Entangled (A Tryst Novel) (23 page)

He places his camera on the ottoman to the right, his eyes deadly serious with that crisp sense of wisdom that I saw when I first met him.

“I could make a mess of everything. I’ve never walked a runaway. I’d probably fall flat on my face. You don’t want that, trust me. I’d ruin you.”

He smirks. “Imagine the exposure.”

I shake my head. “Gio, you’re acting crazy. It’s too much,” I repeat.

His face tenses, and I watch the dramatic plunge of his Adam’s apple as he swallows. “You do that to me.”

I release a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, my eyes heavily scrutinizing him, but his eyes and stance are solid. Gio isn’t one to cower, especially if he’s trying to hide his nerves.

I get distracted when I hear the hum from the girls rising anew as they make their way out.

Most utter good-byes, and a couple of them even shout out that it was nice to meet me, but they all give me the same curious look as they notice me still in my dress, and sticking to Gio’s side. I don’t have the energy to care. They can think what they want, and I doubt it would have any affect on the situation, whatever situation I’m referencing that I don’t quite understand. What a predicament. What’s going on?

When the final girl leaves, I notice Sophie trying to do her best impression of 
not
 eavesdropping as she starts to grab for miscellaneous items of clothing and accessories planted around the set, but even I can tell her ears are pricked up to listen in. Everyone else, though? Other hands-on assistants are busy breaking down equipment, chatting with one another. It seems everyone always gives Gio his space. No one ever dares to enter his bubble, which has me constantly wanting to pop it.

Gio is close now, and I turn to shoot him a scowl. His hand flinches as if he’s holding himself back from reaching for the camera, and my smile is back in a flash.

“Oh, Giovanni Vigilucci, you’re some kind of ridiculous, aren’t you?” I say as I rub at my temples. “Aren’t we friends?”

Even his nods are solid and purposeful. “Of course we are.”

“You know, you’re kinda more important to me than I let on, even though I want to strangle you sometimes,” I add.

The mood levels out, and his breathing goes back to deep, drawn-out breaths. I knew he was nervous.

“That’s good to hear,” he replies.

I revel in the moment, because this is not Gio’s forte: vulnerability. It feels like he is baring some part of him that I can’t place.

“I trust you,” I hum, letting my eyes dart around the room as I gather my wits. “I’m your muse, and you’re my guide. Isn’t that how it’s supposed to work between us?”

I’m trying to lead this into where I get Gio to admit what he’s thinking, but, always an emotional step ahead of me, he replies, “Yes, but sometimes it’s hard not to adore and fall for one’s muse.”

My lungs deflate, and worry begins to drown me.

“Stop,
bella
. I guess it’s better to just say it, huh? You Americans pride yourself on honesty, and if you trust me, then that’s how we should do this, no?”

I nod. Is this what Blake was afraid of all along? Is this modeling career nothing but another man’s whim as a way into my heart? I’m shrinking by the minute.

“But you don’t love me,
bella
. I know this. You have found your soul mate, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t jealous, but it doesn’t mean I also don’t find it beautiful and inspiring. It’s the pain of an artist, I think. I’m observer of the priceless things this life offers, and sometimes I adore things too much, especially the things I can’t have, but I appreciate them. You’re one of those things.”

“Gio, I—”

“Stop,” he says again, raising his hand to halt my words. His accent more obvious in that word than all his ones before. “I don’t want to ruin you. You and Blake. I won’t let myself, and I won’t let you. Maybe my admiration is simply an infatuation. It’s hard to tell. But it doesn’t mean I don’t think you can do all the things I’ve been telling you to try. My camera adores you just as much as I do, and it’s not because I am the one behind the lens. Do I enjoy your company? Yes, of course. You’re as much a friend to me as I am to you. But do I also think you could do great things by expanding your horizons? This, I know.”

I’m just staring at Gio. He’s so honest. So blunt. And so unforgiving about his emotions that I can’t help but feel envious of the secure grasp he has on himself while I’m still trying to figure myself out.

“Think about Milan,” he pleads.

“When?” I ask, wondering if I should even broach the topic from before.

“End of November.”

I nod, but I’m too scared to commit or reject the invite. “I care for you too, Gio. I want to tell you that, but I also don’t want to hurt you.”

