The Italian

What good is all the money in the world if I don’t have him?

His love doesn’t have a price tag.

* * *

I walk out of work just after 5:00 p.m., and my heart drops. Enrico isn’t here to pick me up. Lorenzo is. I know he’s busy running the world and all that, but his little death talk this morning has me feeling needy.

“Hello.” I smile as I get into the car.

“Hello, Miss Olivia.”

“Where are Maso and Marley?” I ask as we pull out into the traffic.

“In the cars behind us.”

I turn and look out the back window to see two cars trailing us today, not one.

“Has something happened, Lorenzo?” I ask.

His eyes flicker up to mine in the rearview mirror. “Why do you ask?”

“Enrico gave me a plan this morning in case he dies.”

“It’s just a precaution,” he says.

“Is it, though? Do you think Enrico in danger?” I pause for a moment. “Like, more danger than usual?”

His eyes meet mine in the mirror again. “You’ll have to speak to him about that, Olivia. I’m not at liberty to discuss these things with you.”

I stare out the window.

Maybe he really was just being cautious. Don’t all couples have wills?

Stop freaking yourself out.

Go get gorgeous for your man. Enjoy the night out with your friends.

I go through the mental catalogue of dresses on the racks at home. Hmm… what will I wear?

* * *

I lift the wineglass to my lips and take a long sip.

I’m sexed up to the nines, wearing a cream evening dress that’s fitted to my every curve. It has delicate spaghetti straps on the shoulders, and I’ve matched it with gold, sky-high stilettos. I’ve even worn super sexy creamy, lacy lingerie that he bought me. The set includes a matching bra and G-string with suspender belt. I smile as I imagine him buying it.

My blonde hair is out and set in big curls. My makeup is smoky, and my lips are Enrico’s favorite shade of red.

It’s 6:30 p.m. and he isn’t home yet. Where is he?

I go to the window and peer down at the street below, hoping to see his procession of cars coming around the corner.

I’m trying not to worry, I really am, but it isn’t working. I’m driving myself crazy here.

To top it off, I’m feeling as hormonal as fuck. My period is due, and I wish the bitch would just arrive so I wouldn’t feel so fucking edgy. I pour myself another glass of wine and I hear the door click.

He’s home. My heart skips a beat.

He turns the corner into the kitchen where I’m waiting, and his eyes find me across the room.