Page 71 of That's Amore

I thought about what Maura said the whole day as I worked, took orders, found the right wine for patrons,andwaited for the clock to strike seven when Dante would come into the bistro.

That night, he didn’t flirt with my staff. He looked tired, and I hated that I was probably the reason he was upset.

“He’s so quiet,” Sofia murmured, concerned. “Did you both fight?”

“You know we’re working on a divorce right?” I reminded her.

She shrugged. “Ah, I don’t think you’re going to get divorced. You love him, and he loves you. He shows uphere every day, and until he comes over, you keep looking at the door, and you leave his table free for him.”

She was right, as was Maura. I had to stop dancing around this and figure my mind out. I’d always felt a little intimidated by Dante. He was older, had more life experience. He traveled the world. He was the CEO of a big-ass company. I was a twenty-five-year old hospitality graduate who worked at restaurants—in fact, I did start my career as a server. I may have evolved in my role here at Bistro Marmorata, but I had been hired as alowlywaitress.

I hated that he thought that was a non-job because it showed me how he had no respect for what I did. Even if my job was to mop floors, I wanted my husband to be proud of my work, not be embarrassed by it, or, worse, ridicule me for it. But I’d never said any of this to him. I’d never told him how I felt and how he made me feel. Instead, I’d kept a smiling face, thinking that if I kept showing him what a good wife I was, he’d turn into a good husband. But maybe I would’ve served myself better if I’d told him what I expected from him instead of hoping and praying he’d figure it out.

“Sofia, I’m going to have dinner with my husband,” I told her.

My employee smiled widely. “That’s so cute and romantic.”

“Sheesh.”

As I walked toward Dante, the cheeky womansmirked and, with perfect timing, switched the song on the sound system to “That’s Amore”.

“May I join you for dinner?” I asked Dante.

He looked at me, his blue eyes clear, his expression stern. “Depends.”

“On what?” Oh my God, was he going to reject me?

“Are you expecting me to pay for dinner?”

I pursed my lips. “Yes. The man always pays.”

That was something Dante had said to me when I’d talked about finances and how we should split things, which I thought was something you normally discussed as a couple.

He smiled. “Well, then, please take a seat.”

Sofia came by and set up a place for me. “Have you decided what you’d like to eat, Dante?”

“I’m going to let my beautiful wife order forus.” He beamed at me.

I chose dishes I knew he’d like—burrata drizzled with aged balsamic because he had a weakness for good cheese, and a perfectly grilled bistecca with rosemary and sea salt, as Dante never turned down a well-cooked steak. I added a side of roasted artichokes, knowing how much he enjoyed them when they were done right, which they always were when Maura was cooking.

“And for dessert, the torta caprese,” I added, looking at Dante. “You’ll like it. It’s dense with dark chocolate and almonds.”

“That’s so sweet,” Sofia gushed.

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t stop the small smile from forming. “And a bottle of Taurasi Riserva.”

When Sofia jotted down the last item, she arched a brow. “You’re not playing fair, Elysa. He’s going to be ruined for any other meal after this.”

“Is that what you’re doing,bella mia?” Dante teased.

I rolled my eyes again.

After Sofia left, Dante’s brows lifted in inquiry. "Why did you choose that wine?"

Taurasi Riserva—bold, structured, full of dark fruit and spice. A wine with depth, one that needed time to reveal itself fully. Just like Dante. It was a calculated move, a small challenge woven into the evening. If we were going to sit across from each other, share a meal, and pretend for just a little while that we weren’t tangled in all our mistakes, then at least the wine should be….

“It’s an honest wine,” I said cryptically.

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