The Italian
“Anywhere with you.”
* * *
The wind in my face makes me smile. Rico’s hand is protectively on my thigh as he drives. I kiss his shoulder, and I’m filled with happiness.
I’ve had the best day ever.
We’ve been driving around on his motorcycle. We went out for lunch and had a lazy afternoon sightseeing around Rome.
He is the tour guide of all tour guides. We’ve laughed and talked, and I think he may just be the most beautiful man I’ve ever met.
He’s gorgeous, that goes without saying, but there’s more to him than meets the eye. Sure, he’s an Italian stallion, and yes, he has a fuckable package, but I actually like talking to him. He’s interesting, intelligent, funny, and sexy as all hell. I imagine every woman he meets falls madly in love with him.
I can see why.
Not that I’ll ever tell him that. He has enough confidence for all of Rome. I don’t need to add to his ego.
But even I have to admit, every minute with this man is a gift.
A twinge of regret kicks in. Why, oh why does he have to live in fucking Italy?
I just have to make the most of it.
The memory of Rici Ferrara will be my ultimate souvenir.
He’s someone I’ll always remember.
* * *
The candlelight flickers across our faces, and I smile at the man sitting opposite me. Ironically, we are in an Italian restaurant having dinner. We spent the early evening in bed. Determined to make every second of our weekend count, he dragged me out to dinner. I was happy being naked in bed. Toast would have been fine for dinner if it were up to me.
“Tell me again what you do for work? I forget, I was blinded by your beauty the other night,” he says. “I know you said design, but for what?”
I smile. “I design pyjamas,” I remind him.
“You have your own shop?”
“No. I design for Kmart.”
“Kmart?”
“It’s an Australian department store.”
“Oh.” He raises his brows. “How did you train for this job?”
“I went to design school. I never imagined that this is the job I would end up with.”
“Why not?”
“I always wanted to design for a fashion label like Gucci, Hermes, or Chanel.”
He swirls his wine around in his glass. “Why don’t you?”
“I don’t know.” I exhale heavily. “I have tried but I know jobs are ridiculously hard to get with that kind of label. I mean, it’s not that I don’t love my job, because I do. It’s just not what I imagined. You know?”
He nods. “I never thought I would end up being a policeman.”
“Really?” I ask, surprised. “Isn’t that the kind of job kids want to do all their lives?”