The Italian

“Where to?” the driver says casually.

My eyes fill with tears. God, where do I go? He will come and get me wherever I am anyway. There’s no point going anywhere. I just didn’t want to fight with him in a crowded bar in front of everyone, that’s all.

I give the driver the address of the apartment in Milan, and I rustle through my handbag to dig out my key and clutch it tightly in my hand. I turn and look out the back window to see Maso following in his car. No doubt Enrico won’t be far behind.

“Power freak,” I whisper to myself.

He could see Franco was drunk and yet he hit him anyway. Not once but, like, six times.

Fucking asshole.

I’m so mad with him that I can’t even stand it. Who does he think he is?

His over the top reaction was just uncalled for.

The cab pulls up out the front of the apartment. I pay the driver and get out. Maso and Marley sit in their car as they watch me go in. I take the lift and arrive at the apartment.

I’m furious and looking for a fight, but I know he is, too, and it’s not a good combination. I’m going to go to bed so that we don’t get into an all-out war.

I take off my makeup, put my pyjamas on, and I get under the covers, just in time to hear the door open. He’s home.

I scrunch my eyes shut tight and pretend to be asleep. The bedroom door bangs open.

“Do not ever fucking leave a club without me again. Do you hear me, Olivia?” he bellows.

“Get out,” I snap. “Sleep in the spare room tonight.”

“Cazzo, non osare dirmi cosa devo fare,” he yells as he takes off his shoes.

“I can’t understand you!” I yell into my pillow.

“Learn fucking Italian, then.” He throws his shoe across the room. It hits the drawers with a bang. “Like you said you would.”

Something inside me snaps, and I sit up in a rush. “Are you fucking serious, right now?”

“Oh, I am fucking serious.” His dark eyes are crazy. He’s just as furious as me, maybe even more so.

“That’s it.” I get out of bed, pick up my pillow and blanket, and I storm past him to make my way to the other room.

“Where are you going?”

“Away from you.” I walk into the spare bedroom and slam the door behind me.

I get under the covers and I hear him coming up the hall again. The door bangs open and he throws shopping bags onto the bed.

I sit up in a rush. “What are you doing?”

“Your unopened presents are not staying in the room with me.” He turns and disappears again.

I roll my eyes at his dramatics and lie back down.

He comes bursting through the door again with another armful of bags and throws them over me. “Give these away. It is obvious that you don’t want them.”

“That’s right. I don’t fucking want them.”

His eyes look like they are about to pop out of his head. “Three-carat diamond fucking earrings are not good enough for you?” He hurls the small black box that he bought to my office as hard as he can at the wall above my head and it dents the plaster.

“I don’t want your fucking presents, Enrico.” I get out of bed and walk out of the room in a rush.