.” Giovanni claps him on the back, grinning wide.
“And this must be your girlfriend. Maria was telling my mamma all about you.” Enzo trains his light brown eyes on me, wrapping me in a hug so strong he lifts me off the ground. Setting me back down, he leans in to kiss my cheek. Before his lips make contact with my face, a large hand wraps around me, and I’m pulled backwards into my pretend boyfriend.
Enzo snickers in response. “He’s quite protective of you.”
The man with his arm around my waist grumbles something in Italian under his breath. I roll my eyes at his whole charade. He’s really laying it on thick.
I don’t…hate it, though.
