“Hey! She’s going through a tough time.” He rolls his eyes before stacking all my tops in one place.
“How do you pack? By color or type of clothing?”
“Oh my god, does Mr. Donatello have a packing fetish?”
“Answer the goddamn question,ragazza.”
“I usually just shove it all in.” He looks at me disapprovingly.
“That will not do. All your clothes will wrinkle, and you won’t know where anything is. We will do it by type of clothing.”
“Yes, daddy,” I say sarcastically. Realizing what I said, I stiffen. Ale, you did not just say that.
Unfortunately, you just did.
He looks up at me and stops everything. His eyes widen and a clear awkward silence spreads throughout the room.
“Umm moving on.” I run past him to the bathroom muttering a quick, “I’m going to just put away my toiletries.”
The TV is still playing in the background, and I can hear Kyson on the phone. Grabbing all my makeup and skin care, I stuff them in a bag. I replay everything that just happened in my head. I swear to God, I can’t deal with my mouth anymore.
Snatching my suitcase from off the floor, I bring it over to the bed. I see Mr. Donatello staring at the screen in front of him.
“I would have never thought of you as a Karlsson viewer,” I mutter under my breath.
“I’m not.”
“What you’re currently doing tells me otherwise.”
“What I’m doing is analyzing why the fuck her rapper ex-husband would be posting all of this on social media.”
“Because they’ve been going through a lot of things when it comes to his mental health. Also, because he still thinks their marriage can be saved.” He chuckles, continuing to watch.
“There is no plausible answer as to why Peter sent a message to Kyson saying, ‘I’m in bed with your wife.’” His face is full of shock, and I can’t help but laugh.
Did I just laugh? This is bad, Mr. Donatello can be funny. I refuse to believe it.
“Welcome to the world of The Karlssons.”
“It’s fucking stupid, but I can get the appeal.”
“It’s not stupid, its entertaining.”
“I never said it wasn’t entertaining, Ale. I was simply saying that these women make almost as much money as us for getting butt implants and causing drama.”
“Um, excuse me? They’re human beings.”
“I never said they weren’t. I couldn’t care less if their body composition is solely silicone. I’ve always thought that if you feel better about yourself, then do anything to accomplish that. I’m simply stating that the people watch this because they don’t have enough drama going on in their own lives. So, they watch sisters make money off of nothing but their talentless lives.”
“Thanks for the compliment,” I mutter.
“You’re the exception. You have too much going on in your life, most of which includes me, so you already have enough on your plate.” He smirks up at me.
This motherfucke—
Spending an hour and forty-nine minutes in a car with Mr. Donatello has been far from interesting. Our conversations have consisted of work and his family.
He grew up on an estate in Florence. He told me about how his house has an amazing view overlooking the city. There’s a massive garden he says he never liked and a gazebo that sits in the middle of all the flowers.