Page 81 of That's Amore

She studied me carefully like she was trying to decide if she believed me.

“And what brought on this great epiphany?” she asked.

I hesitated, but there was no point in lying. “You.”

She blinked. “Me?”

I nodded. “After you left, I worked even more, thinking it would distract me. But it didn’t. It just made me realize how empty it all felt without you.”

“Dante—"

“Then I started leaving the office early so I could have dinner with you at the bistro, and I liked it,” I cut her off. “I liked how nice it was to have that time without thinking about work. So, I made changes. Real ones. I’m also going to take time off so we can spend time together.”

Something flickered in her expression—surprise and something softer.

After a beat, she smiled, slow and genuine. “I’m proud of you.”

It shouldn’t have meant so much, but it did. I exhaled, letting the moment settle between us as the sky deepened into dusk.

Elysa turned back to the view, resting her arms on the railing. I reached for her hand, just lightly, letting my fingersgraze hers.

She didn’t pull away.

“I have a request,” I said to her.

“What?”

“Move back to the flat.”

“Dante—”

“I’m not there. It’s your home. It’s ours, which means it’syours, and I want you there.”

She seemed to consider my request, and then, after what seemed like fucking forever, she said, “Okay.”

TWENTY-SIX

Elysa

The flat felt different this time. Not because the walls had changed or the furniture had moved, but because I had. I wasn’t just stepping back into Dante’s space—I was reclaiming it asmine.

I didn’t change much—just little touches to make it feel like home. I added my books, tossed in a few extra throw pillows for color, and hung some of my favorite prints in the hallway. Gone were the cold, impersonal glass vases—replaced with handmade ceramic ones, each holding fresh flowers from the market. Not the kind arranged by a high-end florist to make the flat look like a hotel—just simple, living things that made the space feel like mine.

When I finished, I stood in the center of the living room and took a deep breath. For the first time, the flat felt like home. Not his. Not mine.Ours.

Dante walked in, his jacket slung casually over his arm, and looked around. He didn’t say anything at first, just walked over to the coffee table where I’d placed a stack of mismatched coasters that I’d found at a flea market.

“These are new.” He picked one up and inspected it.

“Everything is new.” I threw open my arms. “You like?”

“Yes.” He glanced around again, his gaze landing on the colorful throw I’d draped over the back of the couch. “I like it a lot, Elysa.”

“Maura is pissed with me.” I settled on the couch.

He draped his jacket on the back of the couch and sat next to me. “Really? She toldmeshe was happy that we were getting on with it as you Americans say.”

I looked at him drolly. “Yeah, she’s happy that we’re…working onus. But sad that she and I can’t paint our nails on a Monday night while we sing tunelessly to Taylor Swift songs any more.”

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