This Sweet Surrender, Ep. 2
Rating: đ„ | What happens when an Italian firecracker who's spent her life running from love meets a dominant tech CEO who's been waiting three years for her to say yes?
This Sweet Surrender
Copyright © 2025 Linn Rhinehart - All rights reserved
NSFW: Content warnings
Quick Recap: Gianna got in a cab after her first date with Joe, and his first text arrived while she could still see him through the windshield. She agreed to a two-week trial relationship, one week in her placeâone week in his, that would begin as soon as he returned from a business trip in three weeks time. Gianna can't wait to see him again, but at the same time she's terrified, knowing full well she's kept a few big secrets that may change everything between them...
Episode Two
Morning arrived, and Gianna woke to limbs that felt like they were filled with wet cement and muscles screaming in protest. The all too familiar fog had settled over her brain, making even the simplest thoughts feel like wading through treacle.
Not unexpectedly, she was in for a bad one. She reached for her phone, her lifeline on mornings like this, and saw three new messages.
Joe:
Good morning, beautiful. I hope you slept well.
I kept dreaming about you. About your smile when I kissed your cheek. I wanted to do more.
Starting my meetings now. Text me when youâre up.
A small smile crept across her face despite the pain. This was her lifeline. This daily connection had kept her going through the darkest days of her illness. The small reminders that someone in this world was thinking of her, waiting for her words. Someone who didnât see the struggling body, the mobility aids, or the mountain of pills.
To Joe, she was just Gianna, the woman on the other end of the texts and DMs. The thought of losing this thing they had made her stomach clench with real fear. What if meeting in person changed everything? What if two weeks together showed him too much of her reality and he decided it was to much. Would she lose this too?
Sheâd built her days around their conversations. Morning check-ins. Mid-day jokes. Evening recaps of their days. Late-night confessions when neither could sleep. For three years, his texts had been as much a part of her routine as her medications and the yoga. That's why she'd said no to meeting him for so long. Why sheâd invented excuses, cancelled plans, and kept him at armâs length even as their emotional connection deepened. She'd rather have Joe in her phone than not have him at all.
With shaking hands she typed:
Good morning. I didnât sleep great, but your messages make it better. How are your meetings?
She hit send and began the slow, painful process of getting out of bed. On days like this, every movement required conscious effort, each task broken down into smaller, manageable steps. Sit up. Wait for dizziness to pass. Swing legs to edge of bed. Rest. Stand. Reach for walking stick. Breathe through pain. Take first step. On days when the mood was high, she liked to pretend she was a mime in Covent Garden. This was not such a day.
By the time she reached the bathroom, her phone had buzzed twice more. She ignored it until sheâd swallowed her morning pills and splashed a little cold water on her face. Small victories.
Joe:
Meetings are boring. Would rather be planning our time together. What do you want to do for our first day?
I have ideas, but I want to hear yours first.
She leaned against the sink, staring at her reflection. What did she want to do on their first day together? What could she do? On days like this, she could barely manage existing. That was the reality Joe didnât know yet. Never mind the pain and fatigue, some days all she could do was to hang in there. Her life operated on a sliding scale of ability that could change from one hour to the next. Her plans were always tentative, always subject to the whims of her traitorous body.
Not sure yet. Still trying to process yesterday.
Gianna shuffled to the kitchen, leaning heavily on her faithful purple stick. Coffee. She needed coffee to think. As the machine gurgled to life, she leaned over the cool marble worktop. Part of her morning routine that helped grounding her.
What if he could see her now? Face still unwashed, hair tangled, shuffling about in the same pyjamas sheâd fallen asleep in. This blob who couldn't even stand on her own two feet without support was a far cry from the polished, vibrant woman heâd met yesterday. She sighed heavily and rolled her overheated forehead over the worktop.
Her phone buzzed again.
Joe:
Process how? Having second thoughts?
The question pierced her heart. Was she having second thoughts? No. And yes. She wanted this. She wanted him with a frightening intensity, but no matter how many times she had tried she could never see a scenario where her fantasy met reality and things just worked themselves out. Before she could reply, another message appeared:
Joe:
Because Iâm not. Iâve never been more certain of anything.
