Read Online Monza 3 (Formula Men #3) by Pamela Ann - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Pamela Ann
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night, mi amore. Dream of me.” I could barely contain the bubbling excitement I had after hearing her grant my wish.
As embarrassing as it was to admit to myself, I resembled a man who hadn’t been with a woman and was about to experience that promised sensation. I simply wanted to hold her, kiss her whenever I wanted to.
For the past weeks, I knew she had been bombarded with so many things she’d had to fully process and get used to, but we hadn’t been physical much. Even the kissing, the hugs, and random touches throughout the day that simply showed how much one was treasured had been lacking. Well, tomorrow we would start remedying that problem.
One thing I had pondered lately was the fact that I wanted to propose marriage. Her annulment could take another month, two at the most. Was it too early to plan? She had promised that, in six months’ time, we could discuss the living arrangement and us as a family, so was it wrong of me to secure an engagement before the intended date she had set for us? A part of me believed it wasn’t, but another argued that, since my mother had bullied her into this situation in the first place, I should have the wherewithal to wait until then.
My mind was truly a cluster-fuck. I sometimes shoved personal matters to the side and focused on work when I had free time, because I continuously tortured myself. Therefore, it was in my sanity’s best interest to apply this severe concentration on matters that I fully understood and had some control over.
My phone shrilled the moment I entered my bedroom. Who would be calling me around this time? It was almost midnight.
Well, my father wasn’t one to consider midnight as of late. The man barely slept two to four hours and functioned like a stallion with the stamina of a bull. Then again, if one treated espressos like they were water, I supposed anyone could become an insomniac.
“Sì, Papa?” There was no point in greeting him, not when the call was informal. Most of his calls at this hour were unconventional through the years. On a few occasions, I was even high or drunk and was blabbering about nonsensical things. The old man had reprimanded me yet would somehow let me off easy.
It was my mother who laid down the law on how I should behave and function privately and publicly. Well, none of that would apply to my own son. Sure, I would instill manners and such, but I wouldn’t dare dictate his life if he chose to do something that was unconventional or something that was outside of my comfort zone.
“Apologies for calling this late, but I knew you’d be up. Am I interrupting you from anything, son?” he had the finesse to ask. Of course, he did this out of propriety. If I had said that I was preoccupied, he would simply speak over my reason and carry on, stating what he had called me for. It used to exasperate me when I was a teenager, yet somewhere along the way, I had gotten used to it. Funny, these days, it seemed quite normal to me.
“I’ve cleared my schedule just to hear you talk, Papa.”
“Oh, don’t patronize me. I called to ask if it’s okay if your mother and I visit tomorrow around lunchtime,” he chastised, but his cheerful mood sort of ruined the effect.
I didn’t check with Kimberly, but I was sure she would be accommodating. After all, she was the one who had suggested this cacophony to take place. Unpleasant though it was, I was at their mercy.
“Even if I decline you inviting yourselves into my home, it won’t make a difference. We both know that’s how that works.”
He grumbled a laugh on the other end of the line. “Nice talking to you, son. I’ll see you at lunch,” he stated elatedly before cutting the line.
My father was a lot of things, but in his own way, he loved me. I knew that deep down.
Back in the day, I had wished he were different, a father I could confide in and who was approachable. Most of my colorful past was due to rebellion from my vast disconnect with my parents.
As embarrassing as it was to admit to myself, I resembled a man who hadn’t been with a woman and was about to experience that promised sensation. I simply wanted to hold her, kiss her whenever I wanted to.
For the past weeks, I knew she had been bombarded with so many things she’d had to fully process and get used to, but we hadn’t been physical much. Even the kissing, the hugs, and random touches throughout the day that simply showed how much one was treasured had been lacking. Well, tomorrow we would start remedying that problem.
One thing I had pondered lately was the fact that I wanted to propose marriage. Her annulment could take another month, two at the most. Was it too early to plan? She had promised that, in six months’ time, we could discuss the living arrangement and us as a family, so was it wrong of me to secure an engagement before the intended date she had set for us? A part of me believed it wasn’t, but another argued that, since my mother had bullied her into this situation in the first place, I should have the wherewithal to wait until then.
My mind was truly a cluster-fuck. I sometimes shoved personal matters to the side and focused on work when I had free time, because I continuously tortured myself. Therefore, it was in my sanity’s best interest to apply this severe concentration on matters that I fully understood and had some control over.
My phone shrilled the moment I entered my bedroom. Who would be calling me around this time? It was almost midnight.
Well, my father wasn’t one to consider midnight as of late. The man barely slept two to four hours and functioned like a stallion with the stamina of a bull. Then again, if one treated espressos like they were water, I supposed anyone could become an insomniac.
“Sì, Papa?” There was no point in greeting him, not when the call was informal. Most of his calls at this hour were unconventional through the years. On a few occasions, I was even high or drunk and was blabbering about nonsensical things. The old man had reprimanded me yet would somehow let me off easy.
It was my mother who laid down the law on how I should behave and function privately and publicly. Well, none of that would apply to my own son. Sure, I would instill manners and such, but I wouldn’t dare dictate his life if he chose to do something that was unconventional or something that was outside of my comfort zone.
“Apologies for calling this late, but I knew you’d be up. Am I interrupting you from anything, son?” he had the finesse to ask. Of course, he did this out of propriety. If I had said that I was preoccupied, he would simply speak over my reason and carry on, stating what he had called me for. It used to exasperate me when I was a teenager, yet somewhere along the way, I had gotten used to it. Funny, these days, it seemed quite normal to me.
“I’ve cleared my schedule just to hear you talk, Papa.”
“Oh, don’t patronize me. I called to ask if it’s okay if your mother and I visit tomorrow around lunchtime,” he chastised, but his cheerful mood sort of ruined the effect.
I didn’t check with Kimberly, but I was sure she would be accommodating. After all, she was the one who had suggested this cacophony to take place. Unpleasant though it was, I was at their mercy.
“Even if I decline you inviting yourselves into my home, it won’t make a difference. We both know that’s how that works.”
He grumbled a laugh on the other end of the line. “Nice talking to you, son. I’ll see you at lunch,” he stated elatedly before cutting the line.
My father was a lot of things, but in his own way, he loved me. I knew that deep down.
Back in the day, I had wished he were different, a father I could confide in and who was approachable. Most of my colorful past was due to rebellion from my vast disconnect with my parents.
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