He smiles, and it’s stunning when the corners of his mouth perch high on the jagged lines of his cheekbones. His eyes are like the setting suns in between them. “You scared for me,
bella
?”

I blush. “No. Yes. Maybe. I love Blake.”

His grin only widens, and I think he’s fighting off a laugh. “I know.”

I consider for the briefest of moments what it would be like to love someone like Gio, and I’m sure it would be incredible, but that’s not a risk I could ever consider or want. But I’m positive he could make any woman incredibly happy.

“You’re not going to fall in love with me, are you?”

He shakes his head. “I’m trying not to.”

I grunt. I hate this. “I want us to be okay.”

“We will be.”

“How can you say that?” This time it feels like a whine or a plea.

“Because, like I said, I won’t let it ruin you. I just wanted to be honest. I’ve kept myself in line all this time, haven’t I? I sit far across couches from you. Never pushed you to feel uncomfortable. I keep my distance.”

“But you flirt!” I blurt out.

“I’m Italian!” He shrugs, and I let out the loudest, most cathartic string of laughter.

“So, we’re okay?”

“We are perfect.” He pauses, his lips squirming at a secret joke. “We’ll be fine. But I won’t apologize for my honesty.”

This time I step up to him, only inches between us as I look up at his towering frame. “And I would never expect you to apologize for that.”

His eyes dart all over my face, searching for something, and it’s such an intense look that I have to take that step back. He reaches for his camera, and before I can protest he snaps a few more photos.

Click. Click. Click.

“Gio, please . . .”

“That reminds me. My show is Friday.”

That’s four days away. There’s so much going on I can barely keep my schedule straight.

“I’ll be there. That’s the day after this awards show I’m going to with Blake.”

Gio, entirely unaffected by Blake’s name, like he said he wouldn’t be, nods. “Oh, I heard there was something like that going on this week. That’ll be good.”

“Yeah, I’m excited . . . Nervous, too. I have to go shopping.”

Talking mundane shopping chitchat with Gio feels so silly. He’s so much bigger than my silly worries or chores.

“Why don’t you keep the dress you’re wearing?”

My mouth falls slack as I peer down at the deep navy fabric with its intricate embroidery, and I bask in the tight strapless bodice encasing me, feeling the same awe I felt when I pulled it over my body for the first time hours ago.

I utter, “It’s too much!” for the third time today.

“It’s not. It fits you so well, and if you’re hitting the red carpet you’ll be wearing something before anyone has ever seen it. It’s pretty perfect, actually. Walk the red carpet right. Fashion forward. You have to think that way now. It matters.”

He’s teasing me, or chastising me. There’s a difference, and I can’t tell which he’s going for, but his words hold truth I need to force myself to wrap my head around. I guess it does matter now.

“Are you sure?” I ask, smoothing my palms over my hips.

“Of course. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Well, then, thank you. I owe you, and I have no idea how I can repay you forever—”

“You never have to repay me. You’ve given me more than you realize.”

I don’t have the energy to sink my teeth into that one, not after everything we’ve already discussed. It’s been a long day.

“Thanks, Gio, seriously.” I release a yawn and stretch as best I can with this dress on. “I think I’m going to crash early to bed. What time is it? Close to eight in the evening now? Can you drive me home?”

“Are you hungry?” he asks as he follows me toward the curtain. I raise an eyebrow in his direction, and he laughs. “Ah, yes. Maybe another day would be a better time.”

“Thank you,” I repeat with a coy smile, and he mirrors my look. I have to force myself to walk away to change. I’m pleased he can tell it’s better we part ways for the night.

***

Gio’s sleek, midnight Audi cruises down the darkness of my street, and I let out a string of laughs as Gio explains to me how much he loves Nicki Minaj, and I argue with him that it’s her butt he’s in love with, and not her music.

When Gio relaxes and unveils an uncharacteristically loud laugh, it’s almost as funny as my joke. We’ve finally leveled out from our conversation earlier, and my life is back to calm. Lately, everything has felt like I’ve been managing the balance, but every punch, or ebb and flow, or hurdle that has come my way, I’ve conquered.

