Page 101 of The Italian Obsession

He punches the steering wheel hard, and I jump. “You haven’t seen a fucking asshole yet, Olivia.” The veins are prominent in his neck. “Don’t fucking push me!” he growls.

“Stop it!” I scream. “You’re being crazy.”

“You make me fucking crazy,” he yells.

“Let me out of the car. This was a big mistake. I wish I never laid eyes on you.”

He glares over at me. “Yeah, well, that makes two of us.”

He pulls into a parking space at my hotel. I get out and slam the door hard. He tears off into the distance. I watch the car disappear to the sound of his tires screeching, and then I look up to see everyone has stopped and is staring after him.

Hmm, that went well.

I drop my head and continue my walk of shame. Great.

________

The thing about bastards is that they get under your skin. They’re like a poisonous rash.

Insidious, festering, and begging for attention.

I don’t feel like I have that I won the fight feeling.

It’s Monday afternoon, and I haven’t heard from him.

I mean, I don’t want to. It’s not like I’m checking my phone every ten minutes or anything. I pick my phone up and check it again.

No missed calls. I exhale heavily. Asshole.

I spent yesterday afternoon with Natalie analyzing this situation over copious amounts of alcohol and tapas in a bar.

She thinks I’m being a drama queen—that his father had died, and he wasn’t thinking straight back then. She thinks him bringing me here is romantic.

She thinks this is a second-chance love story waiting to happen.

I think he’s a control freak.

Part of me wishes I handled yesterday differently—that I just sat and talked to him.

Why was I so angry? I acted like a crazy person.

And why was he so fucking angry? He acted like no woman had ever asked to leave before.

Probably haven’t.

I glance at the clock and see it’s 5:00 p.m. I’ve achieved nothing today. Giorgio isn’t even here because he’s in New York working for the week. I can’t wait to tell him about my weekend from Hell.

This is one fucked-up situation.

I close down my computer, pack up my desk, and make my way downstairs.

I’m supposed to be going to the gym, but a bar of chocolate seems much more enticing.

I walk out of the building and glance up to see a black Ferrari parked across the street. Rico is standing beside it, his behind resting on the door. His eyes are locked on me.

My heart skips a beat at the sight of him. Just go and speak to him. Be an adult.

I cross the road and approach the car. “Hi.”