Chapter 9 - GIOVANNI ASKED ME TO DANCE AGAIN
Two years passed.
Fierro Health survived its governance scandal.
Marco resigned permanently and faced regulatory and legal consequences related to the acquisition process and report manipulation.
Dr. Voss lost his role and professional standing.
Independent clinical reporting systems were rebuilt so commercial executives could not quietly delete safety escalations.
Giovanni eventually returned.
Not as executive chairman.
As a non-executive board member after outside leadership stabilized the organization.
Why not take control back?
He told me:
“Because the company shouldn’t require a Fierro to function.”
I liked that.
I remained at St. Catherine’s.
Then became pediatric quality liaison.
Not because Giovanni promoted me.
Important.
I applied.
Panel interview.
Independent hiring committee.
When I told him, he said:
“You didn’t list me as reference.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Rude.”
“Conflict of interest.”
He looked proud.
Annoying.
Lily adored him.
Mostly because he continued refusing to buy her a horse.
This became their ritual.
“Birthday horse?”
“No.”
“Christmas?”
“No.”
“Half birthday?”
“Not real.”
“Cruel.”
She was seven.
Then eight.
Giovanni and I dated slowly.
No fake-marriage contract.
No mansion move-in.
I stayed in my apartment until I decided I wanted something larger.
I paid my own rent.
He hated my car.
I loved my car.
It died anyway.
He offered to buy another.
I said no.
He sent me three Consumer Reports links instead.
Growth.
Then Sophia invited us to her second anniversary party.
Same ballroom.
Not the same emotional universe.
Tyler was not invited.
Vanessa wasn’t either.
No drama.
Sophia wanted peace.
I wore a dress I could afford without skipping anything.
Giovanni wore black.
Scar still there.
The orchestra began a slow song.
He approached my chair.
Extended his hand.
I stared.
“No.”
He smiled.
“I haven’t asked yet.”
“You’re going to.”
“Yes.”
“Do not say wife.”
“Noted.”
Then:
“Jessica Hale.”
“Yes?”
“Dance with me.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
I took his hand.
No pretend.
No countdown.
We stepped onto the dance floor.
Nobody stopped talking.
That surprised me.
Then I smiled.
Good.
I no longer needed a ballroom to notice me for the moment to matter.
Halfway through the song, Giovanni said:
“I have a question.”
“No.”
“You don’t know the question.”
“Experience.”
He laughed.
Then became serious.
“I love you.”
My heart tightened.
“I love you too.”
“I would like to marry you someday.”
Not:
Will you marry me?
Interesting.
“Someday?”
“Yes.”
“No ring?”
“No.”
“No surprise photographers?”
“No.”
“No family merger?”
“God, no.”
I smiled.
“What are you asking?”
“Whether marriage is something you might want again.”
I thought about Tyler.
Pregnancy.
Abandonment.
Five years of rebuilding.
Then Giovanni.
Not rescuer.
Not prince.
A man who once lied to a ballroom for ten minutes and had spent two years becoming irritatingly transparent afterward.
“Yes.”
His expression changed.
“But not tonight.”
“Understood.”
“And Lily gets time.”
“Obviously.”
“And I keep working.”
“I’d be afraid to suggest otherwise.”
“And no horse.”
He hesitated.
“Let’s not make permanent promises under emotional conditions.”
I laughed so loudly Sophia turned.
May you like
That was enough.
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