—No, it's not that, it's that I fill up quickly, in reality everything is delicious.

—You barely ate, love. —he intercedes, caressing my cheek, him pretending affection and I controlling the hatred in my eyes.

—Don't worry so much, stop being so protective. —I smile at him.

"You know I worry a lot about you, darling," he declares, putting on this whole show, trying to leave an excellent image of a man who has settled down, who loves a woman, to look good to the Italian. You feel good?

—Yes, I'm