Her eyes filled with unshed tears then. Who was this man who could read her so well through a screen? Who always seemed to know exactly what she needed to hear? She hated herself for being so weak. For dreaming beautiful dreams of a life she could never have.
No second thoughts. I'm just scared.
She waited again, watching the three dots appear and disappear as he typed his response. The coffee machine beeped, but she ignored it.
Joe:
Tell me what scares you, baby girl.
Right, there it was. Her opening. Her chance to grab the bull by the horn and keep her promise to Linn. She took a deep breath and held it in while she typed:
Iâm scared you wonât like what you see when you get to know the real me. Iâm scared Iâm not who you think I am, and I'm scared of not being enough.
There. She hit send before she could change her mind, then set the phone down and finally poured her coffee. Her heart hammered in her chest, and she felt light-headed. Gosh, that was too much honesty, too fast.
The phone buzzed a number of times as she added milk to her mug and carried it to the small table by the window. Her usual morning spot, where the sunlight helped combat the brain fog. Even this small ritual required concentration on bad days. Balancing the coffee and managing the walking stick whilst moving her aching body from the kitchen to her morning spot.
Once she had found the least painful position, she decided to be brave and look at her phone again.
Joe:
We've been talking every day for three years now. I know your heart, Gianna. The rest is just logistics and details.
But I understand fear. Let me ask you something. Whatâs the worst that could happen?
She shook her head at the screen. If only it were that simple. Her life wasnât just logistics and her condition no simple âdetailâ. This was the framework that dictated every aspect of her life every minute of the day. Her hands trembled as she typed the truth sheâd never allowed herself to voice before:
The worst? You see how much work I am and leave. And I don't just lose the future Iâve foolishly allowed myself to hope for, but also the one thing thatâs kept me going these past three years. You. Our conversations.
It didn't take long before her screen lit up again:
Joe:
Listen, whatever it is youâre not telling me, whatever youâre afraid of, it wonât change how I feel. This isn't casual for me.
Iâve been waiting for you to be ready, but my decision was made long ago.
But I need you to trust me. Can you do that? Can you trust that I wonât walk away, no matter what? That even if we decide we're not a good match, we'd still have this friendship between us?
Trust. It was such a simple word for such a monumental concept. Gianna stared out the window at the street below. The normies were rushing to work, living their normal lives with their normal bodies that didnât betray them on the daily. Trust had never come easily to her. Her life had been an endless stretch of illness, doctors who dismissed her symptoms, family who thought she was exaggerating, friends who slowly drifted away when she couldnât keep up, and colleagues who didnât think she deserved the jobs she had.
Only her spoonie sisters and Joe had been constant. Wonderful, considerate, supportive Joe had been reliable and present even when she'd given him every reason not to be. But at the end of the day, Joe was still a normie.
I want to. I'm trying.
What else could she say?
Joe:
Thatâs all I ask. Now, tell me about your day. What are you doing? Where are you right now?
She smiled, grateful for the change of subject. This was familiar territory. Their daily check-ins, the small details they shared that made them feel connected despite the distance.
Having my morning coffee by the window. Watching the world go by. You?
Joe:
In a conference room with six men in identical suits discussing profit margins. Thinking about you instead of listening. Counting down the days until I see you again.
Warmth spread through her chest at his words. Maybe Linn was right. Maybe he would surprise her. Maybe. Just maybe⊠She took a sip of coffee and typed:
Three Sundays. I'm counting too.
For now, that would have to be enough. The full truth could wait a little longer while she gathered her courage. She had three weeks to prepare herself. Three weeks to find the words and come to terms with the possibility that everything might change. For better or worse.
By mid-morning, Gianna had managed to have a shower seated on her shower chair, a concession to safety sheâd resisted for years after her diagnosis, and change into a fresh set of loungewear. Not exactly the stylish outfit sheâd have preferred, but today was about comfort, not fashion. Even these simple tasks had depleted her meagre energy reserves, leaving her foggy and trembling.
