22. Elysa
TWENTY-TWO
Elysa
W hen I answered the phone the next afternoon, I wasn’t sure what to expect.
The call itself wasn’t surprising—Dante had drunk-dialed me the night before, spilling half-coherent declarations of love that I didn’t know what the hell to do with, so I figured he’d call me back to explain himself or…
something.
Whatever!
This time, he was more direct, though still sounding weary—and possibly a bit hungover.
“Elysa, how are you?”
I stood in front of my laptop at the bar and took a deep breath.
“That should be my question. You were really drunk last night.”
“I know.”
“You…ah …okay?”
“ Si .”
Then there was silence.
“Well, it’s good to hear from you and?—”
“I meant every word last night. I don’t want you to think it was the ranting of a drunk man.” The sincerity and raw emotion in his words sent a flicker of apprehension through me.
I wanted to believe him.
Of course, I did.
I loved him.
He was my husband.
But how could I trust such a one-eighty in his behavior?
How could anyone?
“I don’t understand why…damn it, Dante, you wanted a divorce, and I’m giving it to you. It’s almost like now that I’ve said I don’t want to be married to you, that’s all you want. It doesn’t feel like love. It feels like control.” The words poured out of me in a rush of frustration.
Didn’t he realize how hard he was making it for me?
It had taken all my courage to walk away—and now he was saying the things I’d been waiting for him to say, but they didn’t match his actions from the past.
“You think I’m trying to control you?” He sounded hurt, and my heart melted.
“I don’t know what to think, Dante. I don’t know what you want.”
“ Cazzo , Elysa, I told you what I want. I. Want. You .”
“But why?” I asked, perplexed.
“Why all of a sudden?”
“It’s not all of a sudden,” he barked, “Ever since you left me, I’ve been asking you to come back. ”
“No,” I shouted.
“You blackmailed me into attending that Carrera charity gala and spent your time with?—”
“I blackmailed you because you wouldn’t come otherwise, and I wanted you with me.”
“That’s bullshit, Dante.” I banged my hand on the bar counter, and Maura, who’d just walked in, went right back into the kitchen.
“How is that bullshit?”
“You were with Lucia…you know, the woman you thought would make you a superb wife.” I was shouting now.
“Lucia no longer works for the Giordano Hotel Group.”
“What?”
I never expected that she’d be gone.
I saw them as a team, always together, so close, and in Piedmont, sure he’d been upset with her, but I didn’t think he’d fire her.
Or maybe…
.
“She quit, did she?” I demanded.
I heard his long, irritated sigh.
“No, mi leoncina , I fired her.”
“Why?”
“Because…why the fuck do you think?”
He was angry, and that just irked me more.
Why did he think he had a right to be angry with me?
“How the hell would I know?” I threw back at him.
“She crossed me when she talked to you the way she did. No one treats my wife that way. ”
My eyebrows shot up, and my resentment evaporated.
“What?”
“Did you not understand what I said?”
God!
This was getting out of hand.
“Look, I have to open the bistro and?—”
“I’m not done talking with you.”
“For now, you are.” I hung up on him, and then when he called again, I didn’t pick up the phone and ignored the three messages he sent because I was being childish.
Maura came back out, a cheeky smile on her face.
“Trouble in marital paradise?”
“Argh!”
Maura laughed as she tightened her apron.
“You both need to sit down and talk like grown-ups.”
“He’s the one who’s behaving like a child,” I pouted, folding my arms.
“I can see that,” Maura’s tone dripped with sarcasm.
“You want to stomp your feet now?”
She was right.
It hurt my pride to admit that, but she was.
“He keeps saying he’s in love with me,” I said wearily.
“And it’s…making it hard to keep asking him about the divorce.”
“Because you want to go back to him?”
“I don’t know what I want.”
Maura gave my nose a sharp little flick with her thumb and forefinger, making me scrunch my face.
“What was that for? ”
“Because you’re being a stubborn jackass. You know what you want,” she informed me.
“You’re just too scared to go get it. And in case you don’t want to admit it, let me help…you want him .”
“He doesn’t want?—”
“You’ve got to get over what you overheard. He was half drunk and sad, and he said some shit. We all say shit. My question is, since you’ve left, how has he behaved ?”
“Better…good,” I admitted.
“But…there is plenty of room for improvement.”
Maura chuckled.
