“How is your stomach now?” Dante asks as we finally walk out of the church.

“Strangely enough, it feels almost normal.”

“Then I have a treat for you,” Dante says.

He takes me to a small café on a nearby street with tables on the sidewalk.

“I trust you completely after today, Dante.”

Dante choses a table under a small shady tree and holds the chair out for me.

“Thank you,” I say with a big smile as I take my seat.

Almost immediately a waiter with white hair and a stare that seems to say he has seen and heard it all, approaches our table. He has a white towel draped over his forearm. He glances at me and nods politely. “Signorina.”

“As always,” Dante tells him in Italian.

He nods politely and goes away.

“And what did you order?”

“Carciofi alla Guida, Jewish style artichokes.”

“What in heaven’s name are Jewish style artichokes?”

“Fried artichokes.”

I look at him doubtfully. “I’m not a fan of artichokes at the best of times, but with being pregnant I could throw up in your lap. I hope you’re not going to make me regret trusting you.”

He looks at me confidently. “I’m not worried. I’ll be very surprised if you don’t love them.”

The waiter brings us a large bottle of ice cold water and two glasses.

He starts to say something else but the old waiter appears beside the table and places our plates in front of us.

I pick up a crispy golden morsel, pop it into my mouth, and savor the lemony taste on my tongue before chewing it. “It’s actually delicious. Consider me officially impressed.”

“Yes, I thought you would enjoy the dish,” Dante says smugly.

Ignoring him I begin to devour my food.

“You have a good appetite,” Dante notes with some astonishment.

“Eating for two,” I mumble while stuffing my face. “God, I hate to think how fat I’m going to get.”

“You will only grow more beautiful,” Dante says softly.

“Ah, the silver-tongued playboy fights his way to the surface again.”

He puts his fork down, his eyes narrow. “I was being honest. You will benefit with a few extra pounds.”

“Oh yeah? Don’t tell me, I will also benefit from some stretch marks.”

He shrugs. “What’s wrong with a few stretch marks?”

“You say that, but have you ever slept with a girl with stretch marks before?”

His eyes glitter with something that looks almost like anger. “Does it matter what I did in the past? People can change, Rosa. You have judged me and you hardly know me.”

The air between us becomes heavy. I so much want to believe him. “Then tell me about Dante,” I say softly.

“Tomorrow, I will tell you everything.”

“Why not now?”

“Because you’re tired and it’s a long story.”

“Swear it.”

He grins. “I swear upon my sword.”

“Hmmm, a metal one or the one between your legs?” I astonish myself by saying.

“I’ll let you know when we get back to your apartment,” Dante shoots back, a wicked look in his eyes as his hand lifts for the bill.

Just like that all the fears that I have no future with him retreat to a far corner of my mind and all I want to do is make mad, crazy love to him.

I cheat on the ride home. Instead of wrapping my arms around his waist, I reach down and grab his cock as we zip along on the Vespa. At least, I start out just holding his growing shaft, but long before we reach the pizzeria I am rubbing the crotch of his pants as though it were a bottle with a genie inside. The long and thick genie inside his pants is full-grown by the time Dante parks the Vespa in front of the pizza shop.

When he gets off the scooter the front of his slacks is in the shape of a tent.

“Wow,” I whisper, my eyes glued to the big bulge in his pants.

“You did that, Princess, you made me as horny as fuck.”

I lick my lips and he snatches my wrist. “That’s right, baby, you need to get on your knees and get that sweet tongue on my dick real quick.”

I hurry behind him. I can’t wait to get him in my mouth. To taste him. To make him lose control. He pulls me towards my door. I pull my key out of my purse. My fingers feel like butter as I fumble with the lock and drop the key.

Dante puts his hand briefly over mine before reaching down and picking up the key. “Let me.”

The lock yields instantly to Dante’s hand. No doubt he has lots of experience opening women’s doors in moments of excitement, I can’t help thinking, but I don’t say anything.