Page 42 of One Filthy Kiss

“Did you know his fiancée?” I ask.

He stands up, refills his cup, checks that mine is still full, and then sits back down. “Yes, I knew Elisabetta. They grew up together. Everyone knew that they would get married one day. Her death, well, it rocked both families.”

I can understand that. “It must’ve been hard for Gio losing his parents at the same time.”

“He blamed himself. He was supposed to meet Elisabetta in Sicily to finalize wedding arrangements.”

“Why didn’t he?”

“Something came up here in New York. A meeting that he couldn’t get out of. He never forgave himself for being in a boardroom when it happened.”

I’m painting a picture in my head of the real Giovanni Sabatelli. When he kissed me on the movie set, my initial reaction was that he was an arrogant asshole who believed that he was irresistible. But there is so much more to him than that. Mind-blowing orgasms aside, he’s caring and loyal and protective.

But more importantly, he is damaged goods, just like me.

“Something smells good.” Rik gestures to the oven behind me.

I check the brownies are cooked and tip them onto cooling trays while Amber comes and joins us. We sit and eat cake until the sugar rush makes my head spin, and then Amber and I head upstairs to the rooftop pool.

I’m more excited than ever about Gio’s return. Enzo might’ve come here with the intention of making me go away, but telling me about Elisabetta has had the opposite effect. No one understands better than I do why people shut themselvesdown after they’ve been hurt; all Gio needs is someone to coax him into opening up again.

Someone like me.

Because he has been gone for less than a day, and I can’t imagine filling the Gio-shaped hole in my life with anyone else.

That night, when I tuck Amber into bed in the guest room, she settles her new dolls under the comforter and peers up at me with huge eyes.

“Meggie, can we get a dog when we go home? Please?”

I feel a stab of anxiety in my chest when I think of home. I don’t even know where that is right now, but it certainly doesn’t feel like it’s back in our crappy apartment in London.

“I’ll think about it.”

Her smile tells me that’s good enough for now.

I fill a glass with wine and head upstairs to the rooftop. I feel closer to Gio up here, and I wonder what he is doing right now. Can he see the same stars that I see?

My phone vibrates. A message from Nikki.

Oh my God, you fucked him, you little floozy. Tell me everything!

I’m still smiling when I wake up in Gio’s bed the following morning. It is the most comfortable bed I’ve ever slept in, like sleeping on a cloud, and I have no idea how Gio drags himself out of it each morning to go to work. If this was my bed, I’d be chaining myself to the bedposts and refusing to budge.

I giggle at the thought of chaining myself to the bedposts and waiting for Gio to come back. There’s only one small problem: Amber. Well, perhaps more than one: I don’t know when he is coming back, and I’m ravenous, and craving caffeine, and I need to use the bathroom.

Nikki and I texted until the early hours of the morning. A lot has happened since I last saw her. She waited until I’d told her everything about me and Gio before hitting me with her own secret: she’s having a fling with someone on set.

Who?????????????????I messaged her back.

Nikki: I can’t tell you, Meg, sorry. I promised.

Me: Is it Arthur? Please let it be Arthur. Why can’t you tell me? What’s the big secret? Is he married? Oh, fuck, he’s married, isn’t he? And you called me the floozy!

For the first time ever, I squeezed all my questions into one message, and even that didn’t persuade her to reveal her secret lover’s identity. All she did was reply with a million laughing-face emojis.

Me:I told you everything.

Nikki:You’re easily manipulated.