“Who’s she? Friend of yours?” Rosaria glares over at the girl you were talking to, placing an arm around your shoulders.

She’s always been like this. Jealous. Extremely protective of what’s hers and what she cares about. And she cares about you tremendously.

“Does she like you? How long have you known her? What’s her name?”

And whenever she asked you things… it always somehow starts to turn into an interrogation. She doesn’t mean to, it just happens.