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I must turn beet-red. He chuckles as I squirm, my stomach fluttering. His teasing is driving me wild and he knows it.
The driver shakes his head and grumbles something in Italian. I don't speak the language, but it doesn't take a genius to figure out he's giving us a disapproving look.
We drive through the streets that have been roughed up by age. Eventually we stop beside a skinny brown building with a black chalkboard on the sidewalk covered in Italian words. There are drawings of eggs and fruit and, importantly, crepes on it.
A bell tinkles above the door when we step inside. The awning is all yellow and red. A pretty girl is sitting behind a counter on the left side of the store, reading a magazine. Her eyes go wide when she sees us and she sets the magazine down and slides out of her chair.
"Ciao," Marco tells her.
She smiles and nods, giving me a curious look as she hops behind the counter. "What can I get you?" I expected her to speak Italian. It's a relief she can understand me because I'm still struggling to pick up the language. If this was a proper planned trip, I would have crammed Italian lessons. No one could prepare to be dropped here like I was, though.
My stomach growling, I look at the counter. There's a glass case full of sweet goodies, but I can't resist the savory. "I want a crepe, with eggs and cheese," I tell her.
"Nutella for me," Marco adds. "And coffee."
The girl nods and writes our order down on a slip of paper. We take a seat at one of the tiny tables in the store. I sink into the chair, peering around. There aren't any other customers.
The chair shimmies as Marco sits down beside me. "When did you learn Italian?"
"I've had a tutor since I was a kid." He shrugs. "Our mother wanted to prepare us for the world of international business. She was always afraid she wouldn't be around to coach us on the job herself."
I chew my lip uneasily. "Oh, did she..."
"No, no," he says quickly. "My mother is very much alive." He doesn't sound as happy as I expect him to.
"I want to know more about you. Your mother. And your brothers."
Marco turns away from me. He stares out the window at the street, but his eyes don’t seem to land on any detail in particular. He has this dark, distant look in his eyes, like he’s thinking of some painful memory. My heart crunches with a stab of pain and I want to reach out and touch his hand so badly.. But the faraway glaze in his eyes makes me uneasy. We don’t know each other yet, but I thought we were starting to share ourselves. Is there something he’s not telling me?
“Marco,” I say gently. He doesn’t stop staring out the window, but his gaze focusses and he sighs.
"My parents divorced when I was seven," he says. "While Mom was killing herself running Valenfore Cruise Lines, our family business my father, instead of being grateful to her for all her sweat and struggle, all the late nights handling crises around the world, took the opportunity to spend her money on hookers and booze."
I flinch at how curtly he says that. Stiffening, he glances at me, seeming to consider his tone.
"That came out wrong. What he did was a betrayal. It's him I'm furious at. Not the women he paid. It was a massive blow to my family. Mom was devastated, but she wasn't the type to show it. She distracted herself with her work, burying herself under it.. I think in my teenage years I saw our tutors more than I saw her."
"That's so sad," I say, watching him.
"What's sad is how she didn't realize her sons needed their mother around more than they needed gobs of money." He looks down, fidgeting with the varnished fork on the small table. "In her own way she was just trying to protect us. She always said money could solve more problems than God."
"That's a grim way of looking at it."
He blinks at me. "That's odd coming from you."
I bristle anxiously. "How so?"
"Your lack of money is what got you trapped here."
Oh, now I'm full on prickled up. Pulling air through my nose, I let my voice be as sharp as I can. "Why would you throw that in my face? I'm perfectly aware of my situation."
"Filia––"
I'm pissed. I wanted to get to know Marco better after we'd slept together. Now I'm furious I didn't do this in the reverse order; if he's going to mock my financial situation, I don't want anything to do with him.
"Here you are!" The waitress strolls up, setting down two white plates stacked with a thick crepe on each. The mixed smell of sugar from his and savory cheese in mine makes my belly roll like a stormy sea. I'm so hungry I feel ill. Too angry to think about eating anythinghebought for me.
I push back from the table, my chair toppling over behind me and stomp away.
