Page 48 of Falling for Mr. October

But I’m still mad at her, and it would only complicate everything if we start fucking, even though I want it so bad it hurts.

My dick is impossibly hard, and I reach down and start stroking myself as the buzzing continues. Every now and then, I can hear the sounds she’s making, but the walls are thick enough that they’re muffled.

I resent that wall more than I’ve ever resented any human. If it would have the decency to disappear, then my life would immediately be one thousand percent better.

I keep one palm pressed to the wall as I bring myself to the brink with the other, imagining Bianca the whole time. Her hips pushing up to meet the toy’s thrusts. Her pretty lips parting. Her rosy nipples exposed and waiting for my mouth. Her⁠—

Oh fuck.

I come suddenly, violently, her name unspoken on my lips, and moments later—my release hot on my hand—I hear a moan from the other side of the wall. The buzzing stops.

My heart is beating hard in my chest as I reach over and grab some tissues to wipe off my hand.

I half expect her to say through the wall, Goodnight, Giovanni, or, You’re welcome for the orgasm—I could tell you needed it.

But she says nothing, and I say nothing. I pull on a pair of boxers, suddenly feeling too exposed, slip back under the sheets, and fall into an uneasy sleep.

I’m woken up the next morning when the covers are whipped off me.

I sit bolt upright, swearing, and find my grandmother leaning over me in her usual outfit of black on black. “Mannaggia! You don’t tell me this? I’m the last to know.”

“Tell you what?” I moan, grateful that I at least put on boxers last night. Having your grandmother wake you up first thing in the morning is bad enough when you aren’t buck naked.

“You know what.”

“What time is it?”

“Time to get up.”

Sighing, I stand and grab a shirt from the bureau, pulling it on blindly. The house smells like gingerbread, or maybe pumpkin. Then again, it always does. The nonnas are constantly baking to supply the apple barn and pumpkin patch with treats.

“Oh, now he cares about wearing a shirt,” Nonna Francesca says. “Now, he cares about decency.”

She doesn’t sound pissed off, though, she sounds almost…happy. Like she’s teasing me.

I turn toward her, surprised, as I step into a pair of gray sweatpants. “Nonna?”

She shakes her head and pulls me to her, wrapping me in a tight hug. “Finally, you wise up. Finally, you act like a man.”

I hug her back, because I’m a man who loves his nonna, and I’m not embarrassed to show it. But I still have no idea what she’s talking about.

She pulls back, beaming at me. “Rose and I once dreamed about this day. You and Bianca never seemed to get along, so we hoped maybe Aria and Miles would marry or Nico and Isabella, but no matter. We couldn’t be happier.”

That’s when it dawns on me…

Either she saw the photo, or Bianca decided to go all in with this fake dating bullshit. The thought makes me queasy. I was straight with her last night—I don’t want to lie to my grandmother’s face. Keeping the truth about the Shirtless Chef from her for so long was bad enough.

“Did Bianca say⁠—”

She swats the air. “Oh, no. She told us the photo of you two was a lie, but there’s nothing wrong with my eyes.”

I know an optometrist who’d disagree with that, but relief softens the prickly energy arcing through me. “And you saw this photo somewhere?”

“Your brother Enzo sent it to me,” she says. “Someone sent it to Rose, too, of course. Several people. They publish it online. In the local paper here, and the website that searches for you. Also The Tea.”

Fuck, that’s no good. The Tea is a major gossip website, one that’s been mercilessly interested in my story, ever since my face was accidentally captured on camera.

“They have another photo, too, of you wearing a silly crown. They call you Mr. October.”