“Okay. We’re booked in advance, but I’ll get the owner and see what she can do. You said you worked at. . .”
“I didn’t say, but it’s Micheli Enterprise. We all work there, one way or another.” I turn to go, happy to get the hell out of here, and push the door open without looking, running into a woman. Her fur lined hood falls back, revealing beauty that takes my breath away.
I throw my arms around her to steady her. She’s close enough for her wavy brown hair to tickle my nose. She’s tall for an Italian, tall enough for us to be eye to eye, her dark brown eyes hypnotizing and rendering me speechless…
“Scusi,” she says, breaking the silence.
“Scu-scusi,” I stutter, for the first time in my life.
Then, the store clerk speaks to her in Albanian. I don’t understand what she’s saying, but I hear my name mentioned.
My mind is torn. I despise Albanians, why does she have to be Albanian?
Her complexion is perfect with its natural glow, like a tan without need of the sun. Her lips are full and kissable. Her eyelashes are long enough to almost touch her perfectly arched eyebrows.
She walks past me and backwards into the shop, our eyes still locked. I can’t figure out what she’s thinking until she says, “Wedding, and in January, how lovely. Have a seat, let’s see if we can make your date work.”
She takes off her scarf and gloves and drops her designer purse on the counter infant of her co-worker, who is wearing a name tag with Mila printed on it, who promptly stashes them behind the counter which is out of view.
I was getting hungry and thinking about beef tartare and a glass of red wine at a quaint place not far from here. It would be lovely to take her there with me. Hell, we can even talk about wedding flowers…
“Mr. Micheli.” She gets my attention and motions towards the same chair and table as before.
It’s difficult keeping my mind on anything and it’s not because I’m hungry. My heart doesn’t beat fast when I’m hungry.
I do an about face and pause. “Are you Prende?”
“Yes, yes I am. Who are you?”
Extending my hand, “Marchello, I’m here to order flowers for my brother’s wedding in January. It’s a big ordeal.” I add that last part to test the waters. I’m in the enemy’s camp, I need to know where I stand. I’m also testing her to see what she knows.
She slips her petite hand into mine without hesitation. She’s so delicious I can’t help but give her tiny hand a flirty squeeze as I get lost in her eyes.
I hope I don’t look like a buffoon standing here obviously smitten with her. She has no clue who I am. My name didn’t faze her or slow down her overt friendliness with me—yet.
I feel like a pig being readied for Easter dinner. I’m old enough to understand that the minx sitting across from me is going to be a problem. And I don’t know which will take the front seat, the personal connection or the professional liability.
From where I’m sitting, it’s not looking good either way.
4
Prende
Signor Micheli can’t help but fill my shop with his presence. He’s tall, with an olive complexion and jet-black hair. With his cover-of-a-magazine looks, no doubt he comes equipped with a huge ego and a string of vengeful ex-wives and ex-girlfriends.
Let’s face it, there are plenty of handsome men around. I live in Italy. It’s not like he doesn’t have competition, but I’ve never met a man who piqued my interest like this. His piercing gaze penetrates my very soul, and I can’t look away. It’s like we’re polarized magnets and it scares me and excites me.
I don’t know what to do about my throbbing pussy and damp panties. I can’t remember the last time a man made me feel this way. Beyond a few stolen kisses, I have zero experience being with a man.
Papa and Besnik would have been pissed if I had sex before marriage. They’re old school and would have insisted I wait for marriage. Italian men marry Italian. And in my community, I’m expected to marry an Albanian.
If Papa had his way, he’d lock me in a nunnery and throw away the key. With him and Besnik around, it’s no wonder I have no boyfriend. Plus, I work too much.
However, Mila found me a man who made it to date number three and kissed me outside the door to my condo. I was so happy to get his text messages, his phone calls and then. . . nothing. He completely ghosted me. I cried and cried, wondering if I did something wrong.
Then Mila ran into him a month later and he said some big scary dude came up to him on the street and told him to stop seeing me or learn how to walk with broken kneecaps. I don’t blame him for choosing his kneecaps over me.
I accused Papa of interfering in my life and wanting to keep me a virgin forever and die alone like him. Yes, it was mean, but so is intimidating my boyfriend.