Page 8 of Falling for Mr. October

I can only assume that word has been floated around by someone. His siblings? Or was it a medical professional? I should know, if she’s staying here, but he’s obviously not interested in telling me.

“I didn’t invite either of you here,” I point out. “If you have trouble with what I used to do for a living, then you should have stayed in Maine. But no, in case you were wondering, I’m not going to follow your grandmother around with a wheelchair at the ready, or trick her into taking drugs. That’s not what nurses do outside of whatever teleromanzi you watch.”

He smiles. “Your grandmother watches those too?”

“She doesn’t have anyone to speak Italian to most of the time. I only know a few words, but I don’t need the subtitles to understand the shows. Everything is said like this.” I clap my hands and lift them up.

His smile slips. “Look, I shouldn’t have said all of that to you. It was shitty. It’s just…anyway…”

“Was that an apology?” I ask incredulously.

His smile reappears, showing those white teeth. Still straight, although I notice a slight overlap in his lower teeth, thank God. It makes him more human.

“A shit one,” he acknowledges.

“I’ll accept, but I notice you still haven’t answered my question.”

He sighs, shifting his gaze toward the stairs as if he’s considering whether taking a tumble would indeed be worse than talking to me. “Have you ever wanted something so bad and then regretted getting it?”

“Not really.” I try not to sound bitter, but at this moment I’m feeling that way.

He runs a finger along the pile of the rug before glancing over and meeting my gaze. “Well, it’s a hell of a thing.”

I raise my eyebrows and make a keep going hand gesture.

He smiles again. “You’re no more patient than my grandmother.”

“I’ve lived with Nonna Rose nearly my whole life. What do you expect?”

“I’m here because I don’t know what I want to do. I just know that I don’t want to be stuck anymore. That’s what it felt like being in my hometown. It’s been like that awhile.”

“How does this translate to you getting what you want and finding fault with it?”

He ducks his head, his hair tumbling a bit, then looks up at me with an impish smile. “Same old Bianca. You still give Miles a hard time too?”

My skin prickles, and I sit up straighter. “You don’t know the first thing about my brother.”

“Don’t I?”

He groans as he gets to his feet. He lifts an arm, the bicep bunching beneath the fabric, and rubs the back of his neck before cracking it.

My mind is racing. Does this mean…?

I’d figured he hadn’t talked to Miles much since the car accident. Maybe I got it wrong, though.

Maybe he knows more about my brother right now than I do.

It’s a dark thought, and I snap, “You shouldn’t do that. It’s bad for your neck.”

Giovanni watches me, and does it again.

“Very mature.”

“Thank you,” he replies. “Now, let’s go downstairs and be told we haven’t eaten enough before we take our first bite.”

He holds out his hand, and I feel a small tremor of⁠—

Let’s call it stupidity.