11. Elysa
ELEVEN
Elysa
I don’t know how Dante did it, but he convinced me to attend Don Giordano’s award ceremony.
He was insidious in his efforts.
First, he asked me to meet him for a drink a week after the debacle that was the Carrera Charity gala.
Dante: I’d like to talk with you about our future.
Would you be available for a drink this week?
The formality of his message made my skin crawl.
This is why we were getting divorced.
Married people didn’t send each other messages like this.
Me: Can we just talk on the phone?
Dante: Per favore, Elysa.
This is important for you and for me.
I thought he wanted to meet to talk about the divorce, though a part of me knew he was just playing some game, and I was so sick and tired of him and everything to do with him.
Okay, so there was a teeny-tiny part of me that was also excited to see him again.
Love didn’t just disappear.
It had to be murdered in cold blood, and my insides were still too hot with rage, betrayal, emotions, and…
yes, that pesky awful thing called love .
Against my better judgment, I agreed, but I chose the location.
If I was going to do this, I’d do it on my turf.
The Rec 23 bar in Testaccio seemed right for a meeting about never seeing each other again, as it was close to the bistro and Maura’s flat, so if I did have an emotional breakdown, I could hotfoot it to either location to find a quiet corner to cry in.
I was still living with Maura, and we actually liked it.
Whenever I suggested I look for a place, she whined that she didn’t want to be alone.
She made puppy eyes at me as she said, “Aren’t you having fun here with me?”
Drama queen!
I couldn’t comment on the fun part, but it was healing for me to be with a friend who could support me during what was turning out to be a very trying time.
Dante still hadn’t said anything about the divorce, and even his cryptic messages didn’t tell me he was going to sign the damn papers or at least make a counteroffer so we could move forward.
Whenever I texted him, I got a canned and condescending response: The lawyers are still reviewing.
These things take time.
Be patient.
The team and I sometimes ended up at Rec 23 after we closed the bistro for a drink, so I knew the place well.
It was casual, hip, and unpretentious.
They made a good Negroni and offered live music on the weekends.
This wasn’t the kind of place Dante went to, so that was a bonus for me.
He’d look entirely out of place in a three-piece tailored suit in a setting like this—where there wasn’t a single chandelier in sight, just the soft glow of Edison bulbs.
The wooden tables were worn, rustic, meant for good food and easy company, not for polished formality.
The walls held no priceless original art, just charming black-and-white prints of old Rome, the kind that made the place feel lived-in, familiar, effortlessly inviting.
Outside, the small terrace offered a view of the piazza, with its bubbling fountain and clusters of locals lingering over late dinners, which was where I had parked my ass with a cup of coffee, waiting for Dante.
I came ten minutes early, certain that he’d be on time.
He was never late or early.
Maybe he was a Roman soldier in a previous life.
When he saw me, he nodded.
Heads turned.
Of course, they did.
The man was a walking-talking GQ model.
If he took his shirt off and got an OnlyFans page, he could make a killing as an Italian Thirst Trap .
My internal dialog was a snark fest, and I knew I’d have to tamp down the imp inside me, or we were going to end up where we always did—with him cutting my legs off and slashing my heart and with me trying my best not to cry.
I was going to be polite and professional, I decided.
We were going to talk about the divorce like grown-ups, and then we were going to walk out of here with a deadline to the mess called marriage I’d gotten myself into.
“Elysa.” He greeted me with a brush of his lips against mine.
The nerve of the man.
I pulled away and pursed my tingling lips, not missing his amused look as he took a seat across from me.
He looked at his surroundings, and any minute now, I thought he’d use his forefinger to test if there was dust on the table.
“Dante,” I replied flatly, making an effort not to snarl at him.
A server appeared, and Dante ordered a beer, whatever they had on tap, and I ordered a Negroni.
I’d thought to forego alcohol, but I needed liquid courage.
Once the server left, Dante leaned forward, his hands clasped on the table.
“Thank you for meeting me. I know you didn’t have to.”
I didn’t?
It sounded like I had no freaking choice.
“You said you wanted to talk about something important,” I urged, sitting back, arms crossed like a petulant toddler getting ready to throw a tantrum.
Sheesh!
The man was reducing me to being the worst version of myself.
After a year of giving him the best, I had nothing left.
It was all gone.
I kept hearing him tell his friend that Lucia was more suited to be his wife.
