Page 183 of The Italian Obsession

“How are you liking it?”

“I mean, what’s not to love, right?”

She shrugs. “I’m hoping to get to that stage. I’m so nervous about everything so far. I’ve moved here to be with my boyfriend—he’s Italian. We met when he was traveling in Australia. I don’t know anybody else but him.”

Sounds familiar. “Really?” I smile. “Mine, too.”

“I’m Jennifer,” she introduces herself. “Everyone calls me Jen.”

I lean over and shake her hand. “Hi, Jen. I’m Olivia.”

“Nice to meet you, Olivia.”

We walk in comfortable silence for a while. “Did you get a program made up?” she asks.

“No, I like doing my own thing.”

She looks over to the girl on reception. “I think I will. I need a structured workout or else I just schmooze around. Do you know how much it is?”

I giggle. “Yeah, I get the schmooze thing, and I’ve no idea about the price, sorry.”

“Do you come in the mornings every day?” she asks.

“I’m hoping to. I’m trying to get into some kind of routine.”

“Me, too.” She hits the stop button. “I’m going to go and ask about a program and their pricing structure.” She gives me a friendly smile. “Nice to meet you, Olivia. I might see you tomorrow morning.”

“For sure,” I say.

I watch her walk over to the girl on reception. They talk for a while.

Hmm, she seems nice. I put my earphones back in and continue with my lesson while I walk. “Motorcycle… motocicletta.”

ENRICO

I walk into my office at 9:00 a.m.

“Good morning,” I say to my two receptionists.

Greta looks up and smiles. “Good morning, Mr. Ferrara. Mrs. Ferrara is waiting in your office for you.”

I exhale heavily. My mother is here. Great. Just what I need. “Thank you.” I open the door and find her sitting at my desk.

“Hello, Mamma.”

She stands. “Hello, darling.” She smiles and kisses both my cheeks.

She’s immaculately put together, as always. It’s funny, you know; I didn’t realize that women weren’t always perfect like this. Until I met Olivia, I never knew a woman who was so comfortable in her own skin. So naturally beautiful without all the window dressing.

“And to what do I owe this pleasure?” I ask as I take a seat opposite her at my desk.

Mother’s eyes hold mine. She holds her hand out and looks at her manicured red nails. It’s something she always does when she’s uncomfortable. “I’m here to talk about the last few days and the things that have come to light.”

Her eyes rise to meet mine, and I raise my chin, angered. She’s the last person I want to discuss my father’s infidelities with.

I rearrange the papers on my desk to try and distract myself. “Such as?”

“Enrico. Stop it.”