“Isn’t there always with human beings? Look, Elysa, you love the man, and that’s the bottom line. So, you didn’t have the most auspicious start to your marriage, but if there’s a chance to fix this, shouldn’t you take it?”
I thought about what Maura said the whole day as I worked, took orders, found the right wine for patrons, and waited for the clock to strike seven when Dante would come into the bistro.
That night, he didn’t flirt with my staff.
He looked tired, and I hated that I was probably the reason he was upset.
“He’s so quiet,” Sofia murmured, concerned.
“Did you both fight?”
“You know we’re working on a divorce right?” I reminded her.
She shrugged.
“Ah, I don’t think you’re going to get divorced. You love him, and he loves you. He shows up here every day, and until he comes over, you keep looking at the door, and you leave his table free for him.”
She was right, as was Maura.
I had to stop dancing around this and figure my mind out.
I’d always felt a little intimidated by Dante.
He was older, had more life experience.
He traveled the world.
He was the CEO of a big-ass company.
I was a twenty-five-year old hospitality graduate who worked at restaurants—in fact, I did start my career as a server.
I may have evolved in my role here at Bistro Marmorata, but I had been hired as a lowly waitress.
I hated that he thought that was a non-job because it showed me how he had no respect for what I did.
Even if my job was to mop floors, I wanted my husband to be proud of my work, not be embarrassed by it, or, worse, ridicule me for it.
But I’d never said any of this to him.
I’d never told him how I felt and how he made me feel.
Instead, I’d kept a smiling face, thinking that if I kept showing him what a good wife I was, he’d turn into a good husband.
But maybe I would’ve served myself better if I’d told him what I expected from him instead of hoping and praying he’d figure it out.
“Sofia, I’m going to have dinner with my husband,” I told her.
My employee smiled widely.
“That’s so cute and romantic.”
“Sheesh.”
As I walked toward Dante, the cheeky woman smirked and, with perfect timing, switched the song on the sound system to “That’s Amore”.
“May I join you for dinner?” I asked Dante.
He looked at me, his blue eyes clear, his expression stern.
“Depends.”
“On what?” Oh my God, was he going to reject me?
“Are you expecting me to pay for dinner?”
I pursed my lips.
“Yes. The man always pays.”
That was something Dante had said to me when I’d talked about finances and how we should split things, which I thought was something you normally discussed as a couple.
He smiled.
“Well, then, please take a seat.”
Sofia came by and set up a place for me.
“Have you decided what you’d like to eat, Dante?”
“I’m going to let my beautiful wife order for us .” He beamed at me.
I chose dishes I knew he’d like—burrata drizzled with aged balsamic because he had a weakness for good cheese, and a perfectly grilled bistecca with rosemary and sea salt, as Dante never turned down a well-cooked steak.
I added a side of roasted artichokes, knowing how much he enjoyed them when they were done right, which they always were when Maura was cooking.
“And for dessert, the torta caprese,” I added, looking at Dante.
“You’ll like it. It’s dense with dark chocolate and almonds. ”
“That’s so sweet,” Sofia gushed.
I rolled my eyes but couldn’t stop the small smile from forming.
“And a bottle of Taurasi Riserva.”
When Sofia jotted down the last item, she arched a brow.
“You’re not playing fair, Elysa. He’s going to be ruined for any other meal after this.”
“Is that what you’re doing, bella mia ?” Dante teased.
I rolled my eyes again.
After Sofia left, Dante’s brows lifted in inquiry.
"Why did you choose that wine?"
Taurasi Riserva—bold, structured, full of dark fruit and spice.
A wine with depth, one that needed time to reveal itself fully.
Just like Dante.
It was a calculated move, a small challenge woven into the evening.
If we were going to sit across from each other, share a meal, and pretend for just a little while that we weren’t tangled in all our mistakes, then at least the wine should be…
.
“It’s an honest wine,” I said cryptically.
“I like that,” he murmured approvingly.
“Are we going to be honest with each other, Elysa?”
It felt almost like when we lived together—and that was another realization.
We had shared dinner often, and it had always been easy, laid-back, never forced.
It was never awkward or boring, and not just because I put in the effort—he did, too.
I had never given him credit for that.
But that was because he always had to say something to make me feel like I wasn’t up to the job of being his wife.
“Dante, you complained about my food when I cooked.” I twirled my glass of wine, taking the first step toward transparency with Dante.
