Page 48 of That's Amore

Porca puttana!That did not go as I hoped it would.

Elysa avoided talking to me for the rest of the train journey by sitting close to Giulia so that I couldn’t continue our conversation.

Then Giulia and Lucia were in the car with us, driving us from the train station to Palazzo del Tramonto, the Giordano property where we would stay and where the award ceremony would be held.

Elysa stood next to me with her suitcase and backpack as I picked up our suite key from reception.

No one could tell there was tension between us—unless they looked closely, which, except for Lucia, no one else was. I had to deal with her. I knew that.

I was shocked by what Lucia said to Elysa, and a part of me wanted to believe that my wife had misunderstood. Before she asked for a divorce, I’d have saidthat Elysa wasn’t prone to histrionics, but since then…I’d seen her lose her temper more times in the past six weeks than the whole year I spent with her.

If Lucia had been that blunt with Elysa, then I had no choice—I’d have to get rid of her. Legally, I couldn’t fire her just for speaking to my wife; it would turn into a messy, she-said-she-said situation. But I’d find a way.

What I couldn’t understand was why Lucia would risk her entire career by outright claiming we were sleeping together. What the hell was she thinking?

I needed more details from Elysa, but getting them was going to be like pulling teeth. Because as we took the elevator to our suite, she was glued to her phone, scrolling like her life depended on it. I knew better. It was nothing more than a deliberate tactic to avoid talking to me.

Once we were inside the suite, I shut the door behind us, and before she could escape, I reached out and caught her arm. “Not so fast, bella mia.”

She rolled her eyes. She’d kill me if I told her she looked adorable doing that. But I’d never seen her look petulant or annoyed or irritated before. Had she been wearing a mask?

“How come you have so much attitude since you asked for a divorce, and I never saw any of it in the year we lived together?” I led her to the sitting room.

She flopped down on the couch. “I’m notthisperson.” She closed her eyes. “I’m…I have no explanation as to why I’m behaving like this.”

“Maybe I do,” I murmured.

She opened her eyes, and I sat next to her. “You’re hurting.”

She didn’t confirm or deny my assessment.

“Can you tell me what Lucia said to you? I don’tjustwant the highlights. I want to know it all.”

“Why?”

“Because she hurt my wife, and I’m not going to stand for that.”

She cocked an eyebrow. "Oh, so now you're getting all macho—you're my wife, and no one hurts you?" She mimicked the last part in my voice, badly, exaggerating the words with a dramatic flair.

It was charming.

I had to suppress a grin—not just because it was amusing, but because she was genuinely upset, and the last thing I wanted was to derail things before I got the answers I needed.

“Like I said, one fuck up at a time,mi leoncina. We’ll discuss the Patrizia fuck up another time. Now, I need to know the damage I did by acknowledging you asked for a divorce when Lucia brought it up instead of dismissing it and keeping a private matter private.”

She swallowed. “Fine.”

As she repeated what Lucia said to her, my stomach dropped.

“We were working when I commented about the wine. You know he loved the Barolo Riserva?—”

“1985. Vigna dell’Eterno,” shefinished.

“Si.”

“Expensive bottle to open for a work dinner,” she commented suspiciously.

“I didn’t order it. She did.”

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