Yeah. This is gonna go great. "...Yeah, okay. I'll ask her. I'll go pack now... sorry for snapping." I end the call before she can say anything else. My whole summer, trapped in Italy with the Fontana family. Great. Just great.
Fuck me!
I let out a deep sigh and rub my forehead. I'm not saying I don't miss my family. I do. But if I'm trying to build my own life,shouldn't I be putting my future first? My choices? I'm already neck-deep in this company, more than I should be.
They have a handful of hotels across Europe, and one of them basically runs on me. And apparently... that's still not enough. I don't want more responsibility. I'm not signing up for another hotel, another family "favor" dressed up as an opportunity.
Because it's not my dream. It never was.
My dream, as stupid or soft or unrealistic as it sounds, is to be a teacher.
I love kids. I love learning. That's what I've been studying for years. Education. Teaching. That's what I care about. It isn't just a degree to me. It's mine. Something I choose for myself, not something handed to me with a hundred expectations attached. I want to be in classrooms, learning how to make a difference, how to help kids grow into people who actually feel seen.
I want to spend my time around people who care about things that aren't just money, power, and networking over overpriced dinners. Of course, my parents don't see any of this as something real.
To them it's just... a distraction.
A phase. Some temporary rebellion I'll "grow out of" once I get whatever is in my system out.
Especially to my dad. He thinks I'm wasting time. He thinks I'll wake up one morning, snap my fingers, and magically realize my "place" is back there. They keep waiting for the moment I'll "come to my senses."
Like wanting a different life is an illness I'll eventually recover from. Sometimes I swear they're watching me like I'm a toddler having a tantrum, waiting for me to stop crying and go pick up the responsibilities they decide are mine.
But that's the thing. I'm not confused. I'm not lost. And this isn't a phase.
They just can't handle the idea that the life they want for me isn't the life I want for myself. And I guess, to some extent... I played along. I never outright rebelled.
I never say the words they fear the most:I don't want this life.
Instead, I nod when I need to, pretend to be interested when they talk about "business opportunities," and make just enough effort to keep them from thinking I'm a lost cause.
But in reality? I don't give a single fuck. Not even a tiny bit.
Not about their company, not about the meetings, not about any of it. I just want them off my back long enough for me to carve out my own path. And now? Now I have to drop everything and fly back to Italy, because they have some huge deal that suddenly requires my presence. I scoff under my breath, shaking my head as I pull the suitcase down. And the part that pisses me off the most? It's not just some random agreement.
It's with Gio's damn family.
GIO'S. FAMILY.
Like... aren't our families supposed to hate each other?
Generational beef.
Cold wars, silent wars, loud wars—pick one.
I let out a long, exhausted sigh, and stare at my suitcase with my hand on my waist. Then I drop to the floor.
I hate this. I hate how, no matter what I want, I always end up doing what they expect.
I hate how I can fight so hard to have my own life, and yet, with one phone call, they can pull me right back in. And maybe what I hate the most?
A part of me still misses Italy.
No matter how much I try to distance myself from it, no matter how much I want to prove I don't need that world, it's still home.
But this summer? This summer is supposed to be mine. And now, just like that, it isn't.
I toss another shirt into my suitcase, barely caring if it lands folded or not. Let my clothes suffer like I'm about to.
