Page 17 of That's Amore

She worked like a demon, and her food was magic. We had a rhythm that didn’t need words most of the time. We trusted each other completely. A part of me wanted to stay in Italy because of her and the bistro after the divorce.

We’d recently talked about converting our informal partnership into a formal one, but it didn’t sit well with me. Maura’s father had invested actual money into the business, and all I had was sweat equity. I had, for a small moment, considered asking Dante for a loan so I could become arealpartner, but that hope died before it even started.

“I’m so sorry, but I have to get to work.” I refused Lucia’s lunch invitation when I went to give Dante his phone, which he’d forgotten at the flat.

“You work?” Her eyebrows were raised.

Dante had opened his office door, telling me to get the hell out. “She’s just a waitress at her friend’s bistro.”

With that, he’d said several things. First, I was merely pretending to have a job; second, it was a lowlyjob (being a server was not lowly, the son of a bitch); and lastly, I got the job because the bistro was my friend’s.

As I walked out, I heard Lucia say in Italian, “I can’t understand why your wife would work, Dante.”

“She’s just passing the time. I don’t think she’s qualified for much else,” I heard Dante reply in the same language as he shut the door.

I looked at his assistant, Giulia, who had obviously heard Dante because she was shaking her head, her eyes flashing with anger on my behalf.

“Eh, he’s an arrogant ass, sometimes. Always thinking he knows everything,mamma mia,” she remarked in English.

I shrugged. Giulia, in her mid-forties, had no problem speaking her mind—a trait that surprised me, considering she worked for Dante, who was arrogant as hell. Yet, somehow, he didn’t seem to mind.

“You should tell him what you do, Elysa,” she grumbled.

Giulia, unlike my husband, had come to the bistro with her husband and had loved the food, and she’d told me she was so impressed with how I was managing the front of the house and the wine program.

“Why bother?”

“So, he’ll stop being?—”

“An arrogant ass?” I suggested.

We both laughed.

How many times had I laughed when Dante hadinsulted me, even with my heart heavy? Way too many times.

I was relieved when table four waved for me.

I had to stop thinking about Dante. It was done. It was over.

Except for that stupid Carrera gala, I groaned inwardly as I suggested the perfect wine by the glass for the guests who were ordering thesarde con oregano e pane, a fish dish made with a combination of sardines, breadcrumbs, pecorino, and herbs.

When the rush began to slow, I moved to the bar, scanning the dining room as I sipped a glass of sparkling water. There was a deep satisfaction in watching it all—the plates coming out of the kitchen perfectly timed, the sound of happy diners, the quiet pride on my staff’s faces as they moved through their routines.

I didn’t need to think about Dantehere. I didn’t need to feel the ache in my chest when I remembered how he sounded or the way he looked at me like I was disposable.

At Bistro Marmorata, I was more than capable. I was running a business that people loved, building something extraordinary with Maura and my team.

Dante could think whatever he wanted, but I was Elysa Costa, and I was going to live my best life—just as soon as I got my divorce and never had to see him again.

SIX

Dante

“You said I wouldn’t have to deal with her, " Elysa muttered as she fingered the hem of her T-shirt.

Patrizia was in the master bedroom walk-in closet with her assistant, waiting to get Elysa ready for the Carrera Charity gala.

When Elysa had walked in, she’d surprised me with her energy. This wasn’t my wife, I had thought, her sensible shoes soft against the marble floor, her expression set in a scowl. A part of me had imagined she’d be happy to be back in my luxury penthouse; maybe she’d missed it while she shared a space with Maura, her friend and employer. Maura DeLuca came from money—her father worked in high finance in New York and had indulged his daughter’s desire to have a bistro in Rome. She stayed in a nice enough flat in Testaccio, but it wasn’t what Elysa had gotten usedto in the past year. But she looked like she’d rather beanywherebut here.

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