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Rico laughs out loud, as if that’s the funniest thing he has ever heard. Well, it kind of is. I can be a real asshole.
“Hai appena detto che era uno stronzo,” Rico says to them.
Their faces fall as they realize what Manual has just said to me.
“Oh, no, no, no. Sorry, so sorry.” Manuel slaps himself across the face, and his wife and I laugh.
“Andremo subito a letto. Ci vediamo domani,” Rico says.
“Si, si, buonanotte, piacere di conoscerti, Miss Olivia.” Antonia smiles before they disappear.
“They said goodnight,” Rico tells me.
“Buonanotte,” I say, feeling proud of the two words I do know.
Rico’s eyes glow with affection, and he leans in to kiss me softly.
“Are you hungry, my love? Do you want a drink or anything?”
“No.” I look at our opulent surroundings. I feel everything but hungry.
Out of place? Hell yeah. I feel that and then some. But hungry? No.
“I’m fine, thanks.”
“Let’s go upstairs.”
He takes my suitcase and I follow him up the grand staircase, where we veer off to the right. The balustrade is a chunky dark timber, and the carpet is a deep crimson tapestry; the kind you see in exotic movies. We walk down a long, wide corridor, and then through a double set of timber doors.
Holy shit.
It’s a huge bedroom, with an already lit fireplace in it. It has two big armchairs and a couch in front of it. At the back is a large four-poster, king size bed.
“This is your wardrobe in here,” Rico says as he pulls my suitcase in through the door. I follow him, and it leads to another room. The walls are all mirrored with black floor-to-ceiling wardrobes. There is also a pink, velvet ottoman couch. A beautiful chandelier hangs low in the middle over a large mirrored chest of drawers.
My mouth does drop open this time.
“This is my wardrobe?”
“Yes.” He puts the suitcase down.
“I only have one suitcase, Rico.”
“That will be changing.” He kisses me and pulls me out of the wardrobe and into the bedroom. “I haven’t spent much time at this house yet. Decorate it as you wish. Get an interior decorator or whatever you want, bella.”
I stare at him. I have no words. None.
Slow down.
He leads me through another set of doors just off the bedroom—a mirrored version of my wardrobe—only this one is already filled with his things.
“Your things are already here?” I ask him.
“I come here on weekends.”
“You don’t live here full-time?”
“I haven’t yet.” He puts his hands into the pockets of his expensive suit pants. “I didn’t want to move in permanently until I started a family.”
