Living in this life, you've never gotten to have much say in anything. What you wear, who you hang out with, and now, who you marry and you're dreading your arranged marriage to the Italian mob boss, Chris Evans. Expecting to suffer through a life o...
Italian and Italian translation in italics. (The translations were run by someone who fluently speaks Italian, if there are any corrections to be made, please let me know!)
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You put your toothbrush back into the holder, wiping your mouth with a towel and turning towards your room, smirking when you saw Chris standing on his side of the bed, arms crossed over his chest.
Dodger laid across the bed, spread out and taking up as much room as he possibly could.
Leaning against the doorway, you smiled as Chris muttered, "Stupido cane." (stupid dog) under his breath.
He took a deep breath, "Dodger, get down. Go to bed."
Dodger hesitated for a second, then reluctantly climbed down, walking over to his fluffy bed on your side of the room. He circled a few times before letting out a long sigh and falling dramatically. Dodger curled into a ball, throwing Chris the most dramatic puppy dog eyes ever and letting out the most pathetic whimper.
"You won't break me, dog."
You chuckled, walking into your bedroom and throwing back the comforter, "He just wants to snuggle."
Chris rolled his eyes, "Non mi interessa. I don't want him in the bed." (i don't care) His tone made it clear that this was your warning, not Dodger's.
You narrowed your eyes at Chris, climbing into bed and flipping the switch for your lamp, "Scrooge."
He laughed, climbing into bed next to you, "He's got a bed, he'll be fine," he insisted, turning his own light off before pulling the comforter up to cover his bare chest.
After a few minutes, you rolled over, turning to face Dodger who looked at your expectantly. You smacked your lips together to making a kissing sound, gently patting the bed, "Come on, Dodge," you whispered.
You guys had developed a pretty perfect routine over the past week or so. You'd wait for Chris's breathing to slow, indicating that he's fallen asleep and then you'd pat the bed so Dodger knew it was safe to climb up. He was getting really good at sneaking.
He perked up, slowly creeping towards the bed so the tags on his collar wouldn't jingle. Once he jumped up, he settled at your feet, making you smile. After a few minutes, you dozed off.
The next morning, Chris's alarm went off and Dodger was already on the floor, curled into a ball on his bed like he hadn't spent all night in yours.
You stretched and yawned, rolling over to face Dodger, "How was your night, buddy?"
Chris climbed out of bed and stretched, looking over at you, "Do you remember when you first moved in and I told you you were a terrible sneaker?"
"Yes..." you replied, looking over at Chris who was standing at the foot of the bed with his arms crossed over his chest.
"It's still true, cara."
You feigned innocence, shrugging your shoulders, "I haven't been doing any sneaking lately, so I have no clue what you're even talking about."
He rolled his arms, a small smirk forming on his lips, "Uh-huh," he pointed towards the foot of the bed, "Also, the mutt sheds."
Sitting up quickly, you cursed under your breath, you saw the dog hair on the comforter. You looked over at Dodger, "Busted, bud." You sighed, "How long?"
Chris laughed, walking over and tapping the bottom of your chin with his index finger, "The whole time, cara."
You smiled, shaking your head. He knew you'd been sneaking Dodger into bed and hadn't said anything, "Whatta softie," you muttered under your breath, winking at Dodge.
