Page 47 of The Bonus

The table chatters on in Italian as my mind wanders off on a tangent.

I’ve been with a lot of women, many…most, actually, don’t speak Italian and it’s never mattered before because I knew it wasn’t going anywhere. Their ancestry didn’t matter to me.

But if I were ever to want something more with a woman who didn’t, how would that look?

Tonight, for example…

Would Grace be sitting there, not understanding anything that anyone is saying, would I have to translate or would she just refuse to come at all?

I mean, sure, anyone can learn Italian, but that doesn’t change who you are at the core.

My future dreams depend on having a family that’s filled with generational traditions, trips to Italy with my siblings and their children and the cousins growing up together and playing the games that we did as children.

A closeness and familiarity.

I envision my life in an American household and how different it would be from the one I have always known and wanted for myself.

If I chose that life, I know for certain that my wife and children would always be on the outside. They would never truly be accepted by their extended family.

Dream girl or dream life.

It’s either or, it can’t be both.

One life is Italian with my family, the other is with Grace.

I couldn’t bear it if they rejected her…and they would.

I sip my scotch and slosh it around my mouth before swallowing, the thought is depressing.

Alessio leans in close so that only I can hear him. “Let’s go to Atticus. This place is boring as fuck, and I need some ass.”

“I’m heading home.”

He screws up his face. “Why?”

“Because I want to.”

“What the hell is wrong with you lately?”

“Just because I’m not fucking every woman with a pulse does not mean there is something wrong with me.”

“You’re getting soft,” he mutters dryly as he sips his drink.

I roll my eyes, but his comment hits home.

He’s right.

What the hell is wrong with me lately, I haven’t been out in weeks.

I’ve lost interest in everything; everyone just seems so…average.

I down the last of my drink. “I’m out.” I put my hand on his shoulder as I walk past him. “Have a good night.”

I kiss my mother and sister as I say my goodbyes and I walk out of the restaurant and onto the street where my car is waiting.

“Good evening.” Mark smiles.

“Hi.” I get into the back seat and we whiz through the streets of New York as I stare out the window.

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