Did he even realize the damage he did with that statement?
Oh, no, he blamed me for eavesdropping.
Was he already having sex with Lucia now?
The thought that made my heart stutter.
Was sex better with her than me?
Were they setting the sheets on fire?
I hope they did and it was hot as Hades.
Damn it!
I shouldn’t think about sex and Dante together because now I was thinking about sex with Dante, and it was all kinds of messed up.
“Come for me, cara.” He thrust inside me, his fingers playing my clitoris.
“I want to feel you.”
“Dante,” I mumbled, not being able to form words.
I’d already come once on his tongue, and I didn’t know if I could do it again.
I was spent.
Lethargic.
Drugged with pleasure.
His movements became stronger, his grip on my hips harder.
He’d raised my legs so my thighs lay against his shoulders, and he was on his knees so he could go deep inside me.
“Yes, cara. Like that. I can feel it.”
“Dante. ”
“Cara, che figa piú stretta.” He spoke Italian when he was aroused.
“You’re so tight, Elysa. Sei perfetta.”
After he pulled out, he watched as his cum dripped out of me, pushing it back inside me, making me quiver.
“Mine,” he whispered, making my heart race.
Did he do that with Lucia as well?
Tears pricked the back of my eyes, and I pushed those memories away.
Dante was on loan to me.
He wasn’t mine, even though I’d been all his.
“I know that things were difficult…at Villa Medici,” he said softly.
“That’s one way of putting it.” The snarky bitch inside me needed to take a break.
“I made mistakes,” he continued patiently.
“I should never have insisted on Patrizia. I should…not have spent so much time with Lucia.”
I waited for him to turn this around and make it my fault and use his master-to-moron tone as he usually did with me.
Before he could say more, the server returned with his beer and my Negroni.
Once he was gone, I took a long gulp of my drink.
I wondered if I should’ve ordered a whiskey neat or something and drunk it like a shot because I was unnerved sitting here with Dante, being able to smell his cologne, remembering how his hands made love to me.
Stop drooling, Elysa.
He said sex with you was okay which equals mediocre, which equals average, which equals blah.
He may have rocked your world, dumbass, but you didn’t rock his…
like at all.
Out of the blue, he said, “I want to talk to you about Nonno’s award ceremony.”
I knew that Don Giordano was getting awarded the highest civilian honor in the country.
I was very proud of him for that and pondered if I should go even though Dante and I were not together.
I’d be able to say hello to my father, who’d be there.
But the idea of telling Papa I left Dante had made me decide against it.
“What about it?”
“This is important to the Giordano family and to the company. Your father will be there as well, and I think it’s only right that you come as well.”
“Huh? You want me to attend the award ceremony?”
“Yes.”
I sighed.
“Look, I don’t want to. My father will make a whole fuss about our divorce and?—”
“I want you to be there as my wife. There will be no talk about divorce,” he cut me off.
I stared at him, stunned.
“Are you out of your mind?”
“This is a big deal, Elysa.” He tried to hold my hand, but I pulled it away, and that was when he went for the low blow.
“Nonno would want you there…as a member of his family.”
I picked up my Negroni and emptied the glass.
The hell with pretending I was poised and all that shit because I wasn’t.
“Nonno wouldn’t want me there under false pretenses,” I snapped.
I waved to the server, and when he came close, I requested, "Whiskey, liscio , per favor."
Yes, sir, I needed a whiskey neat.
The server nodded, a polite smile on his face.
“What kind of whiskey, signora?” He inquired in Italian.
“Scotch…single malt, se possibile ,” I replied with a small smile.
He gave a slight bow.
“ Subito .”
I watched him walk off as I nervously tucked some hair strands that came loose from my ponytail behind my ear.
I could feel Dante’s eyes on me from across the table, focused as though he was trying to decode something about me.
“What?” I tilted my head toward him.
He shook his head, looking almost amused—or was it surprised?
“Your Italian is good, though you have a strong American accent.”
I laughed in self-deprecation.
“With you, there is never any winning, is there? You can’t just say, hey, you speak Italian well . No, it’s you do it well but with an accent, you loser.”
He looked like I had hit him.
“I don’t think you’re a loser. I just?— ”
The waiter returned swiftly, and I thanked him and took the whiskey like a shot.
