There were five things you didn’t expect when Christian told you, “Let’s take a break this summer.”.

1. That the “break” involved a €20,000-a-week seaside villa in the South of Italy.

2. That he’d forget all the baby formula at home.

3. That Lisa would rent the house next door.

4. That Louis-Jules would somehow learn to say “NO!” fluently and exclusively on vacation.

5. And that Christian would pack seven shirts, forget them all, and spend most of the trip half-naked.

The villa was gorgeous, too gorgeous. Ocean view. Salt in the air. Infinity pool. A kitchen you were scared to touch because it looked like it belonged in a Michelin star restaurant. And smack in the middle of all this glam:

Louis-Jules screaming in your arms because he refused to wear his sun hat.

“Sweetheart,” Christian called from the bathroom, where you heard the unmistakable sound of him spraying his cologne like he was trying to gas a demon. “Have you seen my linen shirt? The one with the open- Oh wait, never mind. I forgot it.”

You gave him a look when he walked into the hallway shirtless, wet curls clinging to his forehead, one hand holding his swim trunks up, the other rubbing sunscreen onto his chest.

“Christian. Baby formula. Where is it?” You said.

He blinked. “...We didn’t bring it?”

“No,” You deadpanned. “We brought matching bucket hats, Louis-Jules's beach toys, and your entire skincare routine. But no formula.”

He dropped his hands. “...Shit.”

Louis-Jules shrieked.

Thirty minutes later, the three of you were crammed into an Italian pharmacy. Christian held the baby strapped to his chest in a carrier that looked like it belonged in Vogue Baby Edition, while you struggled to translate formula labels with Google Translate.

“I’m sorry,” Christian whispered to the baby, bouncing him slightly. “Daddy’s got abs but no brain. I see that now.”

“Don’t flatter yourself..." You muttered.

When you finally got back to the villa, Louis-Jules passed out, drooling on Christian’s bare shoulder. You kicked off your sandals, ready to collapse.

Ding dong.

The villa’s front gate rang.

You and Christian exchanged a look. He peered at the video intercom.

“Oh no,” He whispered.

You came up behind him to look.

Lisa. In a white sundress, oversized shades, and carrying a lemon cake in one hand like it was an Olympic torch. Surrounded with her group of friends from Westport Yoga Classes.

“She’s here?” You asked, horrified.

“Worse,” Christian said. “She’s our neighbor. She said something about renting the house next door because she ‘wanted to be close to her sunshine grandson.’ I didn’t think she meant literally...”

You stared at him. “Christian.”

He nodded. “Okay, okay, I deserve this.”