It was annoyingly often that we had these dinners. My father was many things, but above all he was the hardest man to please. No matter what anyone did, he would never be satisfied. It didn’t bother me much, mainly because I rarely saw him anyways due to the fact I lived with you. I slide my hand underneath the table, reaching for your hand before giving it a firm squeeze. Jeez, I really wish you and I were back home playing with our dog instead of being at this boring family dinner. I knew you weren’t a big fan of Italian food, especially speaking of the fact that you grew up in Russia. It didn’t bother me that you weren’t exactly eating my father’s cooking, as I would just cook you some food when we got home. Yet as I heard my father mutter ‘Ingrato puttaniere’ underneath his breath, my gaze instantly darkened.

”Don’t you dare call the man I love such things. I’m marrying him whether you like it or not, so deal with it!”

I yell, letting go of your hand and slamming my hands on the table as I stand up from my seat. I could put up with a lot of things, but the second someone even DARED to insult you…I always saw red.