9. Elysa
NINE
Elysa
“ B ella mia , you are a sight for sore eyes.” Luca Carrera hugged me and kissed both my cheeks.
Not air kisses.
I met Luca a few months ago when I was working with his mother, and we became friendly.
He was a handsome man and only a few years older than me.
He’d just started working on an MBA at Bocconi University in Milan.
He had an easy charm about him.
He was sweet and kind, with the ability to make the person he was with feel like they were the most interesting one he’d ever met.
He was nothing like Dante even though he too was raised in a wealthy family.
I wasn’t attracted to him—like, at all—but I liked him very much.
Talking to him was comfortable, like catching up with an old friend you didn’t realize you missed until you were with them.
Why couldn’t I fall in love with a man like Luca?
My life would be so much easier.
Oh, no, I had to fall in with the surly Dante.
Was it the ten-year age difference between us?
Or was it as simple as the fact that Dante didn’t want me?
I suspected it was the latter.
“ Mamma is very impressed with you and keeps singing your praises, as does Papa . You’ve made quite a mark with them, and that’s not an easy task. I should know.” He smiled with genuine affection.
“It was nothing.” I felt self-conscious.
I didn’t like being in the limelight, and Cristina, despite me begging her not to, had done precisely what she wanted, as she always did.
“How is the MBA program?”
“Grueling,” he confessed.
“Feel like a walk? The gardens here are spectacular.”
“I’d like that.” He offered me his arm, and I tucked my hand into it.
We’d just stepped onto the terrace when I heard Dante.
“Elysa, I want you to meet someone.”
He did?
Why?
He never had before.
Both Luca and I turned, and I saw him look at my hand.
I felt guilty but fought it.
Lucia did more than this in front of me, and he wanted her to be his wife.
Luca was just a friend.
Luca patted my hand.
“Ah, Dante, so nice to see you. I was just telling your wife that she’s swept my parents off their feet.”
“Sounds like she might have swept you a little off your feet, too,” Dante remarked almost caustically.
He was never rude, always polite.
It surprised me how acrid his tone was.
Not wanting to cause a scene, I slid my hand out of Luca’s grasp and moved to stand sideways so I was between the two men.
“You wanted me to meet someone?” I quickly said, trying to deflect his attention from Luca.
“Ah, yes.” But he made no move to take me inside the ballroom.
Instead, he tucked his hands in his pockets.
“How are you doing, Luca?”
“I’m good, Dante.” Luca was raised by loving parents, and the evidence of that was how he wasn’t cowed by Dante, a man older and more experienced than him, condescending him.
Luca’s self-esteem and confidence were never in short supply, and I admired how he stood up to Dante.
“You must be so proud of Elysa. The work she does with the charity, but also”—he paused, turning to me with a glint of appreciation—“the Michelin Gourmand Award for Bistro Marmorata. Congratulations, Elysa. You and Maura must be very proud.”
I flushed.
Most people in Dante’s circle had no idea what I did—because no one had ever bothered to ask.
Luca had.
And when I told him, he’d come by the bistro when he was on break from university.
He’d even brought friends another time, supporting my work in a way Dante never had.
"Thank you." I nervously tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear.
"Maura and I are thrilled. It’s been a lot of work, but it’s so worth it."
I didn’t dare to look at Dante.
I couldn’t stand to see a smirk on his face or have him make some offhand remark about how I was just a server.
Luca continued like he couldn’t notice the tension that was simmering between Dante and me.
“And the wine program? I saw that Wine Spectator included Bistro Marmorata on their list of restaurants to watch.”
I blinked, caught off guard that Luca knew.
It had been a special day when we got the news.
Maura and I had opened some excellent vintages to celebrate with the team.
“Wine Spectator?” Dante mused with an arched eyebrow like he couldn’t believe it and was certain Luca was bullshitting him.
“Really?”
“Yes.” Luca narrowed his eyes.
“You must know your wife has a talent when it comes to wine.”
Now, I did look at Dante.
His face was grim, and he showed no emotion—well, except maybe a slight irritation.
I shook my head imperceptibly, the fire inside me flickering out.
“She’s really great,” Luca continued, and I wish he’d stop it.
He was baiting Dante.
He’d asked me once if Dante had ever been to the bistro, and I’d joked that Dante thought I was merely a server.
He’d been incensed and asked me why I hadn’t explained how things were to Dante, and I’d said something about how Dante was too busy to care and moved on to other topics.
He obviously remembered me saying that.
“The editor was raving about how Elysa chooses natural wines, some fermented in amphoras like in the olden days, and presents rare varietals from small vineyards.” Luca’s jaw was clenched as he spoke to Dante, obviously annoyed with his ignorance when it came to my life.
