The Italian

“So, what now?”

“He’s away for work for the week. He wants to go away for the weekend.”

“Oh.” He stands. “I’m fitting you out with a new wardrobe. You must look incredible for Mr. Ferrara. You are now officially my hobby.”

I smirk and turn back to my computer. “Actually, his favorite outfit for me is my birthday suit. He prefers me naked.”

Giorgio presses the back of his hand to his forehead and pretends to faint. “Dear God, darling I can’t even imagine what he would be like in bed. His intensity is on another level. You can feel it from across a room.”

I giggle. “Giorgio, you have no idea.”

* * *

It’s late on Thursday night. I scroll through my phone, flicking from Facebook to Instagram and back again. Earlier tonight, I went to the gym with Natalie and noticed two men in a car across the road.

I think that maybe they were his men.

Rico hasn’t called me, and to be honest, I thought he would. I mean, if he cares enough to have me watched over like I think he did, I would have at least thought he would check in once in a while.

Stop it. Stop being so needy.

I hate that he brings out this side of my personality. For two years, I’ve blissfully ha

ted him from afar. Now, after one weekend with him, I’m whisked back to the beginning, waiting for him to call.

I scroll through the numbers on my phone and smile when I come to his name.

ENRICO FERRARA

I go back to Instagram, and I see the green light come up. What? Oh shit, I’m calling him. I quickly cancel the call. My phone immediately begins to ring, and his name lights up the screen.

I cringe with regret. “Hello,” I say.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Sorry I didn’t mean to call you.”

“You’re all right?”

“Yes.” I frown. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Ah.” I hear his voice relax. “I thought something was wrong.”

Something is wrong. You’re not here. “No.” He hangs on the line, silent. “Are you all right?” I ask.

“Yes,” he sighs. “I would prefer to be there with you, but it is what it is.”

“You can come home if you want?”

He chuckles. “I’ll be there tomorrow, my love.”

My love.

“Yes,” I breathe.

“And I’ll whisk you away.”

I smile. “I can’t wait.”