The Italian

“You know, I had the best day.”

“Why?”

“Well, I had a talk with your mother this morning.”

“About what?”

“How I’m not Italian and how I’m not her choice for you.”

“She said that?” he barks.

“Not in a mean way,” I add. “In a being honest way.” I pick up his hand and kiss it to try and calm him “And it’s not like I wasn’t expecting it, you know? I mean, at least she was honest, and she wasn’t being nasty.” I frown as I think back to what she said. “She talked to me at least. Last time I met her she didn’t address me once.”

He clenches his jaw and glares through the windscreen.

“What’s that look for?” I ask.

“She had better want to fucking talk to you,” he snaps.

I roll my eyes. “I’m not saying we’re besties or anything.” I shrug. “But it’s a starting point.”

His eyes rise to the rearview mirror.

“I start cooking lessons with your grandmother on Sunday.”

“Olivia, my grandmother will eat you alive. This woman makes grown men cry. Stay away from my grandmother.”

“That’s okay. I can hack it.”

He frowns and mouths the words hack it as he tries to process its meaning. “What is hack it?”

“It means I can take it. I’m willing to put up with it until she comes around to liking me.”

He rolls his eyes.

I reach over and run my fingers through his hair, pushing it behind his ear. “I’ll do anything for you.”

“We are moving back to Lake Como tonight. Your things are already there.”

“What? Why?” I frown.

“Because I said so.”

“Well, I don’t want to.”

“You will do as you are told. And when I tell you to stay home from work, you will fucking stay home from work.”

I screw up my face. “What the hell? What’s wrong with you today?”

He clenches his jaw as he glares out at the road.

“Don’t give me your attitude, Enrico. I’m not putting up with your bossy bullshit.”

“I have a lot on my plate at the moment and I don’t want to be dealing with your disobedience.”

“Disobedience?” I snap. “I’m not a dog, you know?”

He rolls his eyes as we take the turn off to Lake Como.