15. Dante
FIFTEEN
Dante
P orca puttana!
That did not go as I hoped it would.
Elysa avoided talking to me for the rest of the train journey by sitting close to Giulia so that I couldn’t continue our conversation.
Then Giulia and Lucia were in the car with us, driving us from the train station to Palazzo del Tramonto, the Giordano property where we would stay and where the award ceremony would be held.
Elysa stood next to me with her suitcase and backpack as I picked up our suite key from reception.
No one could tell there was tension between us—unless they looked closely, which, except for Lucia, no one else was.
I had to deal with her.
I knew that.
I was shocked by what Lucia said to Elysa, and a part of me wanted to believe that my wife had misunderstood.
Before she asked for a divorce, I’d have said that Elysa wasn’t prone to histrionics, but since then…
I’d seen her lose her temper more times in the past six weeks than the whole year I spent with her.
If Lucia had been that blunt with Elysa, then I had no choice—I’d have to get rid of her.
Legally, I couldn’t fire her just for speaking to my wife; it would turn into a messy, she-said-she-said situation.
But I’d find a way.
What I couldn’t understand was why Lucia would risk her entire career by outright claiming we were sleeping together.
What the hell was she thinking?
I needed more details from Elysa, but getting them was going to be like pulling teeth.
Because as we took the elevator to our suite, she was glued to her phone, scrolling like her life depended on it.
I knew better.
It was nothing more than a deliberate tactic to avoid talking to me.
Once we were inside the suite, I shut the door behind us, and before she could escape, I reached out and caught her arm.
“Not so fast, bella mia.”
She rolled her eyes.
She’d kill me if I told her she looked adorable doing that.
But I’d never seen her look petulant or annoyed or irritated before.
Had she been wearing a mask?
“How come you have so much attitude since you asked for a divorce, and I never saw any of it in the year we lived together?” I led her to the sitting room.
She flopped down on the couch.
“I’m not this person.” She closed her eyes.
“I’m…I have no explanation as to why I’m behaving like this. ”
“Maybe I do,” I murmured.
She opened her eyes, and I sat next to her.
“You’re hurting.”
She didn’t confirm or deny my assessment.
“Can you tell me what Lucia said to you? I don’t just want the highlights. I want to know it all.”
“Why?”
“Because she hurt my wife, and I’m not going to stand for that.”
She cocked an eyebrow.
"Oh, so now you're getting all macho— you're my wife, and no one hurts you ?" She mimicked the last part in my voice, badly, exaggerating the words with a dramatic flair.
It was charming.
I had to suppress a grin—not just because it was amusing, but because she was genuinely upset, and the last thing I wanted was to derail things before I got the answers I needed.
“Like I said, one fuck up at a time, mi leoncina . We’ll discuss the Patrizia fuck up another time. Now, I need to know the damage I did by acknowledging you asked for a divorce when Lucia brought it up instead of dismissing it and keeping a private matter private.”
She swallowed.
“Fine.”
As she repeated what Lucia said to her, my stomach dropped.
“We were working when I commented about the wine. You know he loved the Barolo Riserva?—”
“1985. Vigna dell’Eterno,” she finished.
“ Si .”
“Expensive bottle to open for a work dinner,” she commented suspiciously.
“I didn’t order it. She did.”
But my wife was right.
That was an expensive bottle, and I never questioned that.
“Did she know it was Don Giordano’s favorite? Wait, that wasn’t a question.” She held her hand up.
“Lucia did know and probably ordered it so you’d be all vulnerable in front of her.” Elysa shook her head, exasperated.
“This is the woman you think is going to make you a better wife? She’s the one you want to replace me with?”
“ Never.”
“I heard you say it.”
“It was a stupid thing to say.”
“But you said it .”
I crouched in front of her and took her hands in mine.
“I fucked up. I was drunk and sad and feeling stupid and confused. And…really, I’ve got no proper fucking excuse.”
“Gee, that makes me feel so special.” She pulled her hands away from mine.
“But good thing you have Lucia because I don’t know how to tie a knot around a man’s neck.”
And that was another fucking lie Lucia had told.
I wore the tie because I wanted to honor Nonno when I went for a board meeting—my first without him.
“She didn’t tie it. She just…fixed it.” I sat back down beside her.
“Oh, you mean like a wife does for a husband in the movies? Did she then go on tiptoes and kiss you? They do that in the movies, too.”
If it were just jealousy-fueled ranting, that would be one thing.
But it wasn’t.
Her pain was palpable, woven into every word, every sharp glance, and it hit me with unsettling clarity—I had been so damn ignorant.
How had I not seen it before?
Her claim on me had always been there.
I had just been too stupid, too arrogant, too unwilling to acknowledge it.
“I’m going to sort this out,” I vowed.
“ Whatever .”
“What are you, fifteen?” I muttered.
“Well, you did say I was a kid.” She made a face and stuck her tongue out.
“Can we get past that stupid dumb mistake I made?” I asked through gritted teeth.
“No.”
I was going to say something about her being stubborn, but the words disappeared when I saw the tears swimming in her eyes.
“Elysa,” I gasped.
