Page 154 of The Italian


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“Do you need to go to the doctor about your cold?” I ask.

“No, I’m on the mend, I’m fine.”

“Okay, I’ll call you later.”

“Good bye, love. I’m glad you sound so happy.”

I smile broadly. “Me too.”

Enrico

I walk through the club with the three security team staff with Maso directing them.

“We need a camera system that instantly links back to base at our security office upstairs. See this, here? This isn’t good enough coverage,” Maso continues as he shows them around.

We’ve gone over the strategies, and they are now working through the placement of the cameras.

Sophia and I trail behind.

“Do you want to grab some lunch while they work this out?” Sophia asks.

“I’m famished.”

I glance at my watch and see it’s 2:00 p.m.

I’m hungry, too.

“Yeah, sure. Maso?” I interrupt. “We’ll be back in an hour or so.”

“Okay.” He keeps walking and talking with the men.

Sophia and I leave the club and make our way across the road into a restaurant.

It’s awkward between us. We’ve hardly spoken since I kicked her out of my bed in the middle of the night.

We take a seat by the window and I order a scotch. She orders a glass of wine. We sit in silence for a while, and I lean back in my seat… waiting for it.

“You met someone?”

Here we go. “I told you I had.”

“Who is she?”

“You don’t know her.”

Her eyes hold mine. She stays silent, and it makes me feel like a prick.

“We used to date a few years back. She has recently come back to me.”

“And you care for her?”

“Yes. I really don’t want to sit here and explain myself to you, Sophia.”

“I want to know why.”

“I met someone and want to be with her. End of story.”

She runs her fingers through her hair. I watch her. She’s a beautiful woman—Italian to the bone with long, dark hair and a gorgeous, curvy figure. With her long, red nails, and her stilettos, she’s always perfectly made up.

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