I’m still trying to contain my laughter as I clutch my chest, trying to catch my breath as I watch Gio attempt to wrap his lips and accent around a Nicki Minaj lyric belting through his car speakers.

“Stop, stop! I’m gonna die of laughter!”

He stops, joining in with me. Gio doesn’t reach out and touch me, ever. He just sits comfortably in my presence, and I really do believe him when he says he has his feelings under control.

Pulling up to the curb in front of my house, he says, “Hopefully you’ve laughed yourself into exhaustion.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m sure. Thanks for driving me around today . . . and just for everything.”

For once he doesn’t argue with my “everything” and instead nods his understanding. “No problem. I’ll see you Friday, then?”

“Most definitely. I wouldn’t miss it.”

He opens his mouth to respond, but no sound comes out, and instead, it snaps shut. He hums before shifting back to words. “I look forward to it. I’ll be sure to send you the address.”

I nod, and watch odd, giddy excitement flit over his features. How can such a roguish man work the whole young-boy angle so easily? It’s crazy.

I laugh again, only because he’s so ridiculous in that you-belong-in-a-zoo-or-a-museum
 
sort of way, and I throw my arms around his shoulders from the passenger seat.

He petrifies in my grasp, and I know I’m crossing a line he might not be ready for, but if anyone’s going to keep this as friends, it’s me. This is platonic, and I mean that with every fiber of my being. I simply appreciate him.

“Thank you, Gio. Seriously.”

He lets his hands rest, featherlike, against my ribs, and I know this is him being careful, and I respect that. I pull away and turn to leave. “’Bye, Gio. See you Friday.”

“
Ciao
, bella.”

When I exit his car, I wave him off as he drives away, pulling in a deep breath of the crisp night air. That guy is such a trip. I’ll manage it. I’ll manage him. Like everything else in my life, it’ll be okay.

I pull my keys and cell phone out of my pocket, my mind absentmindedly swinging to Blake. It’s a reflex, really. When I think of home, or sleep . . . or eating or breathing, it’s always Blake my mind returns to.

I turn toward the driveway, seeing it empty and devoid of vehicles other than my own car.

Another night alone. Josh is away wooing Vanessa, and Blake is hard at work.

I decide to call Blake, but my hand barely swipes across the screen of my phone before I hear the slurring sound of my name.

My eyes fly upward to the trees that divide us from the home next to us. I see Jason stumble from his perch against one of them.

My blood turns into frigid ice in my veins.

“What are you doing here?” We are far from formalities and manners at this point. I just need to know why he’s here, and to get him far away.

The stumbles in his steps tell me this is a recipe for disaster. His deep-chocolate eyes are glazed over with misplaced interest as they heavily focus themselves on me.

I try counting to ten in my head, and with each passing second I try to create a game plan. My body is on full alert.

“You’re always running from me now. You’re like a name I keep hearing in the wind.” His hand lifts up, his fingers twiddling in the night air as he acts out the motion of a breeze. He’s most definitely wasted and barely making sense.

I wonder which game to play. The soft and sweet, catch-me-if-you-can approach? Or the firm, I’m-a-woman-to-be-reckoned-with, to strike fear?

I don’t know what my heart is up for, but I know it aches and throbs with each pulsing churn of my blood from one chamber to the next.

My body knows how this works, because most of the time it’s what took the brunt of the damage. I heave in a deep breath, carefully analyzing the situation. Jason is always the same when I’ve seen him since the breakup. Totally unchanged. It’s infuriating. Though, I don’t know why I don’t expect it. His shoulders are solid and broad; his skin still overly tan from beach days; and there is the constant chewing of the lip ring on the left side of his mouth as he watches me. It’s that look I thought meant he’s appreciating me, but the truth of the matter is, whatever he’s thinking right now isn’t good.

I gulp down the moment, my grip tightening on my keys. I peer over his shoulder to my closed front door, wondering if running to it I would have enough time to unlock it, and make my way inside before his stumbles could catch up with me. I’m not sure if it’s worth the risk.

Instead, I glance at my phone, swiping my finger across the screen. I consider whose number I should dial, and who would pick up, let alone understand.

“Skyler . . .” he repeats. “I’ve been wanting to talk youuu . . . If I could just have a moment of your t-t-time . . .”