Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 142640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 713(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 475(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 713(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 475(@300wpm)
Giuliano and I text all day and whisper to each other for most of the night, every day now for six weeks.
He’s never not called me, not even on weekends when he’s out. And while he’s out living his best life, he’s explaining things to me as he does them.
A running commentary of his life.
He’s unlike anyone I have ever known, funny, sweet and intelligent and open. So unlike the men in my family.
I’ve been thinking about this a lot and I think that perhaps it’s because his mother is English, he’s been brought up very differently to me. He doesn’t live the stereotypical Italian lifestyle.
In my house, the men have always been treated differently. They have their freedom, they have the power, and the women are seen as fragile things of beauty that need protecting.
But in Giuliano’s house, his mom was the boss. She ruled the house, unfortunately his father has passed, but apparently when he was alive, he was sweet and kind and hopelessly in love with his mother.
Just like my Giuliano.
I think back to when my father was alive, I don’t remember much but I do know that he was absent a lot. He worked away, but even when he was home, he and my mother hardly spoke. I don’t ever remember them kissing or showing any affection for each other. They were nice to each other, sure, and they didn’t fight. And the weird thing is, I never even realized it was like this, I thought this was normal until I hear Giuliano talk about his parents and the grand love that they had for each other.
One day I want that life, a heart filled with love and laughter. Deep and meaningful friendship that will last a lifetime.
I don’t care about the Ferrara money and power, and the more my darling Giuliano educates me on another way of life, the more I’m determined to have it.
It’s funny the things that stick with you, Giuliano once told me how his father loved his mother the most when she had no makeup on and was wearing a tracksuit. They would lie around on the couch and watch movies together.
I can’t stop thinking about that weird piece of information, it seems so bizarre, my mother is dressed to the nines and wearing sky-high stilettos every day, I don’t know if I’ve ever seen her in a tracksuit—in fact, I know I haven’t.
The only thing my parents did together was go to church and family gatherings.
I get a particular vision of the two of them arriving at a gala ball one night, I was in the car in front of them, Dad was in a black dinner suit and was holding the car door open for her as she climbed out in her beautiful cocktail dress.
All eyes were on her, but his eyes were on me and my brothers, as if he didn’t even notice her. Bianca Ferrara is a beautiful woman, everyone knows it.
But did my father?
Thinking back, I really don’t think so, and it makes me sad that she never got that with her husband.
I’m glad my mother has now found happiness. Lorenzo was my father’s closest friend, a widower. When my father and grandfather were killed in the car accident, Lorenzo came to stay at our house to care for us, he never left. Over time, he and my mother’s friendship grew and blossomed into something deeper.
I already loved him, he was like a second father to me and my brothers. I like seeing my mother finally happy and I’m glad it’s with an honorable man like Lorenzo. I know my father would approve, how could he not?
My phone vibrates in my hand and I smile into the darkness. “Hi.”
“How’s my girl?”
“Still yours.”
“She better be,” he whispers.
Just the sound of his voice makes me feel happy. “Do you know what day it is?” I ask him.
“Monday,” he replies and I can tell he’s smiling.
“It’s six weeks today since we first spoke.”
“Feels like six years.”
“It does, doesn’t it.” I’m not joking, it really does. I can’t even remember what I used to do before we spoke.
“I need to see you,” he says softly.
My heart drops, because I know that it’s not a possibility. The problem with having money is that your family is a target. I’m guarded at all times, never left alone even for a minute.
“Did you ask your mother?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“And?”
“She said I’m too young to date.”
“You’re seventeen, Francesca.” He exhales heavily.
“I know.”
He stays silent and my heart constricts. I don’t want to lose him, and yet, I know that I will if I can’t find a way for us to meet up. What nineteen-year-old boy wants a pen pal for a girlfriend.
“I’m just going to man up and come and knock on your front door in Milan.”