The Italian
“What’s this about?” I ask. “You wanted to see me.”
“I did.” He takes a sip and seems in a rush. “I’m just going to get straight to it. I have a proposition for you.”
“Do tell.”
“Although there are some conditions that you will need to adhere to.”
“Conditions?” I frown. What the hell is he on about?
“You will become a practicing Catholic.”
Huh?
“You will learn Italian and speak it as your first language.”
I frown and sit back.
“You will be under guard twenty-four hours a day, and will not go anywhere unaccompanied.”
“I’m sorry… what?” What the heck is he talking about?
“You will move to Lake Como with me, into my main residence.”
I raise my brows… speechless.
“You will become an Italian citizen.”
“Enrico, what are you talking about?” I whisper.
“I can’t live without you, Olivia.”
“What?”
“I have been fucking miserable since you left, and I am not giving you up. Not for my country, not for anyone.”
Has he lost his mind?
“I want you, in every sense of the word.”
“You want me to become… Italian?” I frown.
“Yes.”
“Why would I do that?”
“So that I can love you.”
18
Olivia
I stare at him, lost for words, while his face is filled with hope.
“This is why you wanted to see me?” I ask.
“Yes.” He reaches over and takes my hands in his and lifts one and softly kisses my fingertips.
My stomach clenches. “What makes you think we will work now, when two weeks ago, you were so sure that we had no chance?”