Page 69 of That's Amore

“Dante, get some sleep, okay? And…drink lots of water and take some paracetamol before you go to bed.”

“You take such good care of me.”

“Goodnight, Dante.”

“Buonanotte, mi amore.”

TWENTY-TWO

Elysa

When I answered the phone the next afternoon, I wasn’t sure what to expect.

The call itself wasn’t surprising—Dante had drunk-dialed me the night before, spilling half-coherent declarations of love that I didn’t know what the hell to do with, so I figured he’d call me back to explain himself or…something.

Whatever!

This time, he was more direct, though still sounding weary—and possibly a bit hungover. “Elysa, how are you?”

I stood in front of my laptop at the bar and took a deep breath. “That should be my question. You were really drunk last night.”

“I know.”

“You…ah…okay?”

“Si.”

Then there was silence. “Well, it’s good to hear from you and?—”

“I meant every word last night. I don’t want you to think it was the ranting of a drunk man.” The sincerity and raw emotion in his words sent a flicker of apprehension through me.

I wanted to believe him. Of course, I did. I loved him. He was my husband. But how could I trust such a one-eighty in his behavior? How could anyone?

“I don’t understand why…damn it, Dante, you wanted a divorce, and I’m giving it to you. It’s almost like now that I’ve said I don’t want to be married to you, that’s allyouwant. It doesn’t feel like love. It feels like control.” The words poured out of me in a rush of frustration.

Didn’t he realize how hard he was making it for me? It had taken all my courage to walk away—and now he was saying the things I’d been waiting for him to say, but they didn’t match his actions from the past.

“You think I’m trying to control you?” He sounded hurt, and my heart melted.

“I don’t know what to think, Dante. I don’t know what you want.”

“Cazzo, Elysa, I told you what I want.I. Want. You.”

“But why?” I asked, perplexed. “Why all of a sudden?”

“It’s not all of a sudden,” he barked, “Ever since you left me, I’ve been asking you to come back.”

“No,” I shouted. “You blackmailed me into attending that Carrera charity gala and spent your time with?—”

“I blackmailed you because you wouldn’t come otherwise, and I wanted you with me.”

“That’s bullshit, Dante.” I banged my hand on the bar counter, and Maura, who’d just walked in, went right back into the kitchen.

“How is that bullshit?”

“You werewithLucia…you know, the woman you thought would make you a superb wife.” I was shouting now.

“Lucia no longer works for the Giordano Hotel Group.”

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