Page 24 of Always

Bennet introduced Marco to each of the head designers, then gave him a basic rundown on the concept for their fall line. Anika could tell he was trying to gloss over the details of the design team, while steering Marco toward the offices of the CFO and the marketing team. But Marco refused to be steered. He had as many questions for Bennet as he had for Anika earlier, asked more rapidly and bluntly. Bennet quickly became flustered, and Anika felt forced to intervene.

“Marco was telling me how much he loved last year’s designs,” she told her father. “He said he saw them everywhere in Rome and Venice.”

“I did,” Marco agreed.

Soothed by the flattery, Bennet said, “Last year’s collections sold very well, especially the resort wear.”

“My father showed me the numbers,” Marco said. “It is selling well, but the demographic is aging upwards. If we’re not careful, Bennet Knight is going to become known as the line your mother wears. And that’s a death knell.”

This so infuriated Bennet that he was speechless. Anika could tell that when he recovered his voice, he was going to say something unwise, so she quickly pulled Marco over to the next room to show him the 3-D printers used to create the accessory line.

Marco obviously knew a lot more about Bennet Knight than she had expected. He seemed well versed on its recent history, financials, and even its employees.

As Anika introduced the remaining members of staff, Marco smiled and greeted warmly, but then asked Anika penetrating questions about their work performance, their inter-office relationships, and even their personal lives. She wouldn’t have felt comfortable answering even if she had been privy to what he wanted to know. She could only say, “I’ve only worked with a few of them, and usually remotely from the Red Line offices.”

Sensing her discomfort, Marco said, “Well, that’s enough for today. I can meet everyone else when I come in tomorrow. Let’s get some lunch.”

Marco suggested a trendy grill, but Anika knew she’d be sure to run into one of Stella’s friends there, or even Stella herself. She didn’t want to deal with the fallout with her sister, or even the stares that Marco Moretti was sure to attract.

Instead, she took Marco to one of her favorite Indian restaurants. It was tiny, only six tables in a storefront that looked as if it might be the back door to a laundromat. It was just the metal door, with a small hand-lettered sign overhead in Bengali.

She laughed at Marco’s nervous face. “I promise it’s good!” she said as she pulled him inside.

She waved to Daaim, who was both owner and waiter. His grandmother Gaena did the cooking.

“Anika!” Daaim said, bringing the tower of fresh condiments to their table. “I haven’t seen you lately.”

“I’ve been so busy,” she said. “This is my friend Marco.”

Daaim gave a slight bow to Marco. He never shook hands while he was working, to avoid germs. As unprepossessing as the exterior of his restaurant might be, every surface inside was kept immaculately clean.

“What are these?” Marco asked bravely, gesturing to the condiments.

“Hari, Imli, Raita, and Nimbu Ka Achaar,” Daaim said, pointing to the cilantro and tamarind chutneys, the cucumber-yogurt palate-cooler, and the sweet-and-sour sauce.

“I have to admit,” Marco said. “We don’t eat much Indian food in Italy.”

“Daaim can make it less spicy if you prefer,” Anika said.

“No, no,” Marco said. “Just order what you’d normally get. I want to try what you like!”

Anika ordered her favorites: Alu Gobi, Malai Kofta, Butter Chicken, coconut curry, and of course plenty of Naan bread. True to his word, Marco tried it all. After a few nervous bites, he said, “This is delicious!”

Emboldened by the mild butter chicken, he took a few heaping mouthfuls of the coconut curry.

“Careful!” Anika cried, noticing the chili peppers floating in the broth. It was too late. Marco tried to pretend nothing was amiss, but an unmistakable flush was rising up his face. Despite Anika’s earlier impression that Marco never sweated, she could see droplets forming on his brow.

“That’s got a bit of heat,” he said. He took a sip of his ice water, which quickly turned into desperate gulping.

“Ahh,” he moaned, “I think I might be dying.”

Anika couldn’t help laughing. For all his charm and polish, she liked Marco best like this—not so perfectly composed.

Daaim hastened to the table with a glass of strawberry lassi, which Marco drained in a single swig.

“Another of those please!” he said.

Marco insisted on paying for the bill, despite Anika’s protestations. She couldn’t help but notice the generous tip he left for Daaim, and how sincerely he thanked him for the meal.

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