The Italian
He chuckles. “I guess.”
“Your bruschetta,” the waiter says as he puts our entrees onto the table in front of us.
“Grazie.”
Rico dishes out my serve and then his. He likes to be in control. Not that I mind at all. It’s nice having him fuss over me.
“Why did you become a policeman then?” I ask. “It’s not something that you fall into by accident.”
“My father wanted me to do it.”
“Really?”
“Yes, he wanted me to get some life experience. He got me an interview through one of his friends. I didn’t have my heart set on anything else, so I humored him and thought that I could always leave l
ater if I didn’t like it.”
“What did you want to do?”
“I only ever wanted to be happy. A job won’t do that for me.”
What a wonderful thing to aspire for. I lean onto my hand and smile goofily across the table at him.
“What?” He smirks.
“You know, for a fuck boy, you really are quite endearing.”
He laughs in surprise. “A fuck boy?” He puts his hand on his stomach and really laughs, and I find myself laughing too. Other people in the restaurant look over at our table.
“What?” I ask.
“I have never been called that before. Even when I was a boy, I was never called that.” His eyes dance with delight. “You really are quite the surprise package, Olivia.”
I lift his hand to my lips and kiss his fingertips, his eyes have a tender glow to them as he watches me.
“Wait until you see me clean your bathroom.” I smile.
He chuckles again. “I look forward to it.”
* * *
“I have a surprise for you tonight,” Rico says as he lies down beside me on his bed.
I sit up onto my elbow.
“What?”
It’s Sunday morning, and he has been on the phone organizing something. He’s been speaking Italian, though, so I have no idea what is going on.
He grins. “Let’s just say that I think you’ll be pleased with me.”
We stare at each other as something runs between us. It’s been there since last night when we made love—a tenderness. A feeling of closeness. It’s unexpected and disarming.
Does he feel it, too?
I’m being completely myself and he likes me as I am. I feel cherished. I feel cared for and desired, and damn it, why the fuck does he live in Italy?
“What’s the surprise?” I ask to change the direction of my thoughts.