Rina

The worst decision I'd made, apart from accepting to follow Mammà to the pack house, was to give Sophia my number. It'd been calls after calls after calls. Everywhere, every freaking time.

Right now was no different. It was still the same old stuff. The tickets, party preparations and Piccolo Maestro. Nothing annoyed me as much as her fixation on Piccolo Maestro did. She wanted to know everything about him. What he was doing and what clothes he had on. What he had for lunch and whether the o'clock shadow appeared? His routine, his this, his that.

Would I be rude if I said Sophia behaved like him?" It...