It’s only now that I realize I’m still a bit sweaty from the bike ride. Even though the shaded cave area has cooled me off, I reluctantly sit up and place a hand on his hand. “I’m, um, sweaty. You shouldn’t rub my feet.”
Gio cocks an eyebrow. “You think I’m afraid of a little sweat?”
He picks up my foot and starts rubbing it, and I can’t help but scoot closer to him. When I do, he smiles.
Gio continues massaging me for a few minutes, his gaze traveling to my eyes, my lips, my breasts. His eyes linger on my chest for a moment, and I think maybe he will move his hands higher.
Instead, he suddenly shakes his head and abruptly removes his hands from my body, muttering something in Italian before asking softly, “Do you feel better now?”
Physically or emotionally?I want to ask. Physically, my muscles feel looser. Emotionally, I’m wound tighter than ever. A new thought appears in my head every minute. Did he massage me so we’d have an easier ride home? Or did he massage me because he wanted to touch me?
“Don’t overthink the question, Tessa. I’m simply asking how you’re feeling.”
“I’m… good.” I reach for the bottom of my leggings.
“Let me,” he interjects, sliding them back down to my ankles. Giovanni puts my socks back on one by one, followed by my shoes, even tying them for me. I stand up on shaky legs to pull myself together, and he joins me. We both bend down and start getting ready to go. He rolls up his T-shirt, which is definitely not wearable now, and puts it in his backpack. I bite my lip, picturing the view I’ll get of his shirtless body on the ride home.
Giovanni places my helmet on my head and clicks the chin strap closed. “You think too much, Tessa.” He pats my helmet twice. “Let’s go.”
I mount my bike, briefly pondering what it would be like to mountotherthings. Placing my feet on the pedals and pushing off, I think about our future. The expiration date of our pretend relationship looms over me like a dark cloud, and I can’t help but wonder if I’m the only one who’s stopped counting down the days until New York.
Chapter 29
Tessa
As I tidy up the bedroom, smoothing down the soft cotton sheets that smell like him, I think of Gio.
Gio.
His nickname slipped out of me during our time together in the hilly countryside yesterday. It just felt right. I can’t help but wonder how he felt about me using it. Only his family and close friends call him Gio. I’m not sure where Pretend Girlfriend falls in the rankings.
By the time we got home with the wine and showered, Maria and Roberto had us doing all sorts of things to prepare for the party. We both fell asleep as soon as our heads hit the pillow, neither of us energized or focused enough to do anything but dream.
I planned to bring up the bike ride this morning, but it’s the afternoon and I haven’t seen him all day. He mentioned he’d be busy around the house preparing for the party, and I imagine it’ll only get more hectic as guests begin to arrive, but I’m itching to find him and talk about us.
Just as I fluff the last pillow, my phone rings.Daniel.
I answer it right away, and my brother’s face appears on the screen.
“Ciao, Tay-sah! Have-ah you-ah been-ah eating-ah enough-ah lasagna-ah?!”
I immediately spam the volume button on my phone to one, like I’ve been caught listening to a smutty audiobook on speaker at a baptism.
“Jesus, Daniel! That’s offensive. First, that accent is shockingly terrible. Second, Italians aren’t all about?—”
“Tessa! I hope you’re hungry! We’re having lasagna for the party tonight!” Maria calls from the hallway.
A victorious grin spreads across Daniel’s face.
“Sounds great, Maria!” I shout through the door.
I sit down on the edge of the bed and sigh. “Okay, they’reallowedto say things like that, they live here. Just stop with the terrible accent, you’re embarrassing our family name.”
He cocks an eyebrow. “What family name?Cohen?”
Snickers fill the background, and I roll my eyes. “Grace, I know you’re there. Stop laughing at me! You’re as bad as him.”
“I’m not laughing, Tess,” Grace chokes out, coming into view. Her red curls nearly match the redness in her cheeks as she presses her tongue into her cheek, trying not to grin. “I swear,” she sputters, before not-so-gracefully stepping out of the frame to resume giggling.
