Page 110 of The Italian Obsession

I go back to Instagram, and I see the green light come up. What? Oh, shit, I’m calling him. I quickly cancel the call. My phone immediately begins to ring, and his name lights up the screen.

I cringe with regret. “Hello,” I say.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Sorry, I didn’t mean to call you.”

“You’re all right?”

“Yes.” I frown. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Ah.” I hear his voice relax. “I thought something was wrong.”

Something is wrong. You’re not here. “No.” He hangs on the line, silent. “Are you all right?” I ask.

“Yes,” he sighs. “I would prefer to be there with you, but it is what it is.”

“You can come home if you want?”

He chuckles. “I’ll be there tomorrow, my love.”

My love.

“Yes,” I breathe.

“And I’ll whisk you away.”

I smile. “I can’t wait.”

“Me, too.”

The line falls silent again, and I wonder if he’s smiling goofily down the line like I am.

“You looked lovely in that photo you posted this morning. I’ve stared at it all day.”

I bite my bottom lip. I posted a picture of me at my work desk this morning. Giorgio snapped it when I wasn’t looking. But, wait, what?

“How did you see it on my Facebook account? It’s private,” I ask.

“Do you know Beverly Whalen, Olivia?”

“She’s my mom’s friend.” I frown. “Isn’t she?”

“Maybe.” I can tell from the sound of his voice that he’s smiling.

I suddenly want to get off the phone to see who in the heck Beverly Whalen really is.

We fall silent again.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then?” he says.

“I’ve been banking my hours this week so I can leave at three.”

“Good girl. I’ll pick you up at three.”

“Okay.” I smile as butterflies dance in my stomach. I get to see him tomorrow.

“Goodbye.”