“In fact, Elysa picked the wine for tonight’s dinner, and it was amazing. Don’t you think so, Dante?”
Before Dante could say anything, I squeaked words out because I was panicked.
“It’s been such a labor of love building the wine program,” I remarked with false cheer.
Any minute now, I was going to bring out the pompoms and chant: “Give me an S, give me a T, give me an O, and for the love of everything holy, Luca, stop !”
"Well, you’ve certainly carved out a niche." Luca tucked his hands into his pockets, facing off against Dante.
For a moment, it felt like we were in the O.
K.
Corral, and any second now…
bang, bang .
I laughed nervously.
“Dante, we should go. You said you wanted me to?—”
“Yes, we should go,” Dante cut me off and offered his arm to me.
Relieved, I was about to put my hand on his forearm when Luca kissed my cheek.
“Wonderful seeing you, bella mia . Take care of yourself, and I’ll come by the bistro soon. ”
I felt Dante stiffen, and I chuckled apprehensively.
“Yes, Yes. Come. Anytime. The bistro is…you should come.”
Damn it!
I needed to shut up before I spouted any more nonsense.
“Luca, nice to see you.” Dante’s tone clearly implied that he felt no such thing.
“ Lovely to see you again, Elysa…and you , Dante.” Luca wasn’t backing down.
Oh, no, he was looking for a brawl.
Dante all but dragged me out of the terrace into the ballroom.
We were halfway through when Lucia came up to us.
“Dante, where have you been? I just got an email from the lawyers in Chicago and and?—”
“Lucia, I’m afraid that Elysa isn’t feeling well, and we have to leave,” he interrupted her in English while Lucia had spoken to him in Italian.
This wasn’t how he usually did things.
Wait!
What?
I wasn’t feeling well!
“Ah…I hope everything is alright.” She gave me a look that said she didn’t believe anything was wrong with me.
Girlfriend, I have no words , I thought, but then it appeared that I did.
Petty?
You bet!
“I have a headache,” I lied unconvincingly and then, for effect, put my free hand to my temple.
“Well…” She looked at Dante as if wanting co nfirmation that I was indeed sick and he wasn’t running away from her with me.
“We can talk on Monday,” Dante clipped.
We had to wait for his sedan, and while we did, he stood, his lips pursed into a thin line.
He was angry .
No, correction, he was enraged .
And I had no idea why.
Was he upset that Cristina praised me in front of all and sundry?
Was he upset that Luca was talking to me?
No, I didn’t think so.
Maybe he was annoyed that Luca knew so much about the bistro and he didn’t.
No, that couldn’t be it.
He’d never even bothered to know what I did with my time.
I was still pondering his behavior when the sedan rolled up in front of us.
Dante all but hauled me into the backseat and then told the driver to get to his flat.
"No, no, Via Aldo Manuzio, per favore ," I corrected.
“ Si ,” Dante gave permission to his driver to listen to me.
He then raised the privacy screen and turned to face.
“Do you know how poorly it reflects on me to have you flirting with Luca Carrera? Do you know how embarrassing it is for you to be that desperate for his attention?”
Heat flushed through me, but not from embarrassment—but from ire.
Hot, bubbling, fucking ire .
How dare he behave like this?
As though I existed purely as an extension of him, someone with no agency, bound to feel things in context only to him.
“What is your problem?” I hissed .
His eyes were stormy and unreadable.
“Luca Carrera and you. That’s my problem.”
I folded my arms.
“What about him? He’s a friend. Is that suddenly a crime now?”
Dante didn’t respond, but the tension in his jaw and the way his eyes burned into mine made me realize something.
“I don’t understand what this is about.” I was aghast at his behavior.
I’d never seen Dante lose control, and dragging me out of the gala was him definitely losing his shit.
He gritted his teeth.
“What will people think when you throw yourself at Luca?”
“Excuse me?” If my eyebrows could raise any further, they’d hit my hairline.
“You know you need to behave yourself in public. You’re Dante Giordano’s wife, not some subpar winemaker’s daughter languishing in Brooklyn.”
He’d insulted my father, Brooklyn, and me all in one sentence.
Bravo!
“I wonder what people were thinking when you threw yourself at Lucia,” I wondered aloud, tapping a finger on my chin.
“Oh, I know because Renzo Carrera mentioned it to me. He and everyone else thinks you’re screwing around on your marriage vows. But this is Rome, and men of your station have been doing it for ages. But I wonder sometimes if Lucia is the mistress or I was. ”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” he thundered.
“I think I do,” I threw back at him.
