Scanning her Italian features and long waves of chestnut hair, dressed from head to toe in black and sporting a slinky figure, she wasn’t the male that I was expecting.
“Oh, you’re a…” I began, biting my tongue at the end of the sentence to avoid being tactless.
“A woman? Yes, I am.”
“Ah right. I hope you don’t find me to be rude, but I was expecting to meet with a man,” I replied, as we both took a seat.
“That’s the point.” She grinned, sitting back and eyeing me with her ebony eyes. “I find that I am best protected when I use a male name. Before I was born, my parents were expecting a boy, and were going to call me Antonio. When I was born, they obviously realised that I wasn’t a boy, and my actual name is Antonia. Whenever anyone uses the name Antonio, I know it’s for busi
