Page 54 of The Secrets We Keep

That’s why she’d chosen hazelnut oil. It was relatively flavorless when added to the right food, and he was incredibly allergic. She remembered the way he’d panicked, thinking he’d eaten a tiny bite of toasted hazelnut in a salad on her uncle’s yacht once.

Dying that way was one of his worst nightmares, he’d later confessed to her father. It seemed a fitting end for him, considering how he betrayed them all. It also made her wonder if anyone in her father’s inner circle had been loyal or if they’d all been spies for her uncle.

Movement out of the comer of her eye drew her gaze, and she watched the woman reach up to rub what Sienna guessed was lipstick off the corner of the man’s mouth. He reached for the woman’s hand and brought her knuckles to his lips. The sight of the intimacy made her lip curl back over her teeth.

Her father and mother used to show affection like that. Carlo Gallo could not be in the same room with his wife without touching her in some way. A hand on her back, a brush of fingertips on her arm, a kiss on her temple. Their relationship was a stark contrast to Nero’s strained and dutiful marriage to his own wife.

Her parents had been happy and still madly in love after nearly forty years together. This man in front of her had obliterated it with the twitch of a finger. He didn’t deserve happiness. And now his mistress was going to get a taste of what it felt like to watch someone you love die and then be forced into the shadows.

The love birds watched for a break in the traffic and then darted across the street to their usual restaurant. Sienna waited for a count of five before following them.

It wasn’t terribly busy. They’d caught a lull between the lunch and dinner rush, and most of the tables were empty. Maybe their choice to fuck before eating would work to her advantage.

When she noticed them being seated next to the rocks leading down to the water, she requested a similar table, weaving through the mostly empty dining room and onto the patio. There were heaters dispersed evenly throughout and lights strung through a pergola overhead, and she imagined they would give a pretty, ethereal feeling to the space in the dark.

She sat at the next table with her back to them and ordered a glass of wine she had no intention of finishing. Once the waiter moved away, she leaned back, letting the wind carry their conversation to her ears.

“—thought about it some more?”

The man sighed. “We’ve been over this. I told you I can’t.”

“No. You told me you’d think about it.”

“Tesoro,” he cooed, and Sienna rolled her eyes at the endearment. “I am stuck with my wife. You know this. I’ve never been anything but up-front about it.”

“I know, Maximo. But it’s been two years. We would be so much happier together than with them. I’ve already found a lawyer. I can file paperwork before the holiday.”

“Don’t ruin today talking about what we cannot have, tesoro. Let’s just enjoy our lunch and meet again after Christmas.”

He signaled for the waiter, silencing their conversation, and Sienna took a sip of her wine, pretending to study the menu in front of her. The scallop risotto actually sounded good. Too bad she didn’t want to linger long enough to eat a full meal.

She signaled the waiter and ordered a slice of tiramisu. There was never a bad time of day for dessert, and she wanted to finish eating and leave before they did. When the patio was quiet again, conversation between them slowly resumed.

“I can’t believe I’m not even going to see you again until next year. That’s too long, Maximo.”

“I have to travel for work, and then there’s the holiday,” Maximo replied, irritation edging his voice. “Maybe we need a break from each other if this is how you’re going to act whenever you don’t get your way, Francesca.”

Sienna imagined Francesca scowling when she made a disgruntled noise low in her throat. The topic shifted to something less charged when the waiter arrived with their lunch and her tiramisu. They spoke of exchanging gifts and how her job was going and if his sister was still sick.

A large group spread out between three tables on the other end of the patio, and their chatter cut off the conversation at her back. Reaching into her purse, she pulled out the small vial of hazelnut oil and unstoppered it.

She was debating how exactly to dose the coffee they’d just ordered between the kitchen and the table when Francesca suddenly excused herself to take a phone call. Once she was gone, Sienna readjusted her hair and her glasses and turned to offer him a tentative smile.

As soon as Maximo caught her eye, he smiled in return. When it was clear he didn’t recognize her, she leaned in close enough to feel his body heat and asked, “Do you have the time? My phone died.”

He turned to reach into his own pocket, but it wasn’t enough time to upend the vial into what was left of his wine. Her heartbeat quickened. Francesca wouldn’t talk on the phone forever.

“It’s almost four.” He set his phone on the table and turned more fully to face her. “You have beautiful eyes. So big and blue.”

Sienna made a show of blushing, averting her eyes before meeting his gaze again. “Thank you. And thank you for the time as well.”

“It was my pleasure. To help a woman as beautiful as you when she’s in distress.”

Sienna gave him a coy smile. “Aren’t you on a date?”

Maximo grinned, leaning closer to whisper, “We’re just old friends. Perhaps you and I could be something else?”

“Could we?” She shifted, and he did the same, twisting away from the table and dropping his gaze to her mouth. “What would you like to be?”

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