"The discussion we’re having now is about your behavior and how you were flirting with Luca," he said condescendingly, like I was a misbehaving pet in need of correction.
Maybe I was.
I had been docile, the peacekeeper—always smoothing things over, always swallowing my pride because that was my nature.
And yet, somehow, he had driven me to become this angry version of myself, a woman I barely recognized and didn’t particularly like.
I was, by nature, an optimist, someone who found joy in small things.
But having your heart broken, your love dismissed so carelessly, does something to you.
It twists you into someone unrecognizable, someone whose rage burns hotter than hope.
And that kind of fury?
It was draining.
“Luca and I were merely talking, Dante.” I exhaled slowly, feeling the fight slip away.
I didn’t want to be this bitter woman.
I wanted to be me.
“Are you seriously upset because I had a perfectly normal conversation with Luca?”
“Perfectly normal?” he snapped.
“You were laughing with him, leaning into him. You looked….”
“Looked like what?” I asked nervously as I prepared to be brutalized by his words .
“Like you were desperate for his attention…or was it mine you were seeking?” he smirked when he said that last part.
I deflated like a bunch of balloons the morning after a party.
“I was talking to him, Dante, because I know him. I don’t know a lot of people, and since you spend every minute you can with Lucia at these events, do you blame me for talking to someone who sought me out? Or would you prefer I sat like a doll, smiling and waiting for you?”
“Don’t turn this around on me,” he snapped.
“Everyone could see how you were with Luca.”
I shook my head.
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Just don’t do it again. Behave yourself in public. I don’t think that’s too much to ask, is it?”
I wasn’t sure if I should laugh or cry.
Every time I thought things couldn’t get worse with Dante, they did.
“You know, Dante, Luca is a friend…actually, he’s someone I’m friendly with. Lucia is a lot more, isn’t she? The difference between you and me is that I didn’t spend the whole evening ignoring my spouse to talk to another man. Or let him hang off me like—like some trophy.”
“You know, instead of the restaurant business, you should’ve gone into acting since you have a flair for the dramatic.”
I took a deep breath and turned to look out of the window.
This was a mistake.
All of it.
Marrying Dante.
Coming to Rome.
Trying to build a life with him.
All of it.
The only thing I’d done right was asking for a divorce.
Dante made me feel invisible when we were out with others.
He allowed Lucia to treat me as if I was the interloper in my own marriage.
I was a burden, a duty, and now an embarrassment.
God!
I was so tired.
“Elysa,” he called, and I turned to look at him, my eyes glazed over.
“I just want you to be cautious in public.”
He was using his reasonable tone now—master to moron.
“I know, Dante and I will be.” I didn’t have the energy to say more.
I wasn’t the woman who fought and yelled and screamed.
He was pushing me into becoming someone I wasn’t, and that wouldn’t do.
I couldn’t let him influence me and bring out my worst angels.
And if this wasn’t a clear sign that this marriage was unhealthy, I didn’t know what was.
A union should make us better, stronger…
but ours had not made me better or stronger.
It made me insecure.
It had hurt me.
“Thank you,” Dante replied politely.
“You have to stop taking things so personally.”
I looked at him, puzzled; what was he on now?
“Lucia and I work together, and that’s all. It’s your insecurities that make you assume the worst about the situation. Honestly, the way you keep going on about it is tiring.” Then, as if he wasn’t sure how it all landed, he added, “I don’t mean to hurt you, Elysa. You understand that, right?”
The words hit like a slap, the air rushing out of my lungs.
He was unbelievable.
How could a man who was supposed to be so bright be so dumb?
Hurt me?
Try, devastate me.
Try, demolish me.
Try, incinerate me.
Hurt was a mild word for what he did to me.
Once the car stopped, I opened the car door.
“I’ll get the dress back to you.”
“Keep it, Elysa, you look nice in it.”
I shook my head.
“I don’t feel nice in it,” I told him bluntly.
“And, Dante, this was the last time, okay? No more. I can’t do more.”
“Elysa, what does that mean?”
I smiled at him.
“I…just want it to end.”
“What to end?”
“Us,” I said pathetically, feebly.
“I want us to end.”
I didn’t wait for a response.
I didn’t trust myself not to have a nervous breakdown in front of him.
I got out of the sedan, my legs shaking but carrying me forward anyway.
I didn’t stop until I was inside the flat building, the door slamming shut behind me.
And as I rested my back against the cool wood, I let myself cry—not out of sadness, but out of the sheer relief of finally saying what I’d been too scared to admit for far too long.
I wanted us to end so I could start the healing process.
Seeing Dante like this was too damaging.
Having him talk to me the way he just had was soul-crushing.
I couldn’t do this anymore.