Page 202 of The Italian Obsession

“Yes.” I pull into the underground parking lot. The two security cars pull in behind us. I park the car and take Olivia’s hand. We make our way into the elevator.

“Feels like ages since we came here.”

“Hmm,” I mutter, distracted. “Did you like your present?” I ask, noticing that she hasn’t mentioned it.

“Oh, I love it. I just didn’t open it yet.”

“How do you know that you love it, then?”

“Because you gave it to me. Besides, you know material gifts aren’t really my thing.”

I frown. “What do you mean?”

“Material things aren’t the type of present I want from you.”

Great. Now this night may not go the way I had planned. “What does that mean?”

“Nothing, sorry. I sound ungrateful. I’ll open my gift as soon as we get to the apartment.” She stands on her tiptoes and kisses me. “Thank you. You’re very thoughtful.”

The elevator doors open, and I put my hand into my suit pockets and pause as I wait for her to step forward. Her eyes fly around in wonder. “Enrico!” she gasps. “What in the world…?”

I wince as I look around. Maybe I went a little too far. There are bags and bags of designer clothes all around.

Shoe boxes are stacked in two lots of ten. There’s Christian Louboutin, Manolo Blahniks, Valentino, Jimmy Choo, plus a few racks with evening dresses lined up. Six huge bunches of red roses sit in large crystal vases, and there’s a silver tray of chocolate-covered strawberries beside a bottle of the best champagne money can buy.

Her eyes come to mine. “What did you do?” Her tone is clipped.

I shrug casually, trying to play it down. “I took the liberty of buying you a few things.”

She frowns as she looks around. “This isn’t a few things. This is an entire shop.”

“You had nothing.”

“I don’t need all this,” she scoffs. “And I didn’t have nothing. I had you. That’s all I need.” She gives a disgusted shake of her head and walks up the stairs.

“You’re welcome!” I call as I survey the fruits of my shopping expedition.

“Yeah, thanks!” she calls out.

“Are you going to come and open them?”

“No, it’s okay. You do it.” She’s upstairs now. “These things are your jam, not mine.”

“You know, you could at least be a little excited,” I call.

“Cook me dinner. That will excite me. You know… like a normal boyfriend.”

I frown. What? “I don’t cook, and I don’t do fucking normal.”

“Ha, funny that. I don’t speak Italian but I’m learning because I know you like it.”

I roll my eyes. Here we go. Smart-ass.

I hear the shower turn on, and I give the Louboutin box a subtle kick with my toe.

“Well, that fucking backfired, didn’t it?” I mutter under my breath. “Cook her dinner. What next?”

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