Chapter 45 #2
He grins. Says something fast in Italian I don't catch. I laugh and gesture at the case of pastries.
"And one of those. The one with the— yes. That one."
My phone buzzes in my hand.
Vittoria.
I slide into a booth near the window before I answer. Drop my bag on the seat. Kick off one heel under the table because my feet are screaming.
"Babe."
"How bad is it?" Vittoria's voice is warm and tired at the same time.
"On a scale of one to nightmare? A solid six. Giada keeps asking me what she should be doing. I'm the talent wrangler, not the producer. Why does she have a clipboard if she doesn't know what's on it?"
"So a normal day."
"So a normal day." I sigh. "Milan is gorgeous though. I'm now at a café. Everyone on this street looks like they're in a perfume commercial. Even the old men. Especially the old men."
Vittoria laughs. The sound is short. Not quite right.
I notice. I always notice.
"You sound weird. Are you eating? Are you sleeping? Is Dmitri being Dmitri?"
"I'm fine, Am."
"That's what people say when they're not fine."
The waiter brings my espresso and the pastry. I mouth grazie. Take a sip. Close my eyes for exactly two seconds because that is how good it is.
Then I open my eyes. And I remember.
"Hey. Hold on. I have a question."
"Mm."
"Why Elio?"
Silence on the line.
"Vittoria. Why did you send Elio to my hotel room without telling me? You know the history. You KNOW. I walked in and he was standing by the window like he owned it and I almost threw my suitcase at his head."
"Am—"
"I'm serious. Of all the men. You have an entire security roster. You could have sent literally anyone else. You could have sent a stranger. I would have preferred a stranger."
Another pause. Longer.
"I couldn't tell you more," she says. Her voice drops. Careful. "I still can't. But Bruno asked me to check on something in Milan. And when you told me you were coming here for the campaign, I — I didn't like it. The timing. The location. It made me nervous."
I set the espresso down.
"Nervous how?"
"I can't say, Am."
"Vittoria."
"I can't. I love you. I'm asking you to trust me. Something is happening here and I wanted someone I trusted watching you while I figured out how big it is. Elio is the best I have. Bruno agreed. I chose him because he's good at his job — not because I forgot your history."
I stare at the little gold rim on my espresso cup.
I know better than to push. I've known Vittoria Sartori since we were kids.
I know the shape of the things she can't tell me.
I know there are rooms in her life I'm not supposed to walk into, and I made peace with that a long time ago.
That's the deal. She gets to have one friend who doesn't care about any of it. I get to keep her.
So I don't push.
But my stomach does that thing. The small twist. The thing that happens when someone you love tells you they're scared and won't tell you why.
"Okay," I say. Softer. "Okay. I trust you."
"Thank you."
I take another sip of espresso. Look out the window. A man in a dark jacket walks past with a newspaper under his arm. A woman laughs into her phone. Milan keeps moving.
"So," Vittoria says. And I hear her voice shift — the way she always shifts when she's letting me off a hard subject. "Have you killed him yet?"
I snort.
"Not yet."
"Give it time."
"Babe, I was this close last night. He followed me to the ice machine. The ICE machine. Down the hall from my own suite. I told him I didn't need an armed escort to get a bucket of ice and he just stood there with that face. You know the face."
"I know the face."
"Like I'm being unreasonable for wanting privacy in a hallway."
"Am. He's doing his job."
"I know he's doing his job." I push hair behind my ear. "That's not why I want to kill him."
"I know why you want to kill him."
"He had a fiancée, Vic. A FIANCéE. For months. She left that comment on his Instagram — mi manchi amore — and I was sitting in bed with his shirt on. His SHIRT. I texted him that night and told him it was done. Told him there would never, ever be a thing between us again."
"I remember."
"He lied to me."
"I know."
"I don't do that, Vic. I don't. People can do whatever they want with whoever they want but don't lie to me. Don't put me in something I didn't agree to be in. That's the rule. That's my one rule."
"I know, Am."
I press my thumb into the side of the cup. Feel the warmth through the porcelain.
"And now he's my shadow."
"And now he's your shadow."
I laugh. Short. Not really a laugh.
"Vittoria Sartori, you are a menace."
"I love you."
"I love you too. I'm hanging up now so I can eat this pastry in peace and pretend my life is normal for four minutes."
"Four whole minutes?"
"Don't push it."
She makes a kissing sound into the phone. I make one back.
The line goes dead.
I set the phone face-down on the table. Pick up the pastry. Take a bite.
The café is warm. The espresso is good. My feet are out of one shoe. For four minutes, I'm just a woman in Milan eating something full of cream and sugar at eleven in the morning.
I let my eyes drift across the café.
And stop.