Wild One

Seven

Manon

There's no conversation at first. Just the sound of scraping forks against plates.

I push the food around. I'm not feeling well today.

“Mom, I think I need to set another appointment.”

She looks up. “Honey, the doctor said you're fine."

I roll eyes. The same thing I've heard all my life.

“Yeah, well, I'm saying I'm not."

She sighs. She's tired of this conversation, too.

“There's nothing wrong with you, Manon. That's good news. It's almost like you don't want to be okay.”

The fork clatters against the plate as I let go, anger flooding my veins heating me.

“I just want to be okay! That's all I want! But I'm not! I'm fuckin numb—!”

She gasps. “Manon!”

I yell over her.

“Is that okay? That I don't have feelings? I don't feel things, Mom!”

Hot tears roll down my face. “Even while tears are coming down my face, I don't feel it! Is that okay?”

My Dad puts his arm around her, glaring at me.

“That's quite enough, Manon. You're causing your mother distress.”

I scoff, getting up. “I'm gonna go to for a walk,” I murmured, snatching my phone.

“Manon!”

I slam the door on my way out.

***

I walk alone, kicking to random pebbles. My mind is chaos. The voices are getting louder, and everyone wants to pretend.

But right now...right now I'm scaring myself.

I need help, but everyone wants to say I'm okay.

I'm not. I'm not!

“I'm not f*****g okay!”

I scream, tears running down my face.

“Is there anything I can do to change that for you, pulcino?”

(Little Chick it's an endearment.)

I look up, and there he is. Why is he always where I am?

I feel like it's not a coincidence.

“Yeah, a new car would be nice,” I answer sarcastically.

“I could arrange that.”

I eye him. “I was kidding!”

He shrugs. “I was not. Come, get off the ground, pulcino.”

Effortlessly, he takes my hand in his and raises me up to my feet.

I stand in front of him, my brown skin heating under his tender gaze. He stretches his hand toward me, and my breath catches.

His thumb wipes away my tears, our gazes locked.

“You are too pretty to be crying, bella.”

My skin heats.

“Thank you,” I murmured. We stand there a moment or so longer before his strong, warm hand leaves my skin. He clears his throat and steps back.

“Are you hungry?”

***

He takes me to the expensive Italian place downtown. Apparently he's rich. No, not rich.

This man is wealthy.

I'm dressed on some white ripped jeans and a sweatshirt that says Why Can't Someone Else Just Do It? With the Nike logo.

Not really dressed for this sort of place. But Mr. Sleeps-in-Suits is, of course.

“Really, Niccolô, I'm not dressed for—”

He waves off my concerns. “Nonsense. You look perfect. Besides, I would never eat anything but Italian food, and I'm hungry."

“I dare them to say no to me."

I read back in fear at the dark look on his face. “Oh...okay. That got murderous real quick.”

Quickly, he wipes the look from his face, smiling at me smally. “Don't mind me, pulcino. Come let's get a table.”

I shrug my insecurities off in this moment, because he obviously doesn't mind.

A young woman eyes are fastened on him as soon as she sees him.

“Ciao, welcome to Gino's—Signore Vitale! I wasn't told you would be here today. Can I get you the usual table?”

He nods silently, paying her no mind. I quirk a brow in his direction.

“And here I thought your last name was Bonaparte.” I teased.

He returns my glance with a smile.

“We both knew that was a lie, pulcino.”

I chuckled. He bowed slightly, offering his hand. “Signorina,”

“Signore.” I take his hand.

And on that moment I felt like a princess, even though I was dressed like a bum.