Page 45 of That's Amore

The train’s viewing car was nearly empty, and the glass ceiling arching overhead showcased the sprawling hills of Piedmont. It was stunning, truly, and for a moment, I let myself soak in its beauty. The vineyards stretched endlessly, rows of grapevines crisscrossing the land like veins.

This was my place of birth, but I didn’t know it well. My memories of coming here were hazy, as I was relatively young. I did remember how I was left to fend for myself and spent a lot of time in the kitchen with the housekeeper who’d taught me how to cook.

She’d been my first teacher.

I’d also spent time in the wine cellar with one of my father’s employees, who’d allowed me my first taste of wine.

Maybe my romance with food and wine began then.

Once the divorce was finalized, I decided, I would travel. I’d visit wine country around Italy and meet winemakers. The distributors I worked with had suggested that, but whenever I planned something, I’d have to cancel because Dante needed me to attend an event with him. So, I stopped making plans. But now I could. Well, that was something to look forward to in the bleak days after Dante signed the papers, and I had to imagine him with Lucia.

I took a calming breath when I heard someone call out my name.

Speak of the devil!

“Elysa.” Lucia’s tone was sweet and light, like everything about her didn’t shred me to pieces. “I was hoping I’d run into you.”

I forced a neutral expression onto my face. “Lucia. How are you?”

She smiled, all teeth, and stepped closer, her silver stilettos clicking softly against the floor. “I’m fantastic. How about you? I know you were close to Dante’s Nonno.”

“Grief is a process,” I replied.

“Dante is struggling as well.” She sat down across from me. “We were having dinner a couple of nights ago, and he wouldn’t drink the wine. I asked him why, and he said it was his Nonno’s favorite vintage.” She made a tsk-tsk sound. “It breaks my heart to see him so devastated.”

I had no words because they were drowning in silent tears. They were already together. Having dinner, drinking wine. Did they sleep inourbed in the master bedroom? Oh God! I couldn’t stand the idea. I just couldn’t stand it.

“And the other morning”—she dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper—“he had his grandfather’s tie around his neck, andIhad to help him tie it. He was so emotional.”

Okay, so I was only twenty-five to thiswoman’s thirty-one. She was more experienced and sophisticated. But I grew up in Brooklyn, and I knew when a woman had thrown down the gauntlet and pissed around her man, telling me what was what.

I made a noncommittal sound in acknowledgment.

She looked out of the window. “It’s beautiful here, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

She smiled at me, but her eyes glittered. Yeah, she wasn’t here to chit-chat; she was here to tell me that my husband was nowhers. Well, I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of seeing how much her words hurt me.

“I just wanted to say how grateful I am for how...gracefullyyou’ve handled everything.” Her English was impeccable, even though she had a slight accent. But the truth was that she spoke better English than I did Italian. I knew she also spoke Spanish and French like Dante. Match made in language heaven?

I tilted my head, pretending I didn’t know exactly what she meant. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Oh, you know.” She waved a hand airily. “The divorce, stepping back, letting Dante find his…happiness. It can’t be easy, and I admire your strength.”

My stomach turned, but I kept my expression impassive. He’d told her about the divorce. It felt like a betrayal, sharp and acrid. But of course, he had. He probably also told her that they could now be together since I’d started the process.

“Born and raised in Brooklyn! We’re known for ourstrength,” I quipped as if I didn’t have a care in the world.

She made an assenting sound, and then her smile widened into a smug grin. “It just feels so right, you know? Dante and me. We understand each other. We always have. I think we just needed time to find our way back.”

Well, that was blunt and direct. And for the love of everything holy, was she seriously acting like their relationship was some kind of fated love story?

Darling, from one delusional fool to another, Dante isn’t the kind of man who falls in love.

Or was he? And he was in love with Lucia.

Stop this line of thought before you have a nervous breakdown, Elysa. Not now. Not here. Save it for later.

---