“It crushed me to hear you say those things, Dante.” She wasn’t being snarky.
She was being honest now.
“You made me feel like I was less. If you’d just come to me and said, hey, it’s over, pack your bags and get going —that would have been better than….”
I cupped her cheek.
“I’m so sorry.”
She blinked back tears.
“Me too. I…had hoped we could have had a proper marriage.”
We can , I wanted to say.
But she wouldn’t believe me.
Hell, I wouldn’t believe me.
If she’d overheard what I said to Dean in isolation, I could overcome it.
But it was combined with a year of her trying to be a wife and me being un idiota .
I took her hands in mine.
This time, she didn’t pull away; she let me touch her and comfort her as best I could.
“I felt coerced into marrying you.”
“I know.”
“I resented you, and I was a little pissed that you made a deal with Nonno about the vineyard.”
“But I told you that?—”
“ Si . I know that now . I didn’t then , and I think I was only hanging on to that as an excuse so I could….” Not fall for you.
Cristo!
I had, during this past year, fallen for my wife.
How dumb could a man as smart as me be?
Pretty dumb, it appeared.
“Stay annoyed with me?” she offered.
“Something like that. And I’m sorry. I wish I could go back and do it all differently. ”
“That’s not how life works, Dante. You took out your anger on me. I didn’t deserve that.”
“I never treated you poorly.” I proved I was a bigger idiot than before by becoming defensive.
It was reflex.
A knee-jerk reaction.
“You really believe that?” she asked in disbelief.
I lifted her chin with my thumb and forefinger.
“You feel that I mistreated you?”
“Define mistreated?” she challenged.
“I have treated you with respect, haven’t I?”
“No, you haven’t. You have treated me with disdain and condescension.” She shook her head as if weary.
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
Disdain and condescension!
Things were worse than I thought.
Since I felt like I was constantly tripping over myself with her, I decided to leave it be…
for now.
Instead, I brought her hand close to my mouth and kissed her knuckles.
“Dante, what do you want?” she asked.
You .
Another chance.
She wouldn’t give it to me.
She was too hurt.
I’d have to just take it from her and convince her to stay married to me.
“I want us to have a lovely time in Piedmont.” I brushed my lips against hers.
“I’m not going to have sex with you.” Her eyes flashed with defiance .
I smiled and pushed some hair tendrils away from her cheeks.
“Why don’t we enjoy ourselves for the next two days and not make any statements?”
“I won’t allow you to seduce me.” Her face flushed at her own words.
It made me want to pick her up and take her to bed and see how long it would take me to, in fact, seduce her.
But sex would muddy the waters for both of us, and right now, my realization of what lay in my heart was new and fresh.
I had to process this and figure out how best to win my wife back.
“Okay, no seduction.”
She swallowed.
“I’m going to take a shower and…then…ah…I need to get ready.”
“Okay.”
“I don’t want Patrizia or any…I just don’t.”
I had always insisted she use a stylist whenever she accompanied me to events.
I had done that for two reasons.
One, she wasn’t used to dressing for high society, and this took some of the stress off her—and, if I was being honest, off me too.
And two, it allowed me to pay for everything without her getting prickly about money—because Cristo , if there was one thing Elysa was, it was stubborn as hell about that.
But did I make her feel small, as she’d just said, by implying she didn’t know how to fit into my world, that she didn’t know how to dress herself properly?
I had and that made me feel like shit.
“If you need a stylist, the hotel has someone who can help with hair and makeup.” I had checked on that before we came.
“I also have brought some outfits for you selected…not by Patrizia.”
She looked at me suspiciously.
“I have clothes.” She nibbled on her lower lip.
“But…you probably want me to wear your stuff.” There was defeat in her demeanor, and I realized that I’d been a fucking asshole to my wife.
Disdain and condescension !
Check.
“No matter what you wear, you look beautiful, Elysa. I’m”—I paused and took a deep breath and continued—“sorry that I made you feel like you couldn’t dress yourself.”
Now that I said it out loud, I felt worse.
It appeared that I would be apologizing to my wife frequently in the near future, and I needed to get used to it.
She frowned, obviously puzzled.
She wasn’t the only one.
I’d apologized more to her in the span of the past couple of hours than in my whole life to anyone.
“Ah…I’m going to…go.” She gestured vaguely to the bedroom and walked to it.
I left Elysa to unpack and take a shower, hoping the time alone would help her unwind after the tumultuous day she’d had.
I, on the other hand, had no intention of relaxing.
I was fuming.
I texted Lucia to meet me at the Terrazza delle Stelle, the hotel’s rooftop terrace.
The Palazzo del Tramonto was perched high on a hill that rolled gently into the distance, lined with vineyards as far as the eye could see.
Every corner of the hotel felt deliberate, from the hand-painted frescoes in the main lobby to the seamless glass walls that framed the landscape like art.
The Terrazza delle Stelle—Terrace of the Stars—was one of its crown jewels, offering panoramic views of Piedmont’s countryside.
Guests could sip rare wines beneath the open sky, exchange quiet words, or simply take in the endless horizon, where the world below seemed to fade away.
