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The temptation to toss a towel over my body is there, but this stunning swimsuit cover all the bits Daniel will never see, so I let the sun continue to do its job. I’m slathered in sunscreen, and since a dose of Vitamin D is exactly what I need, I plan on staying put for at least a few more minutes.
I push my sunglasses back up the bridge of my nose. “May you scram? Sure. See you never.”
The laugh he lets out is edged with a roughness that makes me feel things I don’t want to, so I silence him with a few feminine coughs.
“You sound like you’re coming down with something.” He sits on the lounge chair so he can face me. “Are you sick?”
“Of you?” I nod without glancing in his direction. “I might be.”
“I see you pulled out your pre-teen bag of insults on this bright and sunny Saturday.”
I don’t need the reminder that it’s only mid-day on Saturday. All of us Calvettis are flying back to New York City tomorrow night. Hopefully, Daniel heads back to the Golden State today.
“Why are you here?” I keep my eyes on the soft blue water in the pool.
“Same reason you are.”
Unless he’s hiding from himself, he’s dead wrong.
I opted out of brunch earlier to snap a picture of this gorgeous swimsuit and post it online since I’m contractually obligated to do that. My contract did specify that I had the latitude to post it ‘at a time I deemed best.’ To me, the best time was when I knew Daniel was eating waffles and reminiscing about old times with my brother.
Since I did tag my location in the picture because my contract stated I had to, I suspect he checked one of my social media profiles.
I can’t deny that a part of me is flattered by that.
“What’s that?” He removes his sunglasses and stretches his neck to get a better look at my wrist. “Did you get a tattoo?”
My fingers skim the dark ink of the script that runs across my wrist. It’s a small tattoo I got a couple of months ago when my grandma decided she wanted some ink.
I rounded a Manhattan corner to find her in front of a tattoo shop. When I called out, a blush ran over her cheeks before she tried to make a getaway by racing down the sidewalk.
It took me all of two minutes to catch up to her, and when I pushed her to confess what was going on, she admitted that she had been debating getting a tattoo for months, but fear was holding her back.
At that moment, I took her hand in mine, and we walked back to the tattoo shop. I went first, getting the two words my father deemed his motto tattooed onto my wrist. I asked my grandma, Marti, to write the words so the tattoo artist could transfer them to my skin.
When he was done, she asked me to do the same so she could have those same words tattooed on her wrist in my handwriting.
That experience created a bond between us that I’ll treasure forever. Whenever I glance at my wrist, I think about the woman who has always been an integral part of my life.
“What does it say?” Daniel questions as he leans closer to me. “Show me.”
I hold up my arm so it’s facing him. “It’s my grandma’s handwriting.”
His gaze volleys from my wrist to my face. “Your dad always says those words.”
Signs those words.
I don’t correct him because, in my family, sign language is as much a part of our method of communication as English and Italian are.
My dad has been deaf since birth.
Daniel’s hands jump in the air, and he signs the two words tattooed on my skin:Be brave.
CHAPTERSEVEN
Gina
I’m notsurprised Daniel just signed that to me. He learned American Sign Language years ago to communicate with my dad, and so he could follow our family conversations.
