“How was that?”
She made her smile encouraging rather than amused. “You sounded like a proper Italian.”
He sighed with relief and took a sip of Pecorino as he looked out over the river Arno. They had paid a tourist’s premium for the table, but he didn’t care.
“I wonder what the fish of the day will be.”
“You’re about to find out. The waiter’s coming!”
“Buon appetito!”
He looked down. “What the hell is this?”
Raising his eyes he saw her crying with laughter at his grilled peach and burrata salad.
“It’s pesce, not pesca.”
He had to laugh.
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