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“Ciao.” I smile. I’ve been practicing what to say to her.

“Grazie per aver cucinato la cena.” Translation: Thank you for cooking dinner.

Enrico’s eyes glow with tenderness as he watches us.

“Ha un profumo straodinario,” he says. Translation: It smells amazing.

Her mouth falls open and she claps her hands together. “Signorina Olivia, così bella in italiano.” Translation: Miss Olivia, so beautiful in Italian.

I smile bashfully. “Grazie.”

Enrico goes to the fridge and takes out a bottle of wine. He collects two crystal glasses, too, and I watch as he pours us both one.

“Let’s go sit on the terrace,” he says, handing me my glass.

We walk outside and take a seat at the table. He lights the candles in the center.

His eyes watch me as he takes a sip. “You’re very quiet.”

I’m feeling overly emotional—like I might burst into tears at any moment.

I sip my wine.

His eyes stay glued to me. “What is it?”

I shrug, feeling stupid. I knew all this about him. Nothing new has come to light tonight, but for the first time, I’m unsettled. I’m feeling a new emotion.

I’m frightened.

I stare down at the table. “I wish you were just a delivery person.”

His eyes hold mine.

“I wish you and I had a chance to be normal.”

A frown crosses his brow. “You wouldn’t love me if I were normal, Olivia.”

“You’re wrong.” I smile as my eyes well with tears. I sip my wine, disgusted with my dramatics. “Ignore me,” I sigh. “I’m hormonal or something.”

“I’ll talk to the staff. They’ll be more discreet.” I nod.

He leans over and takes my hand across the table. “Tell me about your plan—the one where you show me something.”

I shrug. “Doesn’t matter now.”

“Why not?”

“Because I would be beside myself with worry about you the entire time.”

He exhales and turns his gaze to the lake.

“How did your father and grandfather die, Enrico?” I ask.

“Car accident.”

“What caused their car accident?”

“They were run off the road.”