He frowned.
“I did? I always told everyone you’re an amazing cook. I ate everything you made and”—he paused, looked at me carefully—“tell me when I complained.”
I swallowed.
This was hard.
I felt foolish and petty telling him how he’d hurt me in small and big ways, but if I didn’t tell him, he’d never know, and he’d continue to keep doing the stupid shit that made me unhappy.
“I made brisket, and you…kept saying it was too rich and how?—”
“I love your brisket.”
I sighed.
“But, Dante, you complained about it.”
“I did?” He shook his head.
“That was thoughtless of me. I’m sorry, mi leoncina .”
So, he hadn’t even known he was doing it?
How clueless was this man?
Well, as clueless as you allowed him to be, Elysa.
“You behaved like I didn’t know how to dress and hired that…anyway, it made me feel like I was beneath you because I didn’t fit into your highfalutin, big-money Roman society.”
I cut a strip of the bistecca, giving him time to think and reply and not interrupt him when he said something I didn’t like, no matter how tempting.
We were talking, and that meant we were also listening.
“I’m sorry, Elysa,” he said softly.
I didn’t doubt his sincerity.
It was clear to see.
“That was insensitive of me. I wish…I wish I’d listened to you about Patrizia, who, by the way, is going to find it very hard to find work in Rome.”
“She is?”
“Yes.” He sounded very pleased with himself.
“She didn’t just mistreat you — she’s the one who told Lucia about the divorce papers. Lucia found them while snooping in our bedroom, and I—like an idiot—confirmed it when she asked.”
“What?” I couldn’t believe the balls on the woman.
“Those papers, which I haven’t bothered to read, have been sitting in my dresser since the day you gave them to me.”
“So…no lawyers have looked at them?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want a divorce. I want my wife back in our home and in our bed so we can live our lives together.” He picked up his wine and took a sip.
“By the way, fantastic wine.”
“I feel like you’ve just changed your mind about being married to me, like that .” I snapped my fingers.
“It’s difficult for me to believe.”
“I understand.” He then sighed, the sound unguarded, like the weight of everything he was carrying was getting too much for him.
“I meant what I said last night. I love you. I know I’ve never said it before to a woman, but I also know my actions haven’t shown it to you. And I am very sorry for all the ways I’ve hurt you, because loving you means…that when you hurt I do as well.”
I closed my eyes, my throat tightening at the unexpected vulnerability in his voice.
This wasn’t the Dante I was used to—the controlled, polished man who always had an answer for everything.
This was someone different.
Someone raw.
Someone real.
“Dante...” I started, but he cut me off.
“Please, just let me finish.”
He said please, but he wasn’t pleading.
The man was too arrogant to do that.
I almost smiled at the thought.
The one thing I could always count on Dante to be was authentic, and that’s when it struck me: he had no reason to lie to me.
If he wanted me back, it was because he did, and the choice was mine if I could overcome my fears and insecurities to be with him.
“Go on,” I encouraged.
“I’ve spent so much time thinking about what went wrong, and I realized... it was me. It was always me. I was afraid, Elysa. Afraid of caring about you. Afraid of getting too close. Every time I felt like we were moving closer, I’d push you away because I didn’t know how to handle it. You made me feel helpless.”
I swallowed hard, his words hitting me in places I hadn’t even realized were still tender.
“And you didn’t find this out while we were married?”
“No.” He gave me a sad smile.
“I…Nonno was my everything. Parent. Best friend. Companion. Playmate. I’d do anything for him.”
“Even marry me?”
“Yes. And that’s what I thought you were. A duty to make Nonno happy. But once Nonno was gone and I was free, so to speak, I didn’t want to let you go, and that’s when I started to understand myself better. I’m sorry that it took so long.”
We fell silent and ate quietly.
That was a lot of information for me to digest.
Unlike Dante, I didn’t understand myself very well.
I knew I loved him—but I didn’t know how to ask for what I needed from him because I didn’t know myself.
“I thought our life was good,” I said after Sofia cleared out our plates and told us she’d be back with dessert.
“Yes, it was, and it can continue to be.”
“But, Dante, even though we spent time together and went for walks, I still always felt like a burden.” I picked up my courage to share the thing that tormented me the most.
“You never took me out on a date. It was always society things where I felt you were worried I’d embarrass you. I always felt like you were ashamed of me. You told Lucia how I was just a server at my friend’s bistro. You…didn’t respect me, Dante.”
