Page 129 of Falling for Mr. October

“Come for me,” I murmur. “Come for me, please.”

I can see the look of ecstasy in her eyes as she pulses around my cock. I tumble into it after her, with her, staring in wonder at this woman who looks at me and sees magic.

“I love you,” I say against her lips, still buried inside her. “Cuoure mio.”

My heart.

She smiles against my lips. “I love you too.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

GIOVANNI

Bianca and I sleep intertwined that night and the one after. We spread our “hope” plants all over the house.

On Monday, I speak to the talent agent, and after we assess the numbers for the videos I posted this week, plus the thousands of orders we’ve gotten for the Shirties T-shirts, she offers to become my agent. She’s actually on board with what I want: my show, like it was, but with steadier and more reliable sponsors. Sponsors she can negotiate with on my behalf.

She tells me there are Food Network shows that will be interested in having me on as a guest judge or possible participant, and I agree, as long as the filming won’t take too long.

I also tell her I’m interested in possibly writing a cookbook with my nonna. She’s all for it.

I send the contract to Enzo, who’s the kind of responsible adult who has a lawyer, and he replies within the day that it’s all aboveboard and looks good.

So now I have an agent.

An agent who helps me craft my plan to defend my family, the Murphys, and the residents of The Rotten Apple. I don’t have a fully formed strategy yet, but an idea is forming—a crazy fucking idea that I kind of like, but I’m not ready to share it with everyone yet. I’m still not sure whether it’s possible.

Unfortunately, part of it requires me to talk to Rhett in person. I suck it up and meet him at his house on Monday afternoon, because I don’t want to be seen with him. The meeting ends with him thinking he got what he wanted and me thinking I got what I wanted.

Time will tell which of us is right.

I spend the rest of Monday and all of Tuesday working the pumpkin patch and sweet-talking the apple pie judges on Whit’s list. One of the judges is O’Connor, and I’m feeling pretty solid about getting him to vote the right way, especially after I give him advice for approaching Judy.

I’m starting to get a pretty good picture of everything that’s been going wrong in Apple Ridge.

Mr. Mayor hasn’t been listening to his constituents.

Mr. Mayor has been feeding his own interests and letting other people’s opportunities wither.

Mr. Mayor is a piece of shit, and I have to do whatever it takes to make sure Bianca is freed from him for good.

On Wednesday morning, Bianca’s day off, she awakens beside me, drowsy as a cat, then glances out the window and says, “Fuck” right into my ear.

“I’d love to,” I murmur, “but I worry we’d get caught.”

“We’re going to get caught. Look at the sun. It must be past nine, and I’m only half dressed.” She climbs out of the bed and gestures to her bare legs.

“Yes, they’re very nice.” Maybe I should be a little more worried about the nonnas seeing her leaving my room, but it doesn’t seem like such an emergency anymore.

“Giovanni, take this seriously.”

I sit up, yawning, and stretch my arms, gratified that even though she’s worried about being caught in my room half naked, she still has her eyes on me.

She says my name again, and I grin at her.

“You worried about being driven to the church?” I ask. “Because I don’t mind. Let’s give those reporters something else to talk about. Maybe they’ll lose their taste for talking about other people in our families if the two of us are interesting enough.”

She smiles even as she starts frantically opening drawers. A few drawers down, she finds a pair of athletic shorts and rolls down the waistband several times.