Well, no. I didn't meet him. He metme.
And not in a normal, civilized, professional way.
The only things he knows about me are:
1) I'm a horny 22-year-old in deep denial.
2) His cousin makes me feel things I'm not ready to unpack.
3) I got slapped because I like Gio.
4) And I apparently talk to strangers about it while drunk.
Yes. This is definitely a great first impression.
Very impressive. Very "future teacher of small children" vibes. He is absolutely going to look at me with side-eye our entire trip. "What's his role exactly?" I ask, trying to sound neutral.
My voice cracks halfway through. She waves it off.
"He'll explain more when he arrives. Don't worry about that now. We'll talk when everyone's here. Just smile, okay?"
Smile. Right. I nod slowly, but inside I'm screaming.
Spain.
A week.
Alone.
With Gio.
And Lorenzo.
Kill me.
Now.
God, the minutes stretch out like years.
Every second that ticks by just twists the knife deeper.
Then the door opens. And they walk in.
Gio and Lorenzo. It's almost unfair how they look. Sharp suits, sunglasses pushed up into their hair, gold watches flashing under their cuffs.
And the way they walk? It's like they own the entire country of Italy.
I can't explain it, but that's exactly the vibe: "You're welcome for our presence."
That face of theirs, and that posture... like the meeting was waiting on them personally to begin.
I swallow hard.
Okay. Maybe I'll repress my feelings tomorrow. Right now I just want to feel something good, for once. So I let myself admire him quietly as he walks, greeting people.
He comes closer, toward my side of the room.
I stand up, ready to greet him properly, but he just places his hand on my shoulder, squeezes, and then walks right past me.
