Fall For My Ex’s Mafia Father

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I smile down into my cup of tea, enjoying the fresh herbal scent. My belly is full of scone, and I’m listening passively as Daniel explains the ins and outs of some new philosophical theory that he’s learning about for his class.

I don’t really care about it, but it’s nice to hear him think through something about which he’s passionate. It’s really a gorgeous day – the sun is shining in little pieces through the grape leaves that wrap around the pergola, and I lean my face back to enjoy the warmth on the soft skin on my cheeks.

Next to me, I hear Daniel laugh a little. “Are you even listening to me anymore?” he says.

“No,” I reply, smiling. “But that’s okay, it’s good to hear you talk.”

He laughs again, a soft thing, and then takes my hand.

“It’s nice, Fay,” he says, and I open my eyes to look at him, seeing him smile at me. “That you enjoy listening to me, even when you’re not hearing my words.”

I squeeze his hand and return his smile, considering him.

It’s funny – I was so in love with him for the few months that we were dating. Or, at least, I thought I was. Maybe “obsessed” was a

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more appropriate term, but either way, I couldn’t stop thinking

about how handsome he was or how much I wanted to kiss him.

Just to kiss him, small, chaste things. But I had wanted so badly

love me, be

his treasure.

After everything I’ve learned about his life–our life? It’s all

him now completely as my best friend, my ally in this crazy world. I want the absolute best for him and know

away.

a love. I wonder, passively, when the next time I’ll have a crush again, feel that

in my

against the first thought that comes to

to disrupt

right, Fay?” he asks.

I say, running my thumb lightly over his fingers, thinking about what my father said

at me, slightly curious. “What prompted

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seem… such a mismatch for this world, most of the

never left. Never just… bailed on

uncomfortable. “It’s my home, Fay. My family, my world. I

the resources in the world,” I say, leaning forward. “Honestly, aren’t you ever tempted to just steal, like, one of his cars, sell it on the black market for whatever you can

open at

the day we broke up – if you have

French Riviera, change our names, spend the

drinking wine

we want!”

before

a beautiful dream, Fay,” he says softly. “But

think we could do it,” I say, my face eager. “I