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Nothing can pierce through the haze I’ve surrounded myself in. The more I try to force it, the less it seems to happen. Maybe I want it too badly. I’m too desperate for it to happen. I can’t make myself feel things that aren’t there.
He should know.
“Giovanni…” I say hesitantly.
“Gio,” he corrects. “Why don’t you call me that anymore?”
“I… I hadn’t noticed I stopped,” I admit slowly. “I’m sorry.”
He strokes the back of my hand some more. “Don’t apologize. I miss it, is all. But I guess so much time has passed, we’ve changed in many ways without even knowing it.”
“That’s kind of what I wanted to say. We should talk.” I withdraw my hand from his and let it fall into my lap.
“I’ve sensed something has been on your mind all day. Speak freely. Tell me what it is.”
“Giovanni…Gio… I’ve been struggling.” I drop my gaze to stare at my hands, where they’ve begun to fuss with the cloth napkin strewn across my lap. I pick at the white cloth so much, I set free a thread I loop around my index finger. I don’t even know where to start.
Stop fighting it.
“Falynn,” he says. “Stop worrying about disappointing me. Speak your mind. Tell me what it is that’s bothering you. Was there something wrong with the tour? Is this dinner not good? Has one of the employees mistreated you?”
“No… It’s not…” I sigh and try again, try to piece it together in a way that can make sense for not only him but myself. If I could be happy right now, I would be.
In a heartbeat.
“I don’t know what’s wrong. Just that there’s this…disconnect. I try to be more present, but it’s just me pretending. Every second I do, I know I am. Then I get in my head and it gets worse. I know this is supposed to be our big romantic trip together—the first time we’ve had time to ourselves in years—I don’t want to be ungrateful. I want to be like before. I just…”
Tears cut me off, my throat aching before I can utter the wordcan’t. I quickly dab at my eyes with the cloth napkin, unsure of what’s even bothering me now other than I feel foolish. Gio gives no reaction, staring across the table at me as though I’ve spoken another language. He doesn’t understand.
I sound ridiculous.Stupid.
“Excuse me, I need a second.” I scoot back my chair and dart toward the same doors we entered through. Hopefully there’s a bathroom around here somewhere. Even a private nook I can escape to for a few minutes until I calm down and get my shit together.
I only make it a couple of feet past the doors. Giovanni’s caught up with me. His hand clenches shut around my upper arm, stopping me with ease, drawing me back toward him.
“Honey, come here. There’s nothing to run from. If this isn’t good for you, if any of this isn’t what you want, then we’ll cancel it. No more tours or special dinners. No more anything you don’t want. We can stay in our villa all day and do jack shit together. Is that what you’d like?”
His arms engulf me, gathering me up against his solid body, and I let him. I press my face into the hard planes of his chest and shudder out another confusing cry. He strokes my hair; otherwise, he’s a solid pillar for me to rest on.
“I’m very worried about you,” he says. “How about we set up a video appointment with Doc Romano tomorrow morning? You can tell him how off you’re feeling…”
I’m too much of a mess to utter a word, but Giovanni waves off the server who comes out of the dining room to check on us, and orders our security to arrange our car downstairs. I’m barely paying attention tucked into his side as we move for the elevator. The next thing I know, we’re sliding into the backseat of our car.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper again once we’re driving down the boulevards of Paris, headed for our luxury villa.
“There’s nothing to be sorry for. I don’t want you pretending anymore. If something’s on your mind, tell me. I will fix it. Whatever it is.”
He kisses the top of my head, again out of comfort, but another uneasy sensation ripples through my stomach. His words are meant to make me feel better. Even if he doesn’t get what the problem is in the first place. He’s not in tune with his emotions often; he tends to push them down and shut them out, and only fails when he loses his temper.
Yet despite his soothing words, I’m only more anxious now. He knows there’s an issue, and I’m trying to be honest. He says I shouldn’t be hesitant to tell him what’s on my mind. I won’t have to do anything I don’t want. I’d believe him if I didn’t know the unsaid truth—he still has his expectations.
Tomorrow’s appointment with Romano shows this.
The clock’s still ticking. My body’s still not doing what it’s supposed to, and I’m not sure it ever will…
The evening’s spent in the luxury villa Giovanni’s rented for our stay, overlooking the heart of Paris. The pressure to enjoy myself has thankfully eased up a little. In the privacy of our villa, I cautiously attempt to stop pretending. It’s difficult because I’ve spent so long putting up an act, even in front of Giovanni—even when alone with myself at times—I don’t remember how to be natural.
Giovanni runs me a bubble bath and orders many different courses from the kitchen staff. It’s almost like old times. The two of us holed up in our solitude, soaking up the simplicity of the evening. Just spending time together.
