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“Oh no. No, I can’t.”
“You can. You drive a car. I saw your car this morning.”
“You don’t understand. This is a hundred-thousand-dollar car, and I’m terrified of driving this beautiful car on the crazy streets of New York.”
“It’s a half-a-million-dollar car.”
I gape at him. “You paid that much for a car? Oh my God, I didn’t even know a car could be as much as a house. Is the paint real gold?”
Corrado’s lip twitches. He wants to laugh, but he’s still displeased about something. I’m guessing the two moods war within him.
“She is reenforced with custom-made metals and bulletproof windows. It’s a baby tank that looks like a glitzy car.”
“Wow. Didn’t even know people could buy baby tanks.”
“Most people can’t. I can.”
“There’s always that.”
“There is. Now get in the driver’s seat, wife, and take your ol’ man home.” He turns away before I can see if he’s smiling. Too late. I heard the joy laced through his voice, and I smile, too.
Fine, I’ll drive the beautiful car.
Half an hour later
I love this car.
And I finally understand why the men said the engine purrs like a kitten. It’s a silent, powerful engine, barely audible inside the car, making me feel like I’m gliding on air and not rolling over asphalt.
Next to me, Corrado thumbs through his phone. When he puts it away and looks straight ahead, I say, “Most guys prefer to drive.”
“Most guys can’t afford a driver.”
I side-eye him. “I’m your driver, hm?”
He sighs. “You’re not my driver, Michela. You’re my wife.”
“About that—” I start.
He interrupts. “We’ll discuss it over dinner.” He winces and touches his temple.
“Do you have a headache?”
He nods. “A migraine.”
“I have meds in my purse if you want.”
“I’ll grab some at home. Look out!”
I swirl back into my lane. “Sorry. Sorry.” Jesus.
He scrubs his face, then grabs my purse. I presume he’s looking for headache meds, but he pulls out my wallet instead and opens it. I’ve got seventeen dollars and a pile of debt on one of my two credit cards. “The meds are in the red-and-white travel pouch.”
He pulls out my driver’s license and shows it to me. “Still valid. Surprise, surprise.”
“Haha. Very funny.”
He tucks the license back, then pulls out a picture of my brother that I took on the last birthday we celebrated together. Corrado regards it with interest, then puts it back, no questions asked.
