Beast I Can’t Tame by L.K. Shaw

Chapter 23

Francesca

Days have passedsince I walked out of the luncheon, and my mother still hasn’t shown up or called to rail at me. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing. It’s definitely not good for my nerves. My stomach remains in knots waiting for the tirade. Maybe that’s her plan. Torture me with anxiety while I wait for the storm to hit. I wouldn’t put it past her. No, I’m trying to be a better—different—person. An optimistic person.

I stand in front of the full-length mirror and turn from side to side, checking to make sure this top and pants look all right on me. Anya helped me pick it out, and she said the color and style were flattering. And they are. I think. I’m just not used to wearing something like this, so it’s going to take a bit of getting used to and feeling confident.

Giovanni is on his way over, and we’re heading to the Brooklyn Museum for one of their latest exhibits I’ve been dying to see. You look fine. Stop worrying. I give myself a final once over before shutting the closet door and heading out to the living room. Gio’s rose has long since wilted. Petals have fallen off, and it’s next to dead, but I keep resisting throwing it away. I’ll have to soon, though. It makes me a little sad.

The doorbell rings and the giddy anticipation hits. I nearly skip to the door and throw it open, only to deflate. The ache in my belly begins instead.

“Mother, what are you doing here?” I ask, trying to keep the wariness and disappointment out of my voice.

“I wanted to check on you, since you ran out of the luncheon before it even began.” She swoops past me and the entryway toward the living room.

I glance around outside, but there’s no sight of Gio. With a sigh, I close the door and follow her.

“I’m fine, Mother. Now isn’t really a great time, though. Giovanni is on his way to pick me up.”

She turns to face me. For a second, I could swear there’s a flash of rage in her expression, but it’s gone so fast I could have imagined it. “For a date?”

“Yes. We’re heading to the museum for the afternoon,” I say, lifting my chin as though daring her to say something condescending. It’s a reflex mechanism I’ve developed over the years to shield myself from her barbed tongue.

“I’m sure you’ll have a lovely time.”

I stare at her, because she didn’t even sound sarcastic. That eternal flame of hope wars with the tiny seed of cynicism that I’ve managed not to nurture and let grow. I desperately want to believe that something has changed within my mother over the last couple weeks, but I’m cautious.

“Would you like to come with us?” I ask before I can stop myself. My mother’s tinkling laughter fills the room, only the slightest bit mocking. Or maybe I’m imaging it. “Heavens no. I wouldn’t want to intrude on your date. Although I appreciate the invitation.”

She looks me over. “Is that what you’re wearing?”

I glance down at myself and back to her, braced for her criticism. “Yes. Is there something wrong with it?”

My mother waves her hand dismissively. “Not at all. It’s perfectly lovely. I’ve just never seen it before. You don’t usually wear something that style. I suppose it’s flattering enough on you. Although, I will say it looks as though you’re filling it out rather well.”

I take that to mean it’s too tight. Any confidence I had before she’d arrived starts to wither. Don’t let her shake you. Anya said it looked good, and I believe her. The doorbell rings, and I’m thankful for the interruption.

“Excuse me,” I say and head to open it.

Gio stands on the other side, his hair damp and curly the way I love, with yet another rose. The butterflies swarm in my stomach. I hope I always feel this way when he comes by.

“You look beautiful,” he greets me with heat in his gaze. It makes me feel better instantly.

“Thank you.”

He hands me the flower, and I clutch it excitedly, inhaling its fragrance. I can’t wait to put it in the vase in the windowsill. “My mother is here,” I whisper.

“Thanks for the warning,” he says with a grin.

I’m glad he’s not intimidated, but I’m not sure he’s ever met my mother. I hope she doesn’t embarrass me by being rude. “Let me put this in some water.”

After a deep breath, we move into the living room. She smiles blandly at our arrival.

“Mrs. De Luca,” Gio nods respectfully.

“Giovanni,” she returns. I can’t read her tone.

I hesitate to leave my mother alone with him even for a minute, but unless I want to drag him into the kitchen with me, then I have no choice.

“I’ll be right back.” Pivoting, I dash into the other room and reluctantly toss the dying flower into the trash before dumping the water, adding fresh water, and dropping the new rose into it.

