"Giovanni!"

"Scarlett!"

"How long has this been going on? Any comments on the statements you made six months ago shutting down the rumors of the affair?"

"Scarlett! How does Officer Routh feel about your relationship? Any comments on his heroic feat three days ago?"

"Giovanni!"

A timid host perches the door ajar, anxiously eying Jimmy as he sets his body like a wall between us and the persistent crowd outside. The restaurant is surrounded, and even shielded behind fiberglass windows, the paparazzi can be heard within, disturbing the calm ambiance of elegant Thai cuisine. As we pass through the aisle, we are watched closely, as we have been all night.

"Always a pleasure, Mr. Martinelli. Please come again soon," the host tells us with forced exuberance as we approach the exit, and Giovanni, who had been walking behind me, strides further until he's in front of me. Jimmy can be seen forcing the pesky photographers back to make a slim beeline for the car, which he already pulled up to the front.

Giovanni's hand slides into mine. "Goodnight, Mr. Anuwat."

The volume of their chatter crescendos into a roar the minute we are out the door. The night is stickily humid, the infamous New York Summer upon us in full force. The thin fabric of my cocktail dress sways in the wind, the slender straps settled onto my shoulders. I'm struck with a flushing heat wave, overwhelmed by the noise.

"Scarlett! Giovanni!"

"How long have you been dating? How long has this been going on?"

"Is it love?"

Is it love...

My demure gaze drifts up from my sling-back sandals to drink in the towering man leading me across the sidewalk. His jet black hair rakes down to his wide-set shoulders, ending just before his cream-colored linen suit begins. Custom made to fit his unusually large body, the material hangs just enough to grant a glimpse of the perfection that is concealed beneath. As if he can feel my eyes, he turns. I'm burned with just a look, left in awe by a man oozing awareness, so completely sure of his dazzling sensuality.

He manages a sweet balance of primitive masculinity and gentle docility, which makes him utterly fascinating to study. He seems to shine, even in the dim light; his natural tan radiates a glow that shouldn't be humanly possible to acquire without a day under the sun's rays. And yet, he does nothing to be so alluring. His eyes, so brown they seem black, bore into my own, a hint of a smile spreading across his full dark lips, lips of a true Italian man. I appraise him greedily, noting the sharpness of his features, the arch of full brows, the trimmed stubble scattered across a jaw that could cut through skin.

"Giovanni!"

"Step aside," I hear Jimmy snap to the shuffling crowd as Giovanni turns back to face front. His hand tugs me towards him to guide me to the car door Jimmy is holding open. I climb in, sliding across the leather, and Giovanni takes a seat beside me.

The flashes continue as Jimmy moves around the car, which sends the masses that were being held back surging towards the windows. After days of this, ever since the kiss at the crosswalk, we've been hounded day and night, at all hours. The radio croons soft jazz as we sit, watching Jimmy, red-faced, hop into the front seat.

My lips press together.

Tension radiates off us all as Jimmy starts the vehicle, easing us out of the parallel park into the street. The hollers echo as we drive further away from the restaurant, escaping the madness.

Holy shit.

Just as the air nearly suffocates us all, I hear Giovanni speak up.

"So... it's looking like Jimmy might need a raise."

The tension dissipates into pieces.

My mouth curves just as Jimmy's does, his light eyes flickering back to us through the rearview mirror. Laughter bubbles within me, escaping as I drop my head into my hands exhaustedly.

"I swear, one of these days, I'm going to punch one of those idiots," Jimmy jokes, shaking his head as his chest shakes with amusement.

Giovanni lifts my hand until his mouth presses to my overturned palm. "I'm with you on that."

My insides warm as his eyes meet my own, dazzlingly clear of constraint.

"I'll bail you out."

...

"Thanks, Jimmy."

With a wave, my driver, who indeed needs a raise, departs home, leaving us on the sidewalk of Giovanni's building. I peer up at the impressive high rise for the second time, recalling the last time I stood here. It was nearly eight months ago. I entered in a gown made by the very man I was going to see. The man with me now.

