Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 81044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81044 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
“So I’ll always be an available piece of ass for you?”
I sat back, confused now. “That’s what you think?”
She didn’t reply but watched me through hooded eyes.
“Gia, you’re a bright girl. Do you really think I came after you after eight months being apart, spilling my heart out to you, because I think you’re a nice ‘piece of ass’?”
“Do you consider what happened last night, what you said, to be spilling your heart out?”
Again, I felt taken aback. “What do you want? I’ve never been a flowers and romantic walks on the beach type either.”
“Maybe I am after all,” she said defensively, averting her gaze from mine momentarily.
I smiled, still a little confused, but understanding. I leaned forward and took her chin in my hand, raising it so she looked at me. “I love you. Is that what you want to hear?”
She only stared as if she didn’t believe me.
“I love you, and those eight months without you were like a little slice of hell worse than the seven years I’d lived before I found you huddled in the corner of that rotten cabin. I have never in my life wanted someone as much as I want you. And as much as I love fucking you, what I mean is that I want you in my fucking life, not just my bed. I don’t want to let you out of my sight again. I want you safe and close and—”
She cried and smiled at once.
“What?” I asked.
“You are a romantic, in your own weird way.”
She leaned forward and kissed my lips softly.
“You don’t have the smoothest way with words, but you have a bigger heart than you think, Dominic Benedetti.”
She sat back in her chair, her hands still in mine, clutching onto mine as I did hers.
I felt flustered looking at her. I felt…unsure. I’d never told any girl these things before. I’d never felt them or even bothered pretending I did. With her, though, I meant every word.
“Maybe we should just get married while we’re at it.” I said it before I lost my nerve.
Gia laughed, then wiped away a tear before returning her hand to mine. “Are you proposing?”
“Are you saying yes?”
“I don’t know. Aren’t you supposed to get down on one knee or something?”
I looked around at the other people in the place. No one was paying attention to us, but they would be in a minute. I shoved the table next to ours out of the way—luckily it was empty—and got on one knee, her hands still in mine.
“You already have me on my knees,” I said.
“Oh my God, Dominic, I wasn’t serious! Get up!”
She looked around and tried to pull me up.
“No. Gia Castellano, I love you, and I want you to marry me. I’m asking you to. Here on one fucking knee.”
Everyone was staring now.
Gia’s face flushed red, and she looked from them to me and smiled wide and cried and nodded her head. “I will.”
I got up and drew her to her feet to stand with me, wrapping my arms around her and closing my mouth over hers as everyone in the place started to clap and whistle.
She broke our kiss and whispered in my ear.
“That was so embarrassing, Dominic.”
“If you want romance, you’re going to get over-the-top romance.” I cupped her chin and tilted her head back to kiss her again, a long, soft kiss.
“I love you,” she said. “For a long time now. I don’t even know when it happened.”
“I think it was the first time I saw your eyes. When they were glaring at me,” I added, making her smile. “Let’s get out of here.”
It took me two months to do the one thing I needed to do to close the door on the past before I could move on with my future.
“You want me to come with you?” Gia asked from beside me.
We had just driven through the gates of the cemetery and pulled up near my family’s plot.
I looked at the gated-off area, at the three largest stones.
“No. I need to do this alone.” I squeezed her hand.
She nodded, and I climbed out of the sedan with the bundles of flowers. My breath fogged in the brisk morning air, and all I heard was the lonely sound of leaves crushing under my feet. I made my way up the hill and through the headstones of countless other Benedettis until I reached theirs.
Squatting down, I cleared some of the weeds, then lay the flowers before each of the stones. First, my mother. Then my brother. And finally, my father.
That was when I paused, traced his name and the dates. I took a seat on a bench nearest his grave and glanced at the waiting car. With its tinted windows, I couldn’t see inside and would have felt foolish for someone to see me, but I cleared my throat anyway and turned back to my father’s grave.