Remembering all of it, opening the wounds, made me wonder if I was fooling myself.
I couldn’t go back to Dante, not with all this hurt inside of me, which was still painful, still raw.
“I did do that,” he admitted.
He took my hand in his.
“It was disrespectful, as you said. I am sorry. I can’t go back and change how I behaved, but I can assure you it will never happen again.”
“Why?” I challenged him.
“Is it because you found out I’m not just a server? Does that make me worthy of your attention and respect?”
The horrified look he gave me told me better than words that was not where he was at.
“Fuck no! How can you even think that? Yes, I’ve been an asshole. I get it. But…damn it, Elysa, I respected how you wanted to work and didn’t just want to spend our money. Every woman who’d wanted to be my wife knew that meant she’d live a life of luxury. Instead, you come along, and you want to fucking work. I didn’t know what to make of it. You didn’t want to spend my money—you worried about buying truffles. You had access to one of the biggest fortunes in Italy, and you were worried you spent three hundred euros on fucking mushrooms.”
People were now looking at us because his volume had gone up as he spoke.
“I respected you, and I do so now. How I behaved was…well, it was because I had my head up my ass, and I wanted to be a jerk. ”
I let out a small laugh, borne out of embarrassment but also joy at his words.
“I can’t lose you, Elysa. You’re the only thing in my life that feels real.”
I let out a shaky breath, my emotions swirling in ways I wasn’t prepared for.
“Are you sure you don’t feel this way because I walked away?”
“I do feel this way because you walked away,” he informed me.
“If you’d stayed, I wouldn’t feel like I lost you because I wouldn’t have.”
I sighed.
“You know what I mean.”
“No,” he said emphatically.
“You think that I only want you because you want to leave. I’ve been wanting you throughout our marriage. You really think that I liked spending Friday nights at home watching shit television with you?”
“But you always had your laptop with you,” I accused.
“On the couch, sitting next to you,” he pointed out.
“Because I wanted to be with you, but there was no way I could watch the crap you do.”
“You know it would help you to pretend you like the things I do.” The nerve of the man.
“But that would be lying to you, and I don’t do that.”
The way he said that so easily and confidently, I knew he meant it, really, really mean it.
“Look.” He refilled my wine glass.
“I know I’ve failed you. I thought being distant would protect me, but all it did was hurt you.”
I grabbed his hand when he put the bottle of wine down.
“You didn’t just hurt me, Dante. You broke me. You made me feel invisible. You made me feel like I wasn’t enough. I wanted to be your partner, your equal, but I felt like a friend when it was convenient to you and like an albatross around your neck when it wasn’t.”
“I didn’t see it.” His tone was raw with self-recrimination.
“I was too caught up in my fears to see what I was doing to you.”
“And now you do?” I asked, a bitter edge creeping into my tone as my fears were fanned to full-on flames.
“What happens if we try again and you slip back into old habits? How do I know this version of you—the vulnerable, honest Dante—isn’t just temporary? Because I’ve seen you be lovely, and I’ve seen you be mean, and I can’t go through that again. I won’t.”
He was silent for a moment, and I thought maybe I’d finally broken through whatever wall he’d built around himself.
But when he spoke again, his words were steady, resolute.
“I’m not going to slip back, Elysa,” he assured me firmly.
“Because I can’t afford to lose you. And I won’t. I’m going to fight for you, for us, even if you think it’s too late.”
“Dante”—I shook my head, letting go of his hand—"I can’t be your Band-Aid. I can’t be the thing that fixes you or helps you heal. I want us to be equals; I want us to be together because we love each other and want to be together, not because we need it.”
“I want you, and I need you.” He smiled at me, tucking a loose curl behind my ear. “But I can live without you, Elysa—and I know you can live without me. I believe though that life is immeasurably better when we’re together.”
“I…I don’t know how I feel,” I confessed shakily. “I don’t know if I can trust you. I have been treated as invisible by my whole family and now even you. It’s…I think it might be better for us to go our separate ways.”
“That’s your fear talking, and that’s not happening.” He spoke calmly, like he was asking me about a vintage. “You need to brace for impact, Elysa, because I’m not letting you go. You’re my wife, and I’m getting you back. Now, why don’t you recommend an amaro to go with the dessert?”