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I giggle. “I know. Me, too.”
“I have to go to work. I’ll call you tonight.”
“Okay, I love you.”
“Love you, too.”
She hangs up, and I turn to the sexy man on the couch. He taps his knee for me to go to him. When I do, he wraps me in his arms. “Was she okay?”
“A little worried about how quickly it’s all happened. She’ll come around as soon as she meets you.” I run my fingers through his curls. “Are you going to call your mother?”
“I’m going to see her today. I’ll tell her then.”
“What do you think she’s going to say?”
“She’ll be fine. It’s not up to her, anyway.” He flips me over and lays me on the couch to hover over me. “It’s up to us.”
* * *
On Monday morning, I dance into the café like a rock star, while holding my hand in the air. I wiggle my fingers to make my ring sparkle.
Jennifer and Natalie bounce in their seats with excitement. “Oh my God!” Nat cries. “I can’t fucking believe it.”
“I know,” I cry.
“Holy shit,” Jennifer whispers as she holds my hand in hers. “That ring is something else.”
With a laugh, I glance outside to see Lorenzo and Maso looking on through the window. They’re smiling almost as much as I am. Rici and I have been on Cloud Nine all weekend. We can hardly wipe the smiles off our faces. I never knew I could be this happy.
“Your coffees, lovely ladies.” The waiter arrives at the table with three cappuccinos.
“Thank you, Bosco,” Nat and I say in unison. We’ve gotten to know our waiter well.
Bosco gives us a huge smile of appreciation. This isn’t the nicest looking café in Milan, but the staff are so lovely, and it’s the only place that makes coffee taste like it does back home. It’s mostly filled with Australians all the time.
The other day, I made Rico come here with me before work. When Bosco saw him, he nearly swallowed his tongue at the sight of him.
“Ah.” He notices the girls staring at my engagement ring. “Are we celebrating?”
“We are.” I smile proudly and hold my hand up. “I’m engaged to be married.”
“Enrico Ferrara?” he whispers with wide eyes.
“Uh-huh.”
His mouth falls open and he claps his hands together. “Holy mother of God, we must celebrate.”
He rushes behind the counter, digs out a bottle of champagne, and pops the cork. It spurts out in spectacular fashion as we all laugh out loud. The other customers are giggling—his excitement is contagious.
I glance outside again and see Lorenzo and Maso laughing, too.
This is a happy day.
Bosco pours us all a bottle of bubbly and hands us the glasses. He pours one for the other three people in the café, also, and he takes two glasses outside for the boys. “I propose a toast,” he announces once back inside.
We hold our glasses up. “To Mrs. Ferrara to be.”
“To Mrs. Ferrara to be,” everyone says, I giggle in embarrassment. I feel famous.
