Tangled In Strings

Chapter Twenty-Eight

He chuckles. "The line did fine. You knew that. You saw the numbers."

"Yeah, I did. I like that you've branched out. You make beautiful clothes for women, too."

"Thank you," he says, smiling softly. "You started it all."

I shake my head, closing my book, knowing it's time. It's been time. My eyes move to my bag, which has been holding the copy of Norman's will for days.

"We need to talk about something, something important."

"I don't know if I can handle anymore today," he jokes, placing the tape measure over his shoulder as he fishes for some pins. I grab the binder from my purse, steeling myself.

"Norman left you money," I blurt out, as quickly as I can. He stops moving. "He made the change on the day...on the day he died. He wanted to do it. I had no part in it, I swear."

He turns to me, his eyes sharp. "What are you talking about?"

I hold up the will, but he just stands there, still. At my pleading expression, he moves, with reluctance. He takes the folder from me, and sits down on the couch beside me. Scanning the words, he shakes his head.

"What am I looking at?"

Reaching over his arm, I flip through the pages, until his name is mentioned.

He stares at the words, reading them for so long that I'm sure he's gone over them multiple times.

"With this, and what you have remaining, you can keep the studios. You can buy Maria's place, outright."

"Scarlett."

"I could help with your mother's home. I'll pitch in the rest."

He looks at me. Thankfully, there's no anger. "Did you ask him to do this?"

"I swear, I didn't."

"He didn't like me. He never wanted me for you...I don't understand why he would leave me this much."

I move up next to him, kissing his bicep softly. "You changed his mind when you...when you told him what you loved most about me."

His gaze softens, as I look up at him, my chin rested against his shoulder. "He told you about that?"

I nod. "I don't deserve you."

"No, you deserve a lot better than me, Scarlett," he chuckles, shutting the will.

"Shut up."

He chuckles louder, his brows lifting in shock and I smirk, my eyes darting to the binder. When his laughter is gone, and there's only the weight of what's in his hands, the solution to so many of the problems in our life, I lean close, pressing my face into his warm skin.

"Please, Giovanni."

"Scar."

"Please." I bite my lip, nervously. "Please, baby. He wanted to help you. I want to help you. We can do this together...prove to me that we can do this together."

"You're not playing fair," he argues, his eyes firmly on the contract in his hands.

"Nothing you and I have gone through so far has been fair. We have to do what we can to get by. We're partners. You showed me that today...my pain is your pain. Why would you think it isn't the same the other way around?"

I reach out, and turn his face toward me. "This wasn't a handout. It was his apology to you. It was his blessing. Take it. He wanted you to take it."

He hands me the binder, and my face falls. I meet his eyes with disbelief. You've got to be kidding me...

"Alright," he finally says, with a small nod. And a weight falls from my shoulders, igniting a smile to my face. My first true smile since Norman died.