Page 31 of My Italian Roommate

“Baby girl, every man that meets you imagines you naked. That’s the best thing about being retired. I can make sure that I’m there to intimidate them when they do.”

The producer pokes his head in the door to call us outside. They want to film Mario playing with the kids in the garden and then the whole family down on the beach. I pack up the baby and watch from the patio as Mario chases Macy and Mario Jr. around the garden. They’re smiling and playing, completely oblivious to the fact that the cameras are here.

Mario is the most doting father I’ve ever seen. Growing up without a father of my own left me with a bad taste in my mouth about fathers, but that was before I knew that men like Mario existed. He’s made me the happiest woman in the world.

The producer calls something out to him and he waves me over.

“He wants some footage of just you and me on the beach. Let’s take the kids to my mother. I’m sure she won’t mind watching them for a few minutes.”

“Okay.” With the baby in my arms, I take Macy by the hand. Mario picks Mario Jr. up and carries him into the backdoor of the main house while the rest of us follow.

Mario’s mother agrees to look after the kids and Mario leans down to kiss her. She pinches his cheek and says, “Go out there, my famous son. I miss seeing you on the television.” Then she turns to me and adds, “And you, you should be in the fashion magazines.”

We head out to the beach and the producer instructs Mario to take off his shoes and roll up his pants. He looks at me and I whisper, “I’ve seen you topless in a magazine. You can show off your ankles.” He smiles and kicks off his shoes.

“Now, this footage will most likely be used when the narrator is talking about your heroic actions that night seven years ago. We want the audience to see the love that’s continued to blossom between you.”

Mario grabs me by the hand and walks me to the water’s edge. He stands behind me with his arms around my waist and his head on my shoulder.

“That’s perfect,” the producer calls out. “Now, how about a kiss?”

Mario spins me around and picks me up. I wrap my arms around his neck and melt into his long, romantic kiss. Even after all these years, he can still easily make my toes curl.

“Good. I think we’ve got it,” the producer calls out but Mario has no intention of letting me go just yet. He slips his tongue inside my mouth and kisses me for a full minute longer before placing me back on the ground.

“Alright, I’ll call you if we feel like we might be missing anything and I’ll keep you posted on the air date. Thanks a lot, guys. You have a lovely family.” The producer, reporter, and crew pack up and head back down the mountain while Mario and I go to collect our kids.

“Stay for dinner. I made plenty for everyone,” Mario’s mother insists.

“Alright, but next time, you need to let me help you. You promised to share your recipes with me, remember?” I reply.

“There’s plenty of time for that, sweet girl. Tonight, you and my boy are celebrities. Tonight, I cook for you,” she replies.

I watch as my husband dotes over my children during dinner. He’s such a gentle giant when it comes to us. So much so that I almost feel guilty for keeping a secret from him all day. It was important for him to have this time in the spotlight. I knew that if I told him beforehand, I would have been the center of attention and he would have been too distracted to do the interview.

We finish dinner and I take the kids back to our place to get them ready for bed. Mario stays behind for cocktails with his father and brother-in-law. That should give me plenty of time to get the kids down and prepare myself to let Mario in on my little secret.

The baby is already sleeping so I put her in her crib then take Mario Jr. and Macy to get cleaned up and changed into their pajamas.

“I want kisses from Daddy,” Mario Jr. cries.

“I’ll send him in to see you as soon as he gets back. I promise,” I console him.

I tuck them both in and turn off the light, knowing that they’ll probably be asleep in seconds. The interview caused them both to miss their afternoon naps.

I make myself some tea and start the espresso for Mario. By the time the kettle boils, he slips quietly through the front door.

“I made you some coffee, Daddy.”

“None for you, princess?”

“No, I feel like tea tonight.”

He takes his cup to the machine and fills it up, “You’ve learned to make espresso like a real Italian,” he tells me.

“Bring your coffee to the sofa. I need to talk to you,” I reply.

“Is everything alright, baby girl?”

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