When I arrived, the late afternoon air was warm and heavy, and the faint scent of lavender drifted in from the nearby gardens.
The terrace was nearly empty at this hour, save for a small group of four seated at the far edge, their voices low and intimate over glasses of Arneis, the crisp white catching the sunlight.
Thankfully, I didn’t know them—and I hoped they didn’t know me.
I wanted privacy for what I had to say to Lucia, who joined me fifteen minutes after I got there.
I was already seated on one of the plush, ivory chaise lounges arranged beneath a pergola draped with climbing roses.
A bottle of chilled white wine rested on the table in front of me, the condensation glistening on the glass.
I looked up when she approached, and I wondered how nervous she was.
I gestured to the chair across from me.
“You picked a beautiful spot.” She sat, a big smile on her face .
I didn’t beat around the bush.
“I wanted to talk to you about your conversation with my wife.”
“Dante, maybe we should do this in private,” she suggested as she looked around.
I didn’t look at her as I filled two glasses with Pinot Grigio.
I handed her a glass of wine.
“This is private enough.” And I will not be alone in a room with you ever again.
She took the wine hesitantly and then tilted her head, studying me with those calculating eyes of hers.
“Is that why you summoned me?”
I sipped the wine and took a moment to savor it.
I set the glass down.
“I’d like to understand why you thought you could talk to my wife the way you did on the train.”
Her smile faltered, but she recovered quickly, drinking some wine nonchalantly.
“I talked to your wife like I always do.”
“Lucia, please don’t make this more difficult than it needs to be,” I ordered.
She swirled the wine in her glass as though she were debating how much to reveal.
The faint bustle of the terrace filled the silence—the ring of glasses, the soft rustle of the evening breeze through the pergola.
Beyond us, a path of stone steps led down into the gardens below, where the faint trickle of a fountain could be heard.
Finally, she sighed, setting the glass down with an exaggerated slowness.
“Dante, I don’t know what Elysa told you, but all I did was ask her how she was doing since she was close to Don Giordano.”
“Did you insinuate to my wife that you and I are having an affair?”
She burst out laughing.
“Of course not. I merely said to her that I was very impressed with how she was handling the divorce.”
I narrowed my eyes.
“And why would you do that?”
“It’s a difficult time for both of you. I was merely offering support,” she said simply.
I didn’t believe her.
I would’ve in the past, I realized, but that was before I opened my eyes about my wife.
Elysa didn’t have any reason to make up stories about Lucia.
She was the one pressing for a divorce.
I kept my expression schooled.
“And the part where you told her how you and I are meant to be together?”
Her eyes widened, and she scoffed.
“I never said that. What is Elysa up to? Do you think she misunderstood something I said?”
She was good.
I had to give her that.
That’s when it clicked for me.
I knew how she knew about the divorce.
“You mean like she did with Patrizia?”
“Exactly.” Lucia shook her head as if amused.
“Elysa is so young, and it sounds like she’s got her head in the clouds. ”
Elysa was young, yes, but her feet were planted on the ground, and I didn’t think her head has touched a single fucking cloud in her life.
“How did you know about her asking for a divorce?” I asked, and the question threw her off.
“Ah...I told you. She was seen in Carmen DeLuca’s office. Rome is a village sometimes, isn’t it?”
I steepled my hands.
“Elysa has never been to her office. She met Carmen at Carmen’s niece’s flat. She did that to be discreet. So, once again, Lucia, how did you find out?”
She shrugged.
“I heard that she was with Carmen…I mean…does it matter?”
“Yes, in fact, it does.” I steepled my hands.
“Let me see if I guess this correctly. Patrizia told you.”
“What?” She spoke too quickly, and I caught her lie.
“Patrizia was in the flat. I’m very displeased that she snooped around because those divorce papers were inside my dresser.”
She fumbled now.
“Patrizia? You’re imagining things.”
“You should let Patrizia know she won’t be working in Italy again for two reasons: one, for calling my sexy, beautiful wife a fat cow, and two, for breaching my privacy.” I looked at my watch.
“As for you, you’re on thin ice, Lucia.”
She shook her head.
“Dante, you’ve got it all wrong. I don’t know why Elysa is saying these things to you. She’s a child and?—”
“Elysa is not a child. She’s young when it comes to her age, but she’s more mature than most people my age.” I tucked my hands in my slacks.
“Lucia, consider this a warning. You fuck with my wife again, I’ll destroy you.”
She cocked an eyebrow.
“Are you threatening me?”
“Yes.”
“With what?”
“You crossed a line. Going to my wife and saying we’re having an affair is?—”
“Your wife misunderstood,” she blurted out, talking over me.
I knew this was the direction she’d take.
I smiled coldly.
“You, of all people, should know not to make an enemy out of me.”
She paled for an instant and then shrugged.
“I’m defending myself, Dante. You’re accusing me of things that I didn’t do.”
“Watch your back, cara .” With that final threat, I left her.
I was halfway down the stairs when I wished I’d at least brought the bottle of Pinot Grigio with me.
I’d cocked up my life that much was obvious.
Nonno would not be happy with me.