137

137
Matteo’s POV
The rain started as a drizzle, soft taps on the hotel window that I almost didn’t notice at first. But by the time I got back to our shared room, it had turned into a full-blown storm, complete with howling winds and the occasional flash of lightning. I shut the door behind me, brushing the water droplets off my jacket.
“Well,” I said, glancing at Gianna, who was seated at the desk typing away on her laptop. “Looks like our dinner plans are out the window.”
She didn’t even look up. “You could try ordering room service.”
“I could,” I said, crossing the room and flopping onto the couch. “But where’s the fun in that? Half the point of this trip is exploring the local cuisine. I thought you’d be more upset.”
“Rain happens,” she replied, her tone brisk and matter-of-fact. “No use sulking over it.”
I stared at her, incredulous. “You can’t seriously tell me you’re content sitting in this room all evening.”
She finally glanced up, arching an eyebrow. “And what would you suggest, Matteo? A rain dance to make it stop?”
“Funny,” I said, smirking. “But no. I’m saying we should make the most of it.”
Her fingers paused on the keyboard, and I could see her weighing her options. “And by ‘make the most of it,’ you mean…?”
I grinned. “How about a game?”
“A game?”
“Yeah, like cards. You ever play poker?”
Her skeptical look told me everything I needed to know. “We’re not gambling, Matteo.”
“Relax,” I said, reaching for my bag. “I didn’t say we had to play for money. It’s just something to pass the time. Unless you’d rather sit there working all night?”
She sighed, clearly debating whether or not to indulge me. After a moment, she closed her laptop with a soft click. “Fine. But no poker. Got anything else?”
I rummaged through my bag, pulling out a small deck of cards. “How about Crazy Eights?”
She frowned. “I don’t think I’ve played that since I was a kid.”
“Perfect,” I said, already shuffling the deck. “Let’s see if you’ve still got it.”
We settled at the small coffee table in the center of the room. Gianna looked slightly out of place sitting cross-legged on the carpet, but the faint amusement on her face made me think she was warming up to the idea.
I dealt the cards, explaining the rules as I went. “It’s simple. Match the suit or the number, eights are wild, and the goal is to get rid of all your cards first.”
“Got it,” she said, arranging her cards in her hand. “But don’t expect me to go easy on you.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I replied, flashing her a grin.
The first few rounds were pretty tame. Gianna played cautiously, clearly trying to remember how the game worked, while I took every opportunity to throw in a wild eight or block her moves.
“Really?” she said after I laid down an eight, changing the suit for the third time in a row.
“Strategy,” I said, leaning back and pretending to examine my nails.
She rolled her eyes. “You’re insufferable.”
“And yet, here you are, stuck with me in a rainstorm,” I teased.
Her lips twitched, and for a second, I thought she might actually laugh.
By the time we reached the fifth round, the dynamic had shifted. Gianna had started to get the hang of the game, and her competitive streak was coming out in full force.
“You know,” she said as she laid down a card that forced me to draw two more, “for someone who talks such a big game, you’re not doing so well.”
“Beginner’s luck,” I shot back, even though I was actually impressed.
“Beginner? Please. I told you I used to play this as a kid.”
“Oh, so you’re a seasoned professional now?”
“Obviously,” she said, smirking as she played another card.
I couldn’t help but laugh. It was a rare thing, seeing Gianna let her guard down like this. Most of the time, she was all business-sharp, efficient, and borderline intimidating. But here, in this moment, she was relaxed. Almost playful.
As the storm raged outside, we kept playing, the conversation flowing as easily as the cards.
“So,” I said during a lull in the game, “what did you do for fun as a kid? Besides crushing people at card games, obviously.”
She tilted her head, considering the question. “I read a lot. Spent time with my cousins. We’d go to the lake every summer.”
“Sounds nice,” I said.
“It was,” she admitted. “What about you? What kind of trouble did you get into?”
I grinned. “What makes you think I got into trouble?”
She gave me a pointed look.
“Okay, fine,” I said, laughing. “I might’ve been a bit of a handful. Emilia used to call me a walking disaster.”
“Somehow, I’m not surprised.”
“She wasn’t wrong,” I said. “But hey, I turned out okay.”
“Debatable,” she teased, and I couldn’t help but smile.
As the evening wore on, the game became less about winning and more about the banter. We traded stories about our families, our childhoods, even our most embarrassing moments.
“Wait, wait,” she said, holding up a hand as she tried to catch her breath from laughing. “You’re telling me you actually set the microwave on fire?”
“It was an accident!” I protested.
“How do you accidentally set a microwave on fire?”
“I was twelve, okay? I didn’t know foil wasn’t supposed to go in there.”
She shook her head, still laughing. “Remind me never to let you near a kitchen.”
“I’ve improved since then,” I said, pretending to look offended. “I’m practically a gourmet chef now.”
“Uh-huh,” she said, clearly not convinced.
Eventually, the storm began to let up, the rain tapering off into a gentle drizzle. We’d stopped keeping track of who was winning the game a while ago, too caught up in the conversation to care.
“I have to admit,” Gianna said as she shuffled the deck for what must’ve been the tenth time, “this wasn’t the worst way to spend an evening.”
“High praise coming from you,” I said, smirking.
“Don’t let it go to your head.”
“Too late.”
She shook her head, but there was a softness in her expression that I hadn’t seen before. It wasn’t quite a smile, but it was close.
For a moment, I just watched her, trying to figure out what it was about her that fascinated me so much. She was guarded, sure, but beneath that tough exterior was someone who cared deeply about what she did, someone who carried more weight on her shoulders than she let on.
“What?” she said, catching me staring.
“Nothing,” I said quickly, looking away. “Just… you’re not as scary as I thought you’d be.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Scary?”
“In a good way,” I added hastily. “Like, intimidating. But, you know, in a cool, impressive kind of way.”
She shook her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet, here you are,” I said, echoing my earlier words.
She rolled her eyes, but there was no real annoyance behind it.