“She’s just pretending to work at her friend’s bistro,” I said in a sing-song manner.
“You said that to Lucia when she asked what I did. Do you know that Maura and I became friends after I began working for her?”
“We’re getting off topic.” Now, he did use the master-to-moron tone, and I wanted to rip him a new one.
“And what the hell is so wrong with being a server? Why would you mock good, honest work?”
He was taken aback.
“I don’t, Elysa.”
“Do you respect what I do?”
He hesitated and nodded.
“Yes.”
I scoffed.
“I call bullshit on that. You do not respect me . At fucking all.”
He sighed.
“You’re drunk.”
“Are you kidding me? I just had two drinks, it’s gonna take a minute before it’s in my goddamn blood stream.” I took a calming breath.
“So, don’t go justifying your arrogance and rudeness by saying I’m soused.”
“Elysa—”
“You asked to meet to talk about the future, which I thought meant we were going to talk about the goddamn divorce, but what you want is for me to pretend to be the good wife, again, while you prance around with your mistress in front of me and then call me a slut for talking to a man.”
Some heads turned because I wasn’t really keeping my voice down.
Okay, so I was maybe a little tipsy.
His jaw tightened.
“Let’s not make a scene.”
“ We are not making a scene, Dante.” I gave him a sly smile.
“ I am making a scene all on my lonesome.”
“Elysa, why is it that I always end up hurting you?” His eyes filled with pain, and it was my turn to be taken aback.
I’d never seen Dante vulnerable like this.
“I don’t know, Dante, but isn’t that my question?” I asked sadly.
“I…I think you’re a remarkable person.”
I snorted.
“I…you…brought such peace and joy to our home,” he continued as if I hadn’t just rained on his pity me/praise Elysa party.
“Do you know that since you left, I can’t stay in the flat?”
Okay, that got my attention.
“Why?”
“Because I miss you,” he said.
My vision darkened.
“You manipulative son of a bitch.”
“Elysa—”
I got up and pulled out some euros from my wallet that sat in my jeans and threw it on the table.
“All this you’re awesome, Elysa bullshit is for what? Making me come for the awards thing? Are appearances so important to you? ”
He looked baffled, like he couldn’t understand why I was turning on him.
“I do miss you, Elysa, and that’s the truth.” He collected the euros I’d thrown and tucked them into my jeans pocket.
I swallowed, distracted by his words and actions.
“I…what are you doing to me, Dante?” I asked wearily.
“Why can’t you just sign those papers and set me free?”
If I had physically kicked him, he wouldn’t have looked so hurt.
I didn’t know what to make of him.
One minute, he blew hot, and then he blew cold, and then got weird, and then he got weirder .
“I’m not perfect.” He rose and put his hands on my shoulders.
“I made mistakes. If you listen to me, I’d like to…tell you about them and…ask…for your forgiveness.”
Well, fuck me sideways and call me Sally.
“You want me to forgive you?”
“Yes.”
“Why? Can’t we just divorce and live happily ever after…apart?”
He smiled hesitantly.
“Will you give me a chance to apologize?’
“Do I have to come to Piedmont for that?
Or do I have to come to Piedmont so you’ll sign the damn papers?
”
He gave a short laugh.
“I’ve made a mess of things, haven’t I, mi leoncina . You don’t have to do anything but hear me out. About the divorce…can we talk about that after we talk about us ?”
Had I been drinking too much?
Did that shot of scotch go to my head?
Or was I reading too much into the convoluted way in which he was talking?
“You said sex with me was boring, and Lucia was better suited to be your wife,” I reminded him.
“That is one of the mistakes I would be asking your forgiveness for.”
I gaped at him and then groaned.
“This is…too much, Dante.”
“I understand. How about you think about it, and we talk again?” he suggested.
“Giulia will send you all the information about the ceremony and…I hope you’ll come. It wouldn’t be right for me to receive that award without you at my side.”
Yes, I was drunk, like black-out drunk, because he was saying things I’d been dreaming he’d say to me, only he was doing it now when I’d made my peace, broken my heart, killed my dreams, and left him to be happy with that despicable woman he wanted.
“May I walk you to?—”
I shook my head.
“The bistro is down the street. I…no, please don’t. I want to be alone.”
“Okay, Elysa. We’ll talk soon.”
I resisted flipping him the bird and walked, a little unsteadily, to the bistro.