The Italian

“I had to force myself every day not to come home to you.” I put my head onto his chest and smile against him. He pulls me closer and kisses my temple. “Are you ready to go home, my love?”

My love.

“I am so ready.”

* * *

The plane comes to a slow stop on the tarmac at Milan airport, and Rico inhales deeply, as if steeling himself for what’s to come.

Once given the go ahead by the captain, he stands, and I watch him walk around the cabin, talking to Lorenzo, who happens to be multitasking on the phone. Lorenzo seems to be his right-hand man, and most of the details are managed by him. He’s a good-looking man in his mid-fifties, at a guess. He’s handsome and obviously proud. He and the other men speak only Italian to Rico and each other. I’m unsure if they can even understand me. If they can’t, they’ve given me no indication other than a polite nod when I look their way.

I sit and stare out of the window. It’s 11:00 p.m. on Sunday night.

What an amazing weekend.

Work tomorrow, though. Ugh. I could live on that yacht for all of eternity and never miss a thing.

Rico comes back to me. “Are you ready, Olivia?”

My heart drops. I’m Olivia again now. He’s back to being guarded. I much prefer my private man to the one he shows the world.

He takes my hand and helps me out of my seat. I see a black SUV drive onto the tarmac.

Lorenzo bends to look out of the window.

“L’auto è qui.” Translation: the car is here.

“Ok. Andiamo.” Translation: okay let’s go.

Rico presses his hand on the small of my back and leads me from the plane. We are ushered into the back of the car.

“Il mio appartamento.” Translation: my apartment.

“Where are we going?” I whisper.

Rico takes my hand and squeezes it on his lap. “My place.”

* * *

“Where is this place?” I mutter as I walk down the street with my heavy garment bag.

Damn this, I now know why nobody else jumped at the opportunity.

It’s Monday, and today, at work, some dresses needed to be put in at the dry cleaners on the other side of town. I offered to do it, thinking it would get me out of the office for a while. I got dropped off by the cab three blocks too early, and now I have to walk a mile.

The sequins on these stupid dresses weigh a ton, and my arm is killing me. I sling it over my shoulder and continue to look at the map on my phone. It says it’s five hundred meters away now.

“For fuck’s sake.” I look back up at the road in front of me and stop still.

Enrico just walked out of a restaurant with a woman. He’s wearing a dark navy suit, and he looks every bit the Playboy millionaire.

The woman is beautiful with long, thick dark hair. She’s wearing a fitted grey dress with a plunging neckline and high heels. She has big maroon lips, and her makeup looks perfect. Her Prada bag is tucked securely over her arm.

He has his hand at the small of her back and he is talking to her as he leads her out to a car. He says something. She laughs and kisses his cheek before he opens the door of the black Mercedes and she gets in.

He walks around to the driver’s side and gets in. They pull out and drive away, still deep in conversation.

I watch the car as it disappears down the street.