Page 162 of Forced Vows

"I'm a student," I remind her. "I don't have time for hobbies right now. I'm lucky if I get a chance to read a book that isn't on my curriculum."

Or to watch a movie or a show that isn't part of one of my classes. That night I binge watched a TV series with my cousins was the first time in three months I got to do something like that.

And I still had to write a paper on it for one of my classes to justify the time.

"Good. I'll put down reading, shall I? Do you do any volunteering?"

"What part of my last answer would make you think I have time for that?" Some students do, I'm sure, but then they don't have the additional social responsibilities that come with being a mob princess.

Most of the time, I cover for Fiona, which increases my responsibilities, but it's totally worth it.

As the conversation progresses, Ms. Ricci talks to me like I'm a teenager, not a twenty-one-year-old woman.

"The age gap is going to be hard to spin," she says, like she's doing me a favor figuring out how to do that.

Unimpressed, I say, "Miceli is only twelve years older than me."

As of my birthday.

He might think I'm too young. And this PR person definitely thinks I'm too young, but in the mob, women get married younger with a bigger age gap to their groom. My grandmother was twenty years younger than my grandfather.

The mafia is the same. Even I know that. So, why is Giovanna Ricci pretending she doesn't?

She continues with her silly questions about surface things, and then talks at me like I have no say in when the engagement gets announced or when the press conference is supposed to happen.

"Keep in mind that my last final ends at 3 PM on Thursday," I inform her. "My calendar is pretty clear after that."

"I will text your security detail with the particulars once they are firmed up," she replies, not acknowledging my words, like she's ignored so many other things I've said during this phone call.

What was the point of that call, much less the communication specialist's dozens of calls, texts and messages to get ahold of me?

To make me mad? Because that's the one goal she succeeded in accomplishing.

I text Miceli.

Mi Dolce Fiore: …

What the heck? He changed my name in our text stream. Is that significant?

Aphrodite is the Goddess of Love. He doesn't do love. Maybe he prefers thinking of me in other terms.

I can't exactly be offended by my sweet flower though. It's a play on my name and well, I like that he always includes the possessive mi.

Mi Dolce Fiore: I don't like your PR lady.

Ares: Giovanna can be a little intense, but she's good at her job.

Mi Dolce Fiore: You think? She didn't listen to anything I said. I'm pretty sure she's going to make it all up when she creates my bio.

Ares: Don't worry about it. Do you need to ask or tell me anything important?

Because the fact I intensely dislike the person in charge of handling the public relations for our engagement isn't that?

I guess I won't ask him about being old friends with her. He probably thinks stuff like that isn't important either.

Ares: Róise?

Mi Dolce Fiore: I have nothing important to add.

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