The Italian

Hi, Nat,

How are you?

What time is your job interview?

I wait for a few moments and a text bounces back in.

My interview is at two.

I really hope I get it.

I think I found an apartment.

I smile and text back.

Rico asked me to move in with him.

A reply comes in.

What the fuck?

Are you going to?

I smile at the ridiculousness of my life right now. Am I on Netflix?

I already did.

Apparently, I now live in Lake Como.

I smirk as I wait for her reply.

Oh, get fucked, you’re like Amal Clooney

or some shit.

I giggle out loud and Lorenzo’s eyes flick up to the rearview mirror to see what I’m laughing at. What I really want to write back is: except for the small fact that she’s a human rights lawyer and married to a movie star, while I’m an Australian nobody, dating a Don.

I won’t, though. I’ll keep that part of Rici Ferrara to myself. I can’t trust anyone with his secrets. It’s my man and me against the world now. When I told him I loved him, I meant it, warts and all… and boy, are there some warts.

His words from last night play on my mind.

It’s only a matter of time before they get me, too.

What did he mean by that? Who’s going to get him? Is that why there’s so much security around him? And me? Why am I guarded too now?

Maybe I’m in danger by association. To be honest, it’s kind of freaking me out.

I snap myself out of my worried thoughts and text Nat back.

Do you want to catch up for drinks and dinner?

Tomorrow after work?

She replies.

Sounds great, see you then.

I write: