ROSALINDA.
Catching a break from Antonio seemed nearly impossible. After barely resisting his charm earlier, he was sitting in front of me, dressed in a white shirt that accentuated his muscles, looking as ravishing as ever.
Papà invited him for dinner, and we were all gathered around the dining table. My other nemesis, Piero, was also seated with us, and I hated the sight of him. Seeing him always reminded me of the horrible thing he made me do as a teenager. Something I hated myself for.
“Piero.” My father suddenly called, sipping from his glass of wine.
“Yes, uncle.” He answered, raising his head to pay attention to what Papà wanted to say.
“I guess you’ll be here till Sofia’s wedding, which is next month, right?” Papà asked.
“Of course.” Piero replied, grinning, and I felt a sud
