Gianluca Ginoble and I

Chapter 20

Chapter 20

          I read a few chapters of To Kill A Mockingbird alone in my guestroom, then I closed the book and went to Gianluca’s room.

          He was on the floor with Ignazio’s page of the notepad in his hand. In his other was a pen, and he tapped it on his chin as he stared at another notepad on his knee with Italian words scrawled on it.

          “Are you writing a song?” I asked.

          He looked up and smiled crookedly.

          “Trying to. Ignazio’s the lyric-writing one of us.”

          I went over to sit next to him, and he put the stuff down and reached out his arm to me, pulling me close to him so he could wrap his other arm around me also. He was very gentle and firm, and he smelled really good, that warm boyish scent.

          He moved to kick the notepad and papers away from us, then he pulled me onto his lap. He stretched out his legs and I sat on his thighs, facing him.

          He reached out to touch my face, and then kissed me, his hand moving down to rest on my back.

          My hands were resting on his shoulders, and I slipped them down to rest on his chest.

          When I pulled away, he took my hands from his chest and pulled them to his lips, closing his eyes as he kissed them. He released them and I wrapped them around his neck, leaning my forehead to touch his.

          He smiled crookedly up at me.

          “Naomi, you are so wonderful,” he whispered.

          I smiled and glanced down at his lips, and he kissed me again, then moved me off of his lap and sat me on the ground.

          He stood and bent down to me, offering me his hands.

          “Naomi, will you dance with me?”

          “Dance with you? I guess so, if you sing.”

          He smiled, and I placed my hands in his. He pulled me up and then took out his phone to put on an Il Volo song called “Questo Amore.” It’s the Italian version of “I Don’t Want To Miss a Thing”, and it’s a very beautiful and romantic song.

          He placed the phone on the desk and then put a hand around my waist, and I put a hand on his shoulder. He held out his other hand and I took it, stepping up close to him so that our faces were almost touching.

          We started to rock back and forth, and he began to sing with the recording, “Gaurdi con quell’aria capricciosa. I tuoi occhi ruberei…la mia anima darei…”

          I quietly watched him singing, watched his lips moving as he sang, and listened to the beautiful words.

          When he reached the Italian chorus, I joined in softly with the English version, and he looked surprised and excited that I was singing with him. I’m not a great singer, but I’m okay, and personally, I thought our voices sounded pretty good together. It was wonderful singing with him, our English and Italian blending.

          “…Don’t wanna close my eyes…I don’t wanna fall asleep ‘cuz I’d miss you babe…”

          “…Lo devo solo a te…Questo amore splendido…”

          “The sweetest dream will never do, I’d still miss you, babe…”

          “Lo devo solo a te…”

          He held my hand to his heart as we sang, gazing at me, a faint smile on his lips.

          The song ended and he kissed me, and then I led him back to where he had been sitting, stooping to pick up the notepad he was writing on.

          I read over the unfamiliar words, and then held it out to him.

          “Can you tell me what they mean?”

          He sat, and I sat next to him.

          “Not yet,” he said, “I’m still working on it.”

          “But you read me the song about Italy.”

          “Yes, but that’s Ignazio’s lyrics. I’m writing this one, and I’m hiding it until it’s done.”

          “Such a perfectionist,” I commented, and he smiled.

          “Yeah, I get told that a lot.”

          He started jotting things down on the pad, and I got his phone from the desk and held it, staring at it.

          “What are you thinking?” he asked.

          “Nothing.”

          I was wondering about turning off the alarm. Normally I wouldn’t hesitate to do it, but…the way he treated me when I got home from the mountain yesterday. He held me so tightly, and he was cold, and tired, and scared for me, and he didn’t want me to leave the house without him anymore.

          I watched him as he stuck the end of the pen in his mouth, thinking, his thick eyebrows furrowing as he pondered over words to write.

          I turned off the alarm.

          I can decide if I’ll leave or not in the morning.

          “Naomi?” he said.

          “What?”

          “Give me your phone.”

          I did.

          “Why?”

          “I heard your mom say that you can’t leave without your phone, right?”

          He put it in his pocket.

          “Yes.”

          “Well, now you always know where your phone is, and I always know where you are.”

          It’s as if he knew what I had been thinking, but he didn’t reach for his phone. I looked away, and he reached out to gently turn my face back to his.

          “I just want you to be safe, Naomi,” he whispered.

           I nodded somberly, and he kissed my cheek.

          “Don’t leave without me, Naomi, please?”

          I leaned against him, unsure of how to answer. He wrapped an arm around me and held me tight, closing his eyes and pressing his lips to my neck.