The Italian

I frown in confusion. “If you want to stay in Milan, we have an apartment here. In fact, we have, like, twenty.”

She shakes her head. “No, I want a place without things.”

“Huh?”

“I don’t want fancy. I want to bring us back to basics, just you, me, and the clothes on our back. I want to simplify our lives completely.”

“Olivia.” I roll my eyes. “I am not staying in a dump just to prove a point.”

“It won’t be a dump.” She kisses me softly and runs her hands up the back of my neck to try and sweeten the deal. “Please?”

“Olivia,” I sigh. “This is unnecessary.”

“Baby… please? It’s just one week.”

“No.”

She bounces on my lap. “For me?”

My eyes hold hers. “Why?”

“I want to show you something, but I can’t do it in a fancy house.”

“It will be unsafe.”

“No, I’ll get an apartment, and the guards can stay downstairs. Lorenzo will check it over.” She smiles, as if suddenly relieved. “Thank you.”

“I didn’t say yes.”

She bounces off my lap. “Yes, you did.”

“When did I?”

“Just now.” She kisses me quickly. “I could see it in your eyes. I’ll organize something and we’ll go there tomorrow after work.”

“You know, most women would be happy with your house in Lake Como and my property portfolio.”

She smiles. “I’m not most women.” She kisses me again. “Oh and, Lorenzo is here to see you. I brought him with me. I think you two need to talk.”

My eyes hold hers.

“You need to make this right, Enrico.”

I swing on my chair, and I exhale. “I don’t like it when you call me that.”

“Why not?”

“Because you only call me that when you’re angry and scolding me.”

“I love you, Rici,” she whispers as she runs her fingers through my stubble.

I smirk at her. I would literally walk through fire to make her happy.

“That’s better.”

She kisses me one last time. “I’ll send Lorenzo in.”

“How are you getting back to the office?”