We climb the steps towards the doors, and I'm relieved there are no paparazzi waiting. They are probably camped out at my building since that's where we've taken refuge these past few days. We enter the lobby together, and ever watchful, I scan over the tenants, hovering and curious as their gazes follow our bodies to the elevator.

Even as we ascend the stories of the skyscraper, I still don't manage to feel alone with him. An uneasy feeling goes through me at the sight of the red light on the camera in the corner of the four walls.

Finally, the sliding doors part, giving us full view of Giovanni's apartment. A place he only uses when he's in town. The massive space has an aura of abandonment, eerily tidy. We enter together, and I delight in remembrance, picturing the sight of us together against the floor-to-ceiling windows, a satin blindfold shielding my vision.

It seems like ages ago. The life-shattering first time.

The elevator door shuts, leaving us illuminated only by the surrounding buildings until Giovanni flicks on the overhead light.

I watch him walk to the living room, shedding his linen suit jacket with intrigue and caution. I wasn't stupid enough to believe that the moment we decided to go public, all of our problems would simply disappear.

The past six months happened.

A lot happened to me.

A lot happened to him.

And I know nothing. We've said everything else we possibly could, subjecting our dinners, our bedside manner to mindless dribble. A few kisses here and there, a few scorching looks but nothing more. There are words to be said before I hop into bed with him. Before I decide to forget the pain and disappointment I felt for what seemed like years without him.

I'm pretty sure he's aware of it, which is why he hasn't tried to so much as cop a feel. I set down my purse on the couch, and he throws his jacket onto the loveseat, reaching for the crystal decanter of scotch.

"Can I get you a glass?"

I nod, stepping down into the main room, slipping out of my shoes. I take the glass from him and raise it to my lips, taking a quick gulp for courage as I sit down.

From my place on the cushion, Giovanni stands like the man I've always known him to be. A daring, bold, beautifully brazen celebrity. With one hand holding his own drink, the other tucked into dress slacks, a pristine watch wrapped around his wrist, I'm transfixed by his effortless allure.

But, Giovanni is not the man I've known anymore.

Sometime in the past months, he changed.

The façade of peace and contentment is a mask he's careful to keep up. I've watched him struggle with it closely over the days. I've watched him get up in the middle of the night and sit on the edge of the bed, to stare into thin air. He's unable to sleep.

I rub my neck deeply, trying to find a way to ease into a conversation worth having. "So, you're leaving to LA tomorrow..."

"I don't to talk about leaving," he replies, before I've even finished my sentence. He stares down into his drink. "We've beaten around the bush enough."

The muscles in my back relax in relief. "I know. I know we have."

With an inhale, he seems to gear himself up for whatever conversation we're about to start. "I know you must be full of questions... worries."

"I have a few."

His eyes flicker to me. "Beginning with?"

My fingers tense on the glass. I allow myself to remember the day that spun my life out of control. The day Norman told me everything I had ever known about myself to be a lie. The day he told me I was his daughter, that the people who had raised me hadn't birthed me. The day I realized that everything I went through could have been prevented, if only he'd wanted me.

I haven't allowed myself to even contemplate it, to even acknowledge the change. I've been living in my denial, simmering in it, trying to prolong the inevitable.

But this conversation demands answers.

"Why didn't you tell me? He told you and you could have told me. I wouldn't have said anything."

His eyes are gentle.

"You would have continued to work for him? No questions? No resentments? Scarlett, when you found out, you quit. If I had told you that night in your office, I would have had to ask you to keep it to yourself. I'm not that selfish."

A deep swallow vibrates throughout my throat as I rest the glass against my thigh.

"There wasn't a single ounce of you that wanted to leave? That felt relief by his blackmail... because it meant you had no choice but to go?"

"You know the answer to that question. A very large part of me wanted to leave that night, but had the blackmail not happened, I would have stayed. I know I would have." He gracefully lowers down onto the loveseat his jacket is hanging on, seated opposite of me. A shaky exhale escapes through his lips, as though he's struggling, forcing himself to utter these words against his will. "To leave, knowing what you would think of me... that was the hardest thing I've ever done. He leveraged my family for secrecy. I can take any kind of criticism but I cannot subject them to it. I cannot."

The next question physically hurts to utter. "Have... you been with anyone?"

"Not a soul."

