Page 131 of The Italian Obsession

“Of course I do.” She gives me her first genuine smile of the day. “I wish you the best. She will come.”

I stare at her, unable to push a word past my lips. She’s already here.

“And if I find out you have a mistress behind her back, I’m coming back here to kick your ass.”

My face falls. “You’re leaving?”

“I’ll stay for the three months for the experience, but then I’m going to New York.”

My gaze drops to the table, unable to look her in the eye, and reining in my every instinct to drop to my knees and beg. “If it’s any consolation, I knew you would never become my other woman.” I pause for a moment. “But I had to try. I can’t change my heritage and what’s expected of me.” My eyes search hers. “If I could, I would.”

She gives my hand a reassuring squeeze. “I understand. It doesn’t make it any easier, but I understand. Thank you for explaining everything.”

I smile, relieved that she doesn’t hate me. I hate me enough for the both of us.

She stands.

“You’re leaving already?” I murmur as I stand with her. “Can we just be friends? Stay and drink your coffee.”

“We both know where that will lead.” She smiles sadly.

I take her in my arms, and we stand cheek-to-cheek for a long time.

I close my eyes in regret.

Don’t go.

“Goodbye, Rici.” She tries to walk away and I cling onto her hand.

“What if I won’t let you go?”

“But you will.”

The truth hurts.

She turns, walks out of the restaurant, and out of my life.

I slump back into my chair and drag my hand down my face.

I inhale with a shaky breath. It will be fine. I’ll be fine.

It needed to come to an end. I’ll be fine.

________

I sit at the table and stare at the bride.

Traditional white dress, madly in love with her groom.

Italian to the bone.

It never bothered me before, and I’ve been to a lot of weddings. This wedding is different. I can’t take my eyes off the newly married couple. I keep envisaging myself kicking the ten-tier wedding cake down. Smashing it to smithereens.

Screaming to the whole world that it’s a façade.

The groom leans over and kisses his bride, and my stomach twists with jealousy.

Italian blood.