Alberto wraps his arm around my waist and plops down in an armchair, bringing me crashing into his lap. I gasp. Angelo looks mildly disgusted. “This wife is special,” Alberto huffs, his arm clamping me to his lap like a safety belt. “She’s a virgin.” Oh my goose. Did he really just say that? My head swims with disbelief and heat scorches my cheeks. It’s hard to fight the urge to elbow him in the gut, but I know I’m too drunk and my heels are too high to run away from him if I do. Instead, I break the eye contact I was determined to keep and choose the safety of the photograph hanging on the
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