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“Paolo must be thrilled,” Franco muses. “I would have imagined he thought that you and Sophia wouldn’t have lasted longer than a couple of weeks and he’d be able to monetize from your separation.”
“I like to disappoint, especially him,” I growl, thinking of how he deceived Sophia by saying she was my second choice.
“I didn’t peg Sophia as enjoying life outside the city.”
“Neither did I,” I say, thinking back to when we first arrived after our honeymoon.
“How many women have stayed here?” She says, peering around.
“Define stayed.”
“Lived here for a period of time,” she says, looking at me square in the face.
“Nobody has stayed here for more than a night, if that,” I say struggling to remember if anyone had made it past even a night.
“What about Keira?” she asks, folding her arms.
“I never took her here.”
“Why?”
“I used to go to her place when I—”
“—wanted to screw her?”
“Basically.”
“So, nobody else has been here?”
“Nope.”
“I figured, it’s very masculine and dark.” She snorts.
“What the fuck do you want powder pink walls?”
“Don’t give me ideas, Croccifixio.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” I say, rolling my eyes. I don’t correct her when she says Croccifixio anymore, as it’s just her way of teasing me.
“You gotta let me have some input,” She pouts.
“You can have all the input you want in the bedroom, maybe a mirror on the ceiling?” I say slapping her ass as we walk up the stairs.
“Gross!” she says, flapping my hand away.
“The next room is a walk-in closet. I know you have clothes and lots of shoes,” I say as she sits down on the bed.
“I could get used to this, it’s so comfortable.”
“Don’t get used to sleeping in it,” I say smirking at her.
“I don’t plan to,” she says, pulling my jacket and bringing me forward. “Are you carrying a gun?”
“Yes.”
“At home? Were you planning on killing the gardener?”
“No, but I always like to be prepared. Have you shot a gun before?”
