Page 6 of That's Amore

The house felt empty without Elysa…more because of the knowledge that she wasn’t coming back.

I’d gotten used to having her around, cooking, doing things, smiling, always…giving. That’s what Nonno had said about her, that she had a big heart and a generous soul. She did, and I’d crushed said heart and put a hole in her soul with my words. I couldn’t take them back—and she was right, I did want a divorce—or at least I thought I did, but when she presented it to me, I’d recoiled at the idea.

Why?

Why hadn’t I grabbed it with both hands and called Lucia because I was free to act on my attraction to her? She’d pretty much told me without saying the exact words that she was open to having an affair with me, but I pretended I didn’t get the message and kept things professional between us.

Whether my marriage was arranged or not, it was real to me for however long it lasted, and it was definitely real to Elysa. The way she went about our lives as a couple made that fact pretty obvious.

Regardless, there was no universe in which I’d sleep with a woman while I was in a relationship with another. It didn’t even have to be marriage; it could be something casual, and I wouldn’t cheat. I believed in monogamy. I believed in being transparent, so thequestion again was why I hadn’t been open about my intent with Elysa.

Why didn’t I tell her from the start or anywhere in between that I expected us to divorce once Nonno passed away? I’d known his time was short, what with cancer eating away his insides. But I hadn’t done that with Elysa. I’d treated her worse than I treated a woman who graced my bed for a week or two.

I lowered my head, feeling the shame of it. I’d treated my wife worse than I did a one-night stand who knew the stakes. I’d not cheated on her, not physically, but I had thought that Lucia would have made a better wife. That was a kind of cheating on my vows, wasn’t it? Thinking about another woman while your wife was buying truffles, worried she’d bankrupt you because of it?

I ran a hand through my hair.

Porca miseria, I was an asshole.

Yeah, I’d sign the divorce papers, but I’d make some changes. I wanted her to be comfortable, so I’d make sure she got paid for sacrificing a year of her life to keep Nonno happy. And God, he had been!

“You’re a lucky man, Dante. Your wife loves you,” he told me just a few days before he passed away. He was sitting on the terrace, and Elysa had spent her day off with him. I’d joined them for dinner, and now, while Elysa checked in with the nurse on Nonno’s health and medications, I was keeping him company.

“I think it’s you she loves, Nonno,” I teased.

He shook his head somberly. “She respects me. She takes care of me, so you know I’m taken care of and don’t have to worry.”

It was true. Since Elysa took over managing his care, I felt at ease because I was certain she would watch him like a hawk.

“I knew you’d be happy with Elio’s granddaughter.”

I patted his hand and nodded. It wasn’t a lie. I wasn’t unhappy with Elysa. I wasn’t in love but content, especially since I knew there was a deadline to this marriage.

The truth was that I hoped Nonno lived years and years and if that meant being in a marriage without love, I was okay with that.

The doctors had given him months—a year and a half ago. That had slowly whittled down to weeks, then days. In those final days, I could see it in his eyes—he was ready to go. Especially now, knowing he’d helped settle his only grandchild.

“I’m very happy with Elysa,” I told him, exaggerating a little. “You were right about her and how we’d be as a couple.”

When he died, he’d believed that was the truth. And now, not a week later, I’d created a situation by not keeping my mouth shut, where my wife had handed me divorce papers.

Porca miseria!This was no way to honor my Nonno.

I felt like shit.

I felt confused.

I thought I’d be happy if Elysa asked for the divorce, removing the burden from me—but I wasn’t even remotely pleased.

In fact, I felt like I’d lost something vital.

In the span of a week, I’d lost the man who’d been my parent and the woman who’d become a friend and companion.

No, I didn’t feel pleased or relieved. I felt guilty and foolish.

THREE

Elysa

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