Aiden asked Donatella who was crouched down in the dirt with her head in a bush of some kind. “Whatever it is that you’re doing.” “Of course my drip system went to hell while L.B. and Nicholas are on honeymoon. Brutto figlio di puttana bastardo of a drip system.” Aiden smirked at the string of Italian utterances crossing with accented English. “How about I take a look?” He gripped the hand she stuck out, righted her to her feet, then adjusted the flimsy brim of her straw hat for her. “Grazie, darling.” Donatella followed the endearment with a kick at the nearest stone that lined the walkway where the drip system spouted and squirted. “Well, I think I see the problem.” “The drip system isn’t dripping. Testa di cazzo.” Aiden turned toward the woman near in age to his grandmother. “Please tell me you just called your drip system a dickhead.”
