Katie
Imeet Rosalia for lunch at noon. Last week, I bullied her into buying a cowboy romance for book club.
She was aggressively against it, but after suffering through every one of her September picks, I felt entitled.
If I had to spend an entire month reading emotionally repressed people staring out windows contemplating grief, then she could survive one cowboy with dirty talk.
I get to the restaurant first. Michael had Enzo drive me again today.
For a while, it had been Sal, but Michael told me he doesn’t work for him anymore.
Honestly, I prefer Enzo. At first, he barely spoke to me beyond short answers and the occasional nod, but once I got him to laugh for the first time, it was over.
Now he doesn’t even try to hide it anymore.
Last weekend, he drove Michael and me to a charity event and accidentally laughed at one of my jokes.
You would’ve thought the man committed a crime.
Michael looked up instantly, and I had to smack him in the arm before he could say whatever terrifyingly stern thing had just popped into his head.
Honestly, that man can be so damn ridiculous when it comes to his employees.
I ask the hostess for a seat outside. It’s mid-October, and the weather is perfect. A light breeze moves through the patio while people drift along the sidewalk carrying shopping bags and coffees. A few minutes after the waitress takes my drink order, I see Rosalia walking up.
I wave her over, and she drops into the chair across from me looking deeply irritated.
“What’s wrong with you?”
“My driver missed the valet entrance four times.”
I blink. “That’s why you look irritated?”
“Katie, there was a line behind us.”
I press my lips together, trying not to laugh.
Rosalia watches me coolly. “I don’t see what’s funny.”
That only makes it worse. Her problems are endlessly entertaining to me.
“Well, I ordered you a pinot noir if that helps.”
Rosalia reaches across the table and clasps my hand. “Have I told you how much I love you?”
I snort.
“You’re so easy to manage.”
“That’s because you understand me,” she says solemnly.
We both dissolve into laughter.
“So,” I say, pulling the book from my purse, “what’d you think?”
Rosalia sets her copy on the table, carefully avoiding eye contact. Unfortunately for her, I notice the color rising in her cheeks.
She ignores me completely. “It was good.”
“That answer means nothing. Why are you blushing?”
“Sawyer was—“
She cuts herself off when the waitress returns with our drinks.
The second she walks away, I lean forward. “Sawyer was what?”
Rosalia stares into her wine.
“I was not prepared for the contrast between his behavior outside the bedroom and his behavior inside it.”
I burst out laughing.
Rosalia narrows her eyes at me. “I’m being serious.”
“I know. That’s why I’m laughing.”
“He was fine in normal scenes,” she says. “Then they’d be alone and suddenly he was saying the most insane things I’ve ever read in my life.”
I grin across the table. “You were scandalized.”
“I was concerned.”
“You were turned on.”
“See, this is why I don’t tell you things.”
I start laughing harder.
“Katie, I’m serious. That man had entirely too much confidence.”
“That’s literally the appeal.”
“No normal person speaks that way.”
“Michael speaks that way.”
Rosalia freezes. I freeze. Then we both start laughing at the same time.
“That’s why the book stressed me out,” Rosalia says, leaning back in her chair. “Every time Sawyer opened his mouth, I kept thinking, are there really men out there behaving like this?”
I’m still laughing while she takes another sip of wine.
“Michael really talks like that?” she asks, leaning in.
“Abso-fucking-lutely,” I say. “Honestly he should teach a class.”
She reaches over and smacks my arm.
“What?” I laugh.
“I didn’t need to know that about my ex-fiancé.”
I shrug. “Sometimes that man opens his mouth, and I forget my own name.”
“God, I want that,” she blurts out before slapping a hand over her mouth.
I clutch my chest dramatically. “Rosalia Messina. The woman you are becoming.”
“Please stop talking,” she says, face in her hands.
“Absolutely not.”
Enzo brings me back to the estate around five. Rosalia and I lost nearly two hours talking about Sawyer before I convinced her to buy the next book in the series. Next week, we get to discuss Wilder, and honestly, I’m already excited about it.
“Miss Katie,” Beatrice calls from the foyer.
I look up and smile.
“Dinner is ready in the dining room.”
“Is Michael home?”
Her expression turns apologetic. “No, tesoro mio. He didn’t want to interrupt your afternoon with Miss Rosalia, but he asked me to tell you he’ll be home late tonight.”
I frown. “That sucks. We were supposed to hang out.”
“I know,” she says sympathetically. “He mentioned that. He said he would come home as soon as he could.”
I sigh dramatically. “Well, I guess that means you’re eating with me tonight.”
She tilts her head. “Now, you know I have work to do.”
“Like what?”
A grin spreads across her face.
“Exactly,” I say.
I make Beatrice eat with me in the dining room purely so she can witness how ridiculous this table is for two people. I know she’s probably been in this room thousands of times, but she’s never actually had to sit at the massive table and eat dinner at it.
“See?” I say, gesturing around us. “Isn’t this stupid?”
She presses her lips together, clearly trying not to laugh. “Miss Katie, you know how important the dining room is to Mr. Amato.”
“I know. I really do.” I wave my hand at the endless stretch of table between us. “But that doesn’t make us look any less ridiculous right now.”
Her composure cracks slightly.
“We don’t even have kids yet,” I continue. “It’s just the two of us sitting at a table built for, like, twenty-five people.”
“But when you do,” she says, resting her hand against my arm, “this room won’t feel so large anymore.”
My gaze drifts around the dining room, and for a moment, I can almost picture it. I see kids talking over each other, chaos happening, and Michael acting strict while being completely incapable of saying no to any of them.
He wants a big family. He’s admitted that much already. At least three kids. Maybe more, if he gets his way.
“You see it,” Beatrice says, her voice full of amusement.
I narrow my eyes at her. “I don’t appreciate how easily you read me.”
She laughs. “You are very expressive, Miss Katie.”
I groan, covering my face with my hands. “Michael is going to make me have, like, seven kids, isn’t he?”
Beatrice bursts into laughter, and I laugh with her.