In Sickness and in Wealth Read Online Free PDF Page B
Author: Gina Robinson
teasing me in that flirtatious way that made my heart race. "Maybe Saint Priscilla, the Patron Saint of Good Marriages." She took my hand and batted her eyes at me. "So you'll keep buying me everything I want." Her eyes danced. "You do want a good marriage, don't you, baby?"
I swallowed hard, resisting the urge to say I wanted a long marriage. I wanted her for life. She wanted a good marriage? Was she just toying with me? Because she already had me dancing on her string. "Good is good."
"That was totally eloquent." She leaned her head against my arm and smiled up at me adoringly. "Or maybe Saint Rita of Cascia, Saint of Difficult Marriages." She put on a pout. "You drive me crazy at times. Like now."
She was wearing a pair of Gucci shoes we'd bought the first day in Milan. They made her nearly even with me in height. She whispered in my ear, "No one who knew the truth would say we don't have a challenging marriage, Jus."
She grinned. "Though not in the usual way." She bit her lip. "Or maybe to Saint Valentine, the Patron Saint of Happy Marriages. What do you think? Good marriage? Happy marriage? Difficult marriage? Whom do we appeal to?"
My heart hammered. "I didn't think you were religious. And you're not Catholic."
"No, but when in Rome. One of the saleswomen who helped me the first day suggested I light a candle here while we're here. She saw how happy we were and said lighting a candle was insurance to help our marriage stay happy. What can it hurt?" Her smile was dazzling.
My heart was in her hands. Did she know how much I wanted what she was teasing about so lightly? I shrugged. "Or when in Milan."
I pulled a handful of bills from my wallet and handed them to her. "I'm partial to Saint Valentine. But why shouldn't we have everything? Good and happy, and definitely not difficult. Light a candle to each of them."
Chapter Four
K ayla
Compared to Milan, Naples was meh. But then, what wasn't? Naples was dirty and old. A large city. Filled with history, yes. But after the heady shopping in Milan? Just about anything would have been a disappointment.
Because it was my first trip to Italy, it was easy to forget that Jus had been dozens of times. Nearly every summer since he was little. His parents had had the rugby tournament business forever. Jus spoke Italian fluently. It shouldn't have surprised me. I loved listening to the romantic language fall off his tongue, making that deep voice of his even sexier.
I didn't speak a word beyond pizza , ciao , and gelato . But after being in the country a few days, I was beginning to pick up the cadence of the language. In Naples, the sound of the language was different.
"They speak Napolitano here," Jus told me while we arrived. "It's a different dialect from official Italian. Naples used to be its own duchy until the regions of Northern Italy consolidated the country and forced their language on it."
We were in a hired car taking us to the campus where the tournament was being held. Jus sat next to me, squeezing my hand in the air-conditioned car. Outside, the heat radiated in waves off the pavement.
I was nervous about this meeting. But maybe I could pawn my growing morning sickness off on mere nerves. It was nearly August. A few more days and all of Italy would shut down for the summer. It was hot, as Southern Italy was bound to be in the prime of summer. Naples was on the water. I imagined the beaches—were there beaches in Naples?—would be crowded.
Justin's insecurities had begun to spring. We'd come directly from meetings with a buyer in Milan. I'd offered up the suggestion to change into something more comfortable before we flew to Naples. He said there wasn't time, and suggested the summer dress I'd worn to our meetings was perfectly appropriate. For what was essentially a collegiate rugby camp? I wasn't so sure. But I found myself dressed in a tight sundress and heels, dripping in Italian gold necklaces and baubles, wearing a pair of Gucci sunglasses. And
I swallowed hard, resisting the urge to say I wanted a long marriage. I wanted her for life. She wanted a good marriage? Was she just toying with me? Because she already had me dancing on her string. "Good is good."
"That was totally eloquent." She leaned her head against my arm and smiled up at me adoringly. "Or maybe Saint Rita of Cascia, Saint of Difficult Marriages." She put on a pout. "You drive me crazy at times. Like now."
She was wearing a pair of Gucci shoes we'd bought the first day in Milan. They made her nearly even with me in height. She whispered in my ear, "No one who knew the truth would say we don't have a challenging marriage, Jus."
She grinned. "Though not in the usual way." She bit her lip. "Or maybe to Saint Valentine, the Patron Saint of Happy Marriages. What do you think? Good marriage? Happy marriage? Difficult marriage? Whom do we appeal to?"
My heart hammered. "I didn't think you were religious. And you're not Catholic."
"No, but when in Rome. One of the saleswomen who helped me the first day suggested I light a candle here while we're here. She saw how happy we were and said lighting a candle was insurance to help our marriage stay happy. What can it hurt?" Her smile was dazzling.
My heart was in her hands. Did she know how much I wanted what she was teasing about so lightly? I shrugged. "Or when in Milan."
I pulled a handful of bills from my wallet and handed them to her. "I'm partial to Saint Valentine. But why shouldn't we have everything? Good and happy, and definitely not difficult. Light a candle to each of them."
Chapter Four
K ayla
Compared to Milan, Naples was meh. But then, what wasn't? Naples was dirty and old. A large city. Filled with history, yes. But after the heady shopping in Milan? Just about anything would have been a disappointment.
Because it was my first trip to Italy, it was easy to forget that Jus had been dozens of times. Nearly every summer since he was little. His parents had had the rugby tournament business forever. Jus spoke Italian fluently. It shouldn't have surprised me. I loved listening to the romantic language fall off his tongue, making that deep voice of his even sexier.
I didn't speak a word beyond pizza , ciao , and gelato . But after being in the country a few days, I was beginning to pick up the cadence of the language. In Naples, the sound of the language was different.
"They speak Napolitano here," Jus told me while we arrived. "It's a different dialect from official Italian. Naples used to be its own duchy until the regions of Northern Italy consolidated the country and forced their language on it."
We were in a hired car taking us to the campus where the tournament was being held. Jus sat next to me, squeezing my hand in the air-conditioned car. Outside, the heat radiated in waves off the pavement.
I was nervous about this meeting. But maybe I could pawn my growing morning sickness off on mere nerves. It was nearly August. A few more days and all of Italy would shut down for the summer. It was hot, as Southern Italy was bound to be in the prime of summer. Naples was on the water. I imagined the beaches—were there beaches in Naples?—would be crowded.
Justin's insecurities had begun to spring. We'd come directly from meetings with a buyer in Milan. I'd offered up the suggestion to change into something more comfortable before we flew to Naples. He said there wasn't time, and suggested the summer dress I'd worn to our meetings was perfectly appropriate. For what was essentially a collegiate rugby camp? I wasn't so sure. But I found myself dressed in a tight sundress and heels, dripping in Italian gold necklaces and baubles, wearing a pair of Gucci sunglasses. And