Page 77 of That's Amore

I frowned, remembering. “I recall you saying you had personal issues when you took that leave.”

He grinned. “Yeah, well, my wife left me and took the kids—doesn’t get more personal and more of a damn issue than that.”

I exhaled sharply. “And that one month off fixed everything?”

“No.” He shrugged. “But it was a start. I showed her she and the kids were the most important things in my life, that I was more than my job, that I could put in the effort. And she told me that was all well and good, but what happens when I go back to work? Would it be the same cycle all over again?”

“Was it?” I asked. Tomasso worked hard and I’d never had a single complaint for how he did his job.

He exhaled. “No. I proved to her—and to myself—that I wouldn’t fall back into my old ways. It took six months before she moved back home. I won’t lie, it was scary as hell, because I thought I’d lose my job and then what would we do. But as the days passed, I realized something—I was happier, less stressed…just feelinggood. I found balance between work and family, and, in the end, it made me better at both.”

“So, you’re saying I need to take some time off?”

He laughed. “I’m saying that marriage is hard work, and you do the work because you love your family, and it’s worth it. I’m also saying that allmarriages have ups and downs. There’s norightway to be married, and there are noperfectmarriages.”

I tapped my fingers on the table as I considered what he’d told me. Tomasso was a private man, so I knew he had told me something so intimate because he felt I needed his help and advice.

“I realize that Elysa and I didn’t communicate well…she didn’t tell me when I pissed her off, and I didn’t tell her that I was blaming her for things beyond her control.” I settled against the back of my chair. “Our problems are not about me working all the time—ours are rooted in me not respecting her.”

“Usually,thatis the root cause.” Tommaso gave me a reassuring smile. “See, when I didn’t show up for dinner or my daughter’s piano recital, I was disrespecting my family.”

“Si!” Hindsight may have given me clarity, but it also left me feeling helpless. “I think I’m going to take the same advice Nonno gave you. Take a month off and fix my marriage.”

“Take all the time you need,” Tommaso encouraged. “You’re a brilliant leader, Dante, and you have put together an excellent team. Go, bring your wife home, and we’ll take care of business.”

TWENTY-FOUR

Elysa

Summer nights in Rome were magical, with the lingering warmth of the day melting into something softer and slower.

When I first moved here, these were the nights Dante and I would walk together. At the time, I believed anything was possible.

But I didn’t believe in magic anymore.

Or maybe a part of me still did because once again Dante was walking beside me on uneven cobblestones. The air smelled of jasmine and hot stone as the streetlights smoothed out the rough edges of the city.

It was as easy as apple pie to fall into step with him—natural, inevitable, and scary. Earlier, I’d hoped that we’d make our marriage a success, but now I wasn’t sure what to hope for.

“Sofia calls you Signor Irresistible,” I told him.

“I sort of am, youknow.”

He insisted on holding my hand when he hadn’t before. Then we used to walk as friendly companions—now we were a couple?

Since the evening we had dinner together, this had become a routine. Dante kept showing up at the bistro, ordering dinner, charming my staff, and leaving generous tips that I pretended not to notice.

Maura had started to come out of the kitchen to talk to him, and he was allowed into her sacred kitchen and ate there while he watched the staff work. He had become part of the Bistro Marmorata family.

At first, I had doubted his motives—but not anymore. Even Maura agreed that Dante truly wanted me back.

Every night, he asked me to go for a walk with him—just like I used to ask him when we lived together. Back then, he didn’t always join me. And now, I understood why. Whenever we got too close, he pulled back.

But now?

Now, he waited. Patiently. Politely.

He stood by as I closed up the bistro, no longer the man who made demands and expected the world to fall in line. He wasn’t pushing. He was proving.

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