The Italian

My mind keeps going over and over my mother’s words from earlier.

Don’t you dare judge me.

Is that what I’ve done? Am

I angry with her because she didn’t stand up for herself like Olivia did with me? Does this have anything to do with my mother… or anyone but him? Is my anger being directed at the wrong people?

I exhale heavily and click into the spreadsheet that I’m supposed to be working on. My head is anywhere but here. Like my heart, it’s scrambled.

I’m full of emotion, anger, hate, and sadness. But the biggest, is regret. A man I hero worshipped isn’t who I thought he was… and now he’s gone. I feel like I need to get to know him all over again but I can’t. It’s too late.

He’s dead.

It’s 1:00 p.m. when my intercom sounds. “Miss Reynolds is here to see you, Mr. Ferrara.”

My heart somersaults at the sound of her name. This woman brings me so much happiness. “Send her in.”

The door opens, and my love comes into view. Her beautiful face and high ponytail bring an instant smile to my face.

I stand. “Hello, bella.” I take her into my arms and kiss her lips softly as I study her face. Big blue eyes smile up at me, filled with such love.

“I thought I would come and check on my man during my lunch break.”

“Who brought you here?” I ask as I lead her over to my chair. I sit down and pull her onto my lap.

“Maso. Have you eaten?” she asks, concerned.

“I’m not hungry.”

She pushes my hair back from my face. “You need to eat.”

I bite her nipple through her blouse. “I’ll eat you tonight.”

She smiles as she wiggles away from me. Her eyes hold mine. “I’ve been thinking, and I’ve had an idea.”

I chuckle. “Ah, the real reason you’re here.” I kiss her shoulder. “You didn’t come to see if I’d eaten. Do tell.”

“You know how we haven’t had a very good week?”

“I think that’s an understatement.” Since the day after she moved in, I’ve been in Hell. My entire life seemed to fall apart with news of Angelina.

“Well, the thing is, I don’t really like everyone around us when you’re going through stuff. I think we need privacy.”

I frown. “What do you mean?”

“There are too many people at Lake Como, and it’s all the time. They walk in and out of the house. They gather out the front, they gather out the back, and it feels more like an airport than our home.”

“It bothers you?”

She begins to fiddle with my tie. “More so now that you have things you are dealing with. I want us to have some time alone. We’re just starting our lives together. I don’t want us to have to share ourselves with anyone.”

I watch her as I listen.

“Can I get a small apartment in Milan for the week?”

“What?”

“I want to get a place for us. Something… different.”