On the small dining table, sheâd laid out her tools for the day: laptop, phone, planner, water bottle, hot water bottle, and a small container with her mid-day medications. Working from home was her salvation on days like this. Her colleagues at the college assumed she was âworking on her spreadsheets again,â which was partially true. What they didnât know was that she was pacing and conserving what little energy she had, saving her good days for when she needed to be physically present.
Her phone chimed with another message.
Anna:
OMG girl! We're still reeling from last night! Joeâs GORGEOUS and so into you! When do we get details???
Gianna smiled tiredly. It was a relief to have her circle of sisters who knew exactly what her life was like, and Anna most of all. She never had to explain herself with them or worry that they might think she meant something she didn't when she was too fatigued to function.
Soon. Recovering today. Talk tomorrow?
She set the phone down and opened her laptop, wincing at the bright screen. The learning management system, âLe Mess,â as sheâd dubbed it, greeted her with its familiar interface. She had announcements to post, emails to answer, grades to report. Normal work that felt mountainous today.
Her cursor hovered over the chat icon. Three years ago, that small bubble had changed her life. A simple tech support request had somehow turned into the most meaningful relationship of her life.
âHelp! The system keeps crashing when I try to upload course materials,â sheâd written, frustrated after hours of fighting with the software.
âJoe here. Let me see what I can do to help,â came the response. Simple, professional.
But something had clicked between them. His explanations were clear without being condescending. He seemed genuinely interested in understanding her needs. And when sheâd made a sarcastic joke about the systemâs name, heâd responded in kind.
That first conversation had stretched from minutes into hours. By the end of the day, they were discussing favourite films and books, the chat window drifting far from its technical support purpose.
âI should probably let you go so you can help other people,â sheâd finally written.
âIâve helped six other people while chatting with you,â heâd replied. âBut youâre by far the most interesting problem Iâve solved today.â
âSo, Iâm the problem now?â Sheâd smiled at that, the first real smile in what felt like months. âPity I donât feel solved then.â
The next day, sheâd found herself inventing another technical issue just to see if he would be there. And he was. And the day after that. And the day after that, until Joe became as much a part of her daily routine as her medication and self-care.
A new text pulled her from the memory:
Joe:
Meeting finally over. Tell me youâre doing something more interesting than listening to men argue about spreadsheets.
She looked down at herself. Her hair was still wet, she was wearing faded yoga pants and an oversized sweatshirt, and she could barely hold herself upright at the table. The contrast between their worlds struck her anew.
Just working on some course materials. Nothing exciting.
She hesitated, then added:
Having a quiet day. Bit tired after yesterday.
It wasnât a lie, but it wasnât the full truth either. She wasnât just a bit tired. she was barely functioning. And it wasnât just a quiet day, this was all she could manage. And to be fair, to say that she was managing was a gross overstatement.
Joe:
You should rest. Donât push yourself.
She stared at his response. Was it just a casual concern, or did he somehow know? Over the years, there had been moments when his timing seemed too perfect. Messages of encouragement on her worst days. Funny videos when she was stuck in bed. Simple âIâm thinking of youâ texts when sheâd had to cancel plans with friends because her body wouldnât cooperate.
Her standard response to any health inquiry was always:
I'm fine.
The three dots appeared, disappeared, and appeared again.
Joe:
Can I ask you something personal?
Her heart skipped a beat.
Of course.
Joe:
Why did it take you so long to say yes to meeting me?
The direct question caught her off guard. She set the phone down, hands suddenly shaking more than before. This was it. The conversation sheâd been dreading and postponing had finally caught up with her.
[Last updated: 17 May, 2025]
Hi, Linn here. This story touches on something deep. If youâve ever wrestled invisible illnesses and hidden desires, youâre not alone.
Wanna talk about it? Message me or drop an email to linn@aswewrite.com
Gianna and Joeâs story continues next week. Subscribe or upgrade to get the next chapter straight to your inbox. And if you're already swooning, consider telling your favourite bookish spoonie about it.
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