in the same bed.
Lately, I feel like my life is a book written
in a language I don’t know how to read.
– Brandon Sanderson
“I hate him,” I admit to my longtime friend and second cousin. We work together, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I especially need her now that my future is tied to none other than Maximillian Macintosh. The man is a grade-A snob and he’s to be my future husband. “I really, really hate him. I’m not even exaggerating, I’m serious. You should’ve seen how he treated the kid at lunch…and even before then, the warped things he’s said to me in private.”
Giovanna rolls her eyes with an amused snicker and sits in the seat across from my desk. She has the greatest hair I’ve ever seen, and after my lunch, I’m a little jealous that I look like riffraff. “How anyone can detest a man that scrumptious looking is simply ridiculous. He can’t be as bad as you make him out to be. Just listening to his accent should be getting you wet down there.” She nods downward, like I need her pointing it out. I’m well aware what that accent does, and today, it enrages me.
I whisper-yell, my Italian roots blessing me with my theatrics. “I told you already, he killed my guards on the night of our engagement party! Didn’t you see his men drag me out of here too? He’s insane!” We’re passionate people, anyone with eyes can see it in the way we use our hands for everything. I want her to grasp the point I’m attempting to make. She needs to be on my side, not the psycho’s.
She waves my words away like this is Harry Potter and she can decide which house he belongs in. “Hmm…and yet you still moved into his place, and you literally just returned from lunch with him. I watched you walk over there, by the way, and you guys looked pretty cozy all tucked together. Two peas in a pod and not even married yet. Maybe your brand of crazy works with his.” She shrugs, causing me to roll my eyes. “Most great love stories have train wrecks in them.”
“Ha,” I complain sarcastically, not buying it for a minute. “Yeah right. I’m starving, by the way. The psychopath threw our food onto the floor to kiss me. I ate nothing, didn’t even have a full cup of tea. Poor Jermaine, he didn’t know how to act with Maximillian’s aristocratic attitude. You know how he’s basically the friendliest person in the world, who’s able to chat up pretty much everyone who walks in, but even he was speechless. I owe that kid an apology, because Lord knows the stubborn Brit boy won’t man up and do it. I’m going to be buying coffee gift cards for the foreseeable future to make it up to him.”
She sighs, her dark, sparkling gaze turning dreamy with a far-off look. I don’t need to hear her say it. I already know what she’s thinking. “He sounds so romantic. Jesus, why can’t a guy do that with me? And I’m sure Jermaine is perfectly fine. He has to deal with asshole Chicagoans in a rush, first thing in the morning. I don’t know how he does it without stabbing someone in the neck.”
I agree. I’d have forked someone by now, but I don’t say as much. “Did you hear anything I said?” I wave my hands dramatically. Not that being a tad melodramatic is abnormal for me. I’m Italian. We speak loudly and gesture frequently, but we also tend to love harder than the average Joe. There’s rarely a dull meal in my house. Someone’s always being a loudmouth, but I’d never change any of it. I love who we are.
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I did. You admitted your sexy British fiancé laid a scorching kiss on you, right in the middle of the Java Cafe. I’m telling you, I wouldn’t be half as hot-tempered as you are if a man like that ruined my lunch to kiss me. Christ, I need to get laid.” She plucks a piece of lint from her skirt, not bothered in the slightest that I was terrorized by my date. She says this because Danny was a total mosh for her, picking her flowers and whatnot when we were kids. In her mind, every guy is the same as him leading up to a proposal. However, I ended up with Mad Max,