Page 73 of The Italian Obsession

I shrug. Who knows? I grab my bag and walk out through reception. I’ll have lunch on that side of town—something different. My phone rings and the name Natalie lights up my screen.

“Hello.” I smile as I take the lift down to the underground parking lot.

“Oh my God. Tell me you love me.”

“I love you.”

“Ah!” she squeals. “I did it.”

“You did what?” I walk through the elevator doors and look around. It’s creepy down here. Dark. I look for the designated parking lot and finally locate it on the other side. Of course it is.

“I’m coming to Milan.”

I freeze on the spot. “What?”

“I resigned from my job. I got a six-month working visa.”

My eyes widen. “Are you serious?” We have talked about her coming for months but she couldn’t get her act together.

“Yes! But don’t worry, I’ll get my own apartment.”

I close my eyes and laugh out loud. Nat and I tried to live together once before, and it didn’t go well. I couldn’t stand her one-night stands and not knowing who was coming to breakfast, and she couldn’t stand my complaining about it. “Thank God. When do you get here?”

“I haven’t booked a flight yet. My visa application only just came through an hour ago.”

“And you resigned already?” I gasp.

“Fuck, yeah. I’m getting the hell out of here.”

I laugh again. “I’m so excited.”

“Me, too!” she screeches. “Okay, I gotta go. I have a million things to organize. I’ll call you later.”

“Bye.”

The phone cuts off, and I grin as I arrive at the car. The lights flash twice when I unlock it.

This is awesome. We’re going to have so much fun.

________

An hour later I park the car, turn the air conditioning up high, and I lean my head down on the steering wheel. Holy shit. How didn’t I just die?

Thank God I’m here.

Lost, confused, and driving on the wrong side of the road do not make for easy driving. I’m hot and flustered. Hell, I need a stiff drink. I sit for a moment and try to calm myself down. Damn that Italian Stallion for giving me such a short wick this week. I feel like every little thing pushes me close to the edge of losing my cool when it’s him I’m really mad at. If only I could tell him so. I’m sure I would feel so much better.

I push the exact building address into Google maps on my phone. I’m parked a few blocks away. I think the dry cleaners must be in a mall or something, because this is as close as the maps app would let me get. I make my way down the street and find that I’m in the central business district. It’s not trendy and hip like where my workplace is. Skyscrapers are dotted everywhere, and the streets are bustling with people in suits and business attire. It’s very city chic without the glamour of my office’s neighborhood.

I stare at the address on my phone. It should be just down here. I peer down at a huge quadrangle paved area and see a black glass building. It’s super modern, and I glance up, and then I stop dead in my tracks at the huge gold letters above the door.

FERRARA

A man bumps into me from behind and mumbles something in Italian.

“Sorry,” I call. I quickly take out my phone and Google again.

What is the Ferrara building?