Page 118 of The Italian Obsession

Damn this, I now know why nobody else jumped at the opportunity.

It’s Monday, and today, at work, some dresses needed to be put in at the dry cleaners on the other side of town. I offered to do it, thinking it would get me out of the office for a while. I got dropped off by the cab three blocks too early, and now I have to walk a mile.

The sequins on these stupid dresses weigh a ton, and my arm is killing me. I sling them over my shoulder and continue to look at the map on my phone. It says it’s five hundred meters away now.

“For fuck’s sake.” I look back up at the road in front of me and stop still.

Enrico just walked out of a restaurant with a woman. He’s wearing a dark navy suit, and he looks every bit the Playboy millionaire.

The woman is beautiful with long, thick dark hair. She’s wearing a fitted gray dress with a plunging neckline and high heels. She has big maroon lips, and her makeup looks perfect. Her Prada bag is tucked securely over her arm.

He has his hand at the small of her back and he is talking to her as he leads her out to a car. He says something. She laughs and kisses his cheek before he opens the door of the black Mercedes and she gets in.

He walks around to the driver’s side and gets in. They pull out and drive away, still deep in conversation.

I watch the car as it disappears down the street. Who the fuck was that?

Chapter 16

OLIVIA

I stand on the spot for a moment as I watch the car disappear with my man and a beautiful woman inside. I’m not sure if I’m in shock or disbelief. Probably both.

Don’t be stupid. It’s his sister or something. It has to be. Enrico’s not a sleazebag. I know he isn’t.

I struggle down the street with the heavy garment bag, my mind running wild. Maybe I should just call him and put my mind to rest. Yes, I’ll do that.

I take out my phone and have another thought. He doesn’t touch me in public.

Is there a reason?

A sick, suspicious feeling washes over me, and my heart begins to race.

Is he married? Of course he isn’t married.

Fuck.

“Don’t be dramatic,” I whisper, spotting the dry cleaners up ahead. I drop the bag off and return to work by taxi, with every conspiracy theory running through my mind.

He took me away this weekend. I thought it was to be romantic. What if he was hiding me?

I’ve been so hypnotized by his company that I haven’t asked any questions.

Is he with somebody else? Is that why he didn’t call me in Australia and ask me to come here for him?

No. He’s not.

Ferraras marry for life.

I go over our weekend together. The laughing, the making love, and the closeness we shared.

Just get back to work and stop thinking the worst. There is a completely logical explanation.

We’ll see what happens tonight when I ask him.

________

It’s 8:00 p.m., and I’m waiting for Enrico to knock on my door.