Chapter 38 The Almost Kiss
ARYA’S POV
I stood frozen in the kitchen, my hand pressed against my burning cheek where his thumb had just been moments ago.
My heart was thudding so violently I could feel it in my throat and my fingertips.
I'd almost kissed Giovanni De Santis.
No… worse than that. I'd wanted to kiss him.
"It's the pasta," I muttered to myself, pacing in small circles around the kitchen island. "You're just hungry. Low blood sugar makes people do stupid irrational things."
But even as I said it, I knew it was a lie.
The pasta had nothing to do with the way my stomach had flipped when he'd touched my face or the heat that had pooled low in my belly when his eyes had darkened while looking at my mouth.
I pressed my palms against my cheeks, willing the flush to fade before he came back. I needed to get myself together and why I was here in the first place.
He was the enemy and a monster. The one person I was not supposed to feel anything for.
So why couldn't I stop thinking about his lips?
I heard his footsteps before I saw him, and I busied myself with wiping down the counter and keeping my eyes fixed on the marble surface.
"Everything okay?" I asked, proud of how casual I sounded.
"Nothing important," Giovanni said, his voice giving away nothing. "Just a report from one of the guards. Routine check-in."
"Oh. Good. That's... good."
I risked a glance at him and immediately regretted it. He'd rolled his sleeves back down but hadn't buttoned them yet, leaving his forearms exposed.
I looked away quickly, my eyes flickering back to him despite my best efforts.
Stop it, I told myself firmly. Stop staring at him like some lovesick teenager.
"The pasta's getting cold," he said after a moment.
"Right. Yes. Pasta. We should eat it."
If he noticed how flustered I was, he was kind enough not to mention it.
We finished preparing our plates in silence, the earlier ease between us replaced by something uncomfortable.
"Follow me," he said, picking up both our plates before I could protest.
I trailed after him through the villa, trying not to notice the way his shoulders moved under his shirt. We passed through the living room I'd explored earlier, then through French doors that opened onto a terrace I hadn't discovered yet.
I gasped.
The dining area was set up on a covered patio that overlooked the ocean. The moon painted silver paths across the dark water, and the sound of waves crashing against the rocks below created a rhythm that felt almost hypnotic.
"This is…" I moved to the edge of the terrace, unable to help myself. "This is exactly like a scene from one of my favorite telenovelas. The one where Jacintha finally escapes her awful husband and runs away to the coast, and Julia finds her on a night just like this, and-"
I stopped, realizing I was rambling. When I turned back, Giovanni was watching me with an expression I couldn't quite read.
"You watch telenovelas?" he asked, amusement coloring his tone.
"Don't tell me," I said, moving to sit at the small table he'd set up. "All you know are guns and fights and mafia business?"
"Those guns and fights pay for places like this," he pointed out, settling into the chair across from me. "So yes, I'd say they're worth knowing about."
I laughedx throwing my head back with genuine amusement at his response. When I stopped and looked back at him, I found him staring at me again with that same intense expression from the kitchen.
I cleared my throat. "We should eat. Before it really does get cold."
He nodded, and we began eating in silence. The pasta was just as incredible as the first bite had been.
Maybe better, now that I was actually sitting down to eat it properly.
"This is really good," I said after my third bite. "Like, restaurant-quality good. You could probably charge people money for this."
A small smile played at the corners of his mouth. "I'm glad you approve. If you want more, there's plenty."
"I'm good," I assured him, even though part of me wanted to eat the entire pot. "My stomach is pretty small, I get full easily you know.”
Giovanni's eyebrow arched. "That's interesting, considering I saw you devour three pieces of toast the other morning and half a croissant and what looked like an entire bowl of fruit."
Heat flooded my cheeks, and I ducked my head, focusing very intently on twirling pasta around my fork. "You were watching me eat?"
"I notice things," he said simply. Then, his voice softening slightly, "I like women with healthy appetites. You look good. Physically, I mean."
My head snapped up so fast I almost gave myself whiplash. Giovanni was still eating, acting like he hadn't just said something that made my entire body flush with warmth.
"I… thank you?" It came out as a question.
He just continued eating, that small smile still playing at his lips.
I forced myself to keep eating too, trying to process what had just happened.
Giovanni De Santis had complimented me. Not in a possessive, threatening way. Just... genuinely.
After we finished, we carried our plates back to the kitchen. He washed while I dried the plates with a towel.
"Christabel loves washing dishes," I found myself saying, watching soap bubbles catch the light. "She always begs to help even though she usually makes more of a mess than anything else. She likes to make shapes with the bubbles too.
Giovanni chuckled and the sound was so unexpected that I found myself smiling.
"She sounds like a character," he said.
"She is. She's the best person I know. So pure and good and…." I swallowed hard. "I miss her so much."
"Tell me more about her," he said, and I did. I
told him about Christabel's obsession with butterflies, about how she insisted on sleeping with seventeen stuffed animals that all had very specific names, and about the time she'd tried to give our neighbor's dog a bath in our kitchen sink.
Giovanni listened, occasionally asking questions that showed he was paying attention. It felt good to talk about her, and to share pieces of her with someone who seemed genuinely interested.
"What about your family?" I asked as I dried the last plate. "Do you have siblings?"
His expression shuttered immediately. "No. I was an only child."
"And your parents?"
"Gone." His tone had gone flat. "Your father made sure of that."
My smile fell. The warmth that had been building between us evaporated in an instant.
"I didn't…" I started, but he was already putting away the last dish with stiffness in his shoulders.
"It's late," he said, not looking at me. "We should get some sleep."
I wanted to argue and ask what he meant about my father but the tenseness of his jaw told me the conversation was over.
We walked upstairs in silence and when we reached the path where the hallway split toward our respective rooms, I stopped.
"Giovanni?"
He turned, his hand already on his doorknob.
"Thank you," I said quietly. "For the pasta and for... tonight. It was nice."
He stared at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable in the dim hallway light.
Then, so softly I almost missed it, he said, "Goodnight, Arya."
Not dolcezza or my usual dismissive nickname but my actual name, spoken with something that sounded almost like tenderness.
Then he was gone, disappearing into his room and closing the door with a soft click.
I stood in the hallway for longer than I should have, staring at his closed door, my hand pressed against the spot on my face where he'd touched me earlier.
What was happening to me? To us?
And why did the thought of finding out terrify me almost as much as it excited me?