La Dolce Veto

She’s not buying it, giving me her signature look that roughly translates to you and I both know you’re being stupid.

Despite the fact that she’s currently on a treadmill at the gym, no doubt with her phone propped up by her work laptop or a hundred-page bill, I can see her crystal clear. “You absolutely can.”

“I have to think about the long-term.” I pace around the tiny space. “I live with him, and this is a small town. If things get weird, it’ll make everything weird. Or worse, the humiliation will drive me out of town and prove he was right to think I’ll leave.”

Marisol hops off the treadmill and moves to the elliptical. I see her pumping arms duck in and out of the screen. “You’re being too puritanical about it. You’re in Italy. I’m sure Benito has slept with thousands of girls.”