Mumbled voices reach me, so I quickly put the vase back and rush into the living room before my mother can do any real damage.

“—photography,” Gio turns at my entrance. “I was just telling your mother how excited I was for you and the class you’re taking.”

Warm feelings flood me.

“Yes, it’s a lovely little hobby,” my mother says, nearly taking all the warmth with her. There is nothing on her face or in her body language to suggest it, but it’s like she’s being condescending all the same. Her constant use of the word ‘lovely’ makes me think she means the exact opposite. And I hate that I feel that way.

“Oh, I don’t know. I think if she wanted to, Francesca could probably sell her pictures to a gallery. Or maybe even to magazines. They’re that good,” Gio says with confidence, not taking his eyes off me.

My throat clogs and my eyes burn. Aside from Pierce, no one has ever believed in me like Giovanni. And he’s never even seen my photographs. They could be complete crap for all he knows. Maybe they are. But the fact that, sight unseen, he has complete faith in my abilities hits me.

“I’m sure they are,” my mother says. Was there sarcasm in her tone?

I don’t try to decipher it, because a new, giant feeling erupts inside my chest. It’s bright and shiny, and it just pours out. I’m almost overwhelmed by it. So much so that my breath catches, and then in seconds, it eases out and utter calm replaces it. My god, I love him.

“Are you okay?” Giovanni asks, taking a step closer and cupping my cheek.

No doubt my smile is too big. Too giddy. Too everything. Except I can’t stop. “Yeah,” I say trying to shake myself out of it. “I’m good. Really good.”

His dimples show up as deep as canyons. “If you’re sure.”

I nod, covering his hand with mine. “Positive.”

A throat clears. “I’ll be leaving now. Enjoy your trip.”

I swing my gaze from Gio and it lands on my mother. Whom I’d completely forgotten about. I clear my throat.

“I’ll walk you to the door,” I almost stutter.

My mother holds up her hand with a small sniff. “No need. I know the way.”

Leaving Gio and me standing there, she strides past without glancing at either of us and walks out the door.

“Do you think I offended her?” he asks with only a hint of amusement.

I giggle. “I’m sure we both did. Being ignored is one thing my mother can’t stand. It used to drive her insane when I was a mouthy teenager.”

Giovanni draws back in shock. “You? A mouthy teenager? I don’t see it.”

My chuckles turn into full-blown laughter. “You have no idea. I was terrible. We’d get into these huge fights. I’d be screaming, as would she. Then, I discovered just how much she hates being ignored.”

The smile slowly fades from my face as memories rise of the last screaming argument we’d had.

“Hey, where’d you go?” Gio’s face appears in front of me, and I blink it into focus. His expression is concerned.

“Sorry.” I shakily try to bring the expression back, but I can’t force it. Instead a cold chill almost takes over. “Just remembering our last real fight. I stormed out of the house and went to the club with my girl friends. It was the worst night of my life.”

As though sensing my emotions, he steps closer and pulls me into his embrace. The warmth of his hold is enough to chase the cold away, and I snuggle deeper into it. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring the mood down.”

“You didn’t,” Giovanni reassures me over my head.

Not quite ready for him to let go, I stay still, breathing in that faint citrus scent of his. I love the clean smell. It’s soothing. He keeps his arms wrapped tightly around me. I feel safe and protected. With one final inhale, I loosen my grip on his waist. Gio does the same, and I take a couple small steps back widening the distance between us. The heat from his body still keeps the chill away.

“Thank you,” I say.

He tilts his head. “For what?”

“For caring about me. For not judging me.”

Giovanni gazes down at me, his expression one that brings those feelings rushing forward again. “You’re the easiest person in the world to care for. And I’d never judge you. You’re perfect just the way you are.”

I swallow the lump growing in my throat and clear it. “Let me grab my purse, and I’ll be ready.”

He nods, and I escape into the kitchen. For a moment, I stand there, needing to breathe before I can face Gio again. Being in love is scary. It comes with so many things I have to be ready for. Because I want this forever. Does he? Caring for someone isn’t the same as loving them. He’s never said the words. Neither have you, a tiny voice scolds.