“What?” I glanced at the food in my hand. Then set it on the counter. “No. That’s not … I’m not eating it because I’m trying to not appear bloated for cameras today.” “You what?” He stood, his chair screeching behind him before he rounded the counter. “They’ll put our picture in the tabloids, and I don’t want to look like I ate—” He picked up the fork and stabbed the rest of the crepe onto it while a string of Italian flew from his mouth. His other hand went to the nape of my neck. “Open, ragazza.” “Bast—” He pushed past his name with the fork, and the food was in my mouth before I could
...more
Gross gross gross
