Fall For My Ex's Mafia Dad
I don’t look at Natalia, a little pissed at being countered like that, but she places an elegant finger under my chin and obliges me to turn my face to look at her.
“You will like it better, eh?” she says, nodding to me and taking back her hand once I meet her eyes. “In the summer, you must drink light. Red wine is for winter nights. Unless it is sangria, and then it is for day.” She shrugs, as if this is obvious.
“I can handle my own drinks, Natalia,” I reply, working to keep my voice even as the bar tender delivers two sparkling glasses of prosecco.
“Clearly,” Natalia remarks, smirking at me. “You cannot.”