"You promise me?"

He looks at me, surprised by my persistence but unable to fight me on it.

"I promise, Scarlett."

I nod, studying his contritely determined expression. He's telling the truth. My lips curve upward slightly and then I focus on the glass of his coffee table. My chest is heaving, I'm finding it hard to breathe even though we're not fighting.

"You can talk to me, Scarlett... I can take it."

"I don't know when I'll be able to trust you again, Gio."

He regards me closely, not appearing to be breathing. My mouth hangs, nervously.

"I was in agony when you left. I understand that you had no choice but to go. I understand that Norman blackmailed you and your life also turned upside down but it doesn't change the fact that you asked me to open my heart to you and then broke it." My stomach flips, my chest cavity aching. I resist the urge to rub it. "It still feels broken, even though you are here and we are together."

"I will do everything I can to make you trust me again, Scar," he whispers. "You are everything to me. Everything."

I nod, water rimming my eyelids. "You are everything to me too."

He stands, sucking in a gulp of air. "Is there anything else you want to ask?"

He's facing the windows and even from my distance, my eyes glue to the tense muscles in his back, his shirt is straining as he crosses his arms over his body.

With my peace said, I can focus on the true worry on my mind. Him.

"You are different, Giovanni."

"So are you," he replies, softly. It's a simple observation, not intended to insult.

"Tell me what's going on," I whisper. It takes him forever to answer.

"I'm in the process of throwing my own brother into jail, Scarlett. My mother will hardly speak to me... My entire company is funded off of stolen money, a scandal just waiting to come out. Day and night I'm followed by paparazzi, to the point where they've broken into my house in the middle of the night to search my things. And I've hurt and lied to the person I never want to hurt." His head shakes but he doesn't turn around. "When we met, the only thing I could complain about was a woman screwing around on me. Now..."

"Everything's changed," I finish for him.

"My life feels like a lie." He breathes in. "I was ignorant and conceited, privileged. I still am. I shouldn't have what I have."

Holy shit.

"You had no idea your father did what he did."

"It doesn't matter."

I stand up, setting down my drink with a thump. "It does matter. You are a talented man and you have gotten to where you are, you have risen to fame because of that talent. Money can only take you so far."

"Scarlett."

I hold up my hand, even though he's not looking. "No, I can listen to pretty much anything but I will not hear you doubt your talent. Not that."

His head flicks back to down the rest of his drink.

"Giovanni, we may be different people, but I still love you the same. It doesn't matter who you are, what you've done, what's happening around us." I walk towards him, eying the world he's fixing on. "I love you."

I hear his inhale shake.

My cheek presses to his back, my hands pressing to his shirt, feeling a rock hard wall beneath them.

"Scarlett," he breathes. His heart is wild.

My fingers spread out, digging into his stomach. My eyes close tightly as my cheek nuzzles to his warmth, relieved to be able to do so. So many nights I've spent wishing he could be near and I had to accept that he would never be mine again.

But he's here. And not even a shattered heart could dismiss that fact.

He turns beneath my grasp, leaving my cheek bereft for mere moments until they are clasped in his strong hands. He tilts my head up to meet his eyes, which find a way to make me understand his wants, his fears, his needs without a word spoken.

He wants to feel okay.

He fears the world around us.

And he needs me. He needs me.

Our mouths break the distance between us, meeting with an untamed passion that slams my heart back into drive, the blow shattering my nerves. His grip tightens, so mine does too out of instinct as he takes my mouth, licking and sucking in desperation. I moan, pressing up into him as his hands ascend into my hair, grasping onto the locks tightly, so tight my toes arch up to relieve the ticking nervousness from his attack. His lips drift to my cheek and he exhales harshly, breathless.

"I'm sorry."

I shake my head, over and over again, unable to hear the despairing apology come from his lips. "No."

"I'm sorry," he whispers again. "I'm so sorry."

"I love you," I whisper just as pleadingly and his grasp on me tightens.

"I'll make this right, I promise... I swear."

My arms wrap around him, crushingly. My breath leaves in harsh gasps as my head rests in the curve of his throat and chin.

There's no resentment within me. No anger. No pain.

Only love... Soul changing love.