America X Italy Novels & Stories

One of my friends that are in on the bet had called me to ask about how it’s all going, thankfully Gabriella doesn’t speak Italian. The call - L - Cosa vuoi che faccia Deigo? Sono allo stupido appuntamento non posso chiamarti ora (What do you want Diego? I’m on the stupid date I can’t call you now) D - Sempre educato come sempre. Comunque solo chiamando per vedere come sta andando con la cagna americana? (Still as polite as ever i see. Anyway just calling to see how it’s going with the american bitch?)

Rushing in to explain, I say, “It was rated the number three Pinot by Wine Spectator magazine recently. It's the top-rated US wine. I don't serve Italian wines here at the Armónico.” She takes those perfect full lips and sips again but then they pucker at my words. “Why not? Isn't Armónico an Italian name?” “I don't like Italy.” She narrows her eyes and looks at me. “I've never been out of Nevada, but I did a school project about Italy once. All I remember is how beautiful it was as I sifted through all the information on the internet. How can you not like a place like that?” I contemplate how to answer her without sounding like an arrogant asshole. Dante's superior mug floats before my eyes

I asked wanting to know my options. "Do you have somewhere in mind?" He asked and I searched my brain for a place. "Babe what was the name of that place we went to near Ace Street?" I asked Starr the shrimp pasta we had in mind. "You mean the same place I fucked you a-" "Yes," I said cutting her off, her bluntness leaving me shy. "Cater's," She answered laughing slightly the sound mixing with Jason's chuckle. "What do you both want from Carter's?" he asked softly as I relaxed in his loving hold.

Even though I’m blushing and hate it, my eyes are drawn up to his. “You are still in school? How old are you?” More smoke, way too much gravel, the words come from his chest. It’s one of the differences that is always most striking between Italian men and American: American men’s voices come from their throat. Italian men—the ones in the mafia I encountered who grew up in old Italian families—their words come from their chest, deeper, fuller. I had no idea Russian men were the same. I’ve never met a Russian before, at least not that I remember. Definitely not a man like Milos.

I'm full with the joy of spending this weekend with this beautiful and wonderful people over here. What matters is that we all are together at last.we are " CRAZY BEAUTIFUL US"

, I said. She then came and sat in front of me. "You're not from around here are you? you're accent it's different ". "Yeahh I'm Italian ". "Italian men? you bagged yourself an Italian man? bitch you should draw the tatt on your forehead, those men are gold, they treat their woman like queens", she exclaimed. "And here we are stuck with American men that ask for 50/50 on the first date, they're insane", Mrs Anderson said and all of them agreed and started laughing and joking about it.

~~WEEKS LATER~~ ~~PEYTON~~ We just got back from three blissful weeks in Italy—the kind of trip where your biggest concern is whether to get gelato or aperitivo first. While the boys are silently cooking up bigger plans to ensure the trip engraves itself in my memories for a lifetime. And hell yeah, I'm taking those memories to the grave. Sex. Sex. Sex.

"An honor to meet you, ma'am." Sasha blushed at the quintessential Italian gesture, making Natalia roll her eyes. She was surrounded by idiots, she supposed. "It's so nice to meet you too, Alex. My my, the American lads need to learn a thing or two from you!" Sasha gushed as she opened the car door for him. Alessio got in first, and Natalia followed after giving Sasha an 'Are you serious, woman?' look. Sasha shrugged with a goofy grin before slipping into the driver's seat.

He damn well knew I couldn't read this shit. I sigh putting it down, "It's all in Italian." "I think it'll have to do with the fact that it's an Italian restaurant." "But it's in America. A land that speaks English. I bet you every son of a bitch in here is Googling this shit under their table." He snorts and my eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "Was that a laugh? Did I get the crime boss of New York to laugh?" He give me a dry look. "Do it again, I wanna record it."

What the hell! "XAVIER AND ROSE," Hana whispered, squeezing my hand. Where is my fucking rifle? XAVIER & ROSE I don't know why I ended up in Italy. It felt like the country called me like some invisible force was pulling me toward it. Spain was my dream destination, yet I never made it there. Instead, I found myself stranded in Italy—with a stolen bag, barely enough euros in my pocket, and no clear path forward.