35. Dante
THIRTY-FIVE
Dante
R ome was magic at night.
The streetlights blurred the city’s edges and even as they highlighted the ancient ruins and winding alleys.
The night was warm but comfortable, with a light breeze carrying the scent of jasmine and the occasional hint of freshly baked pizza from nearby trattorias.
It was our second wedding anniversary.
I didn’t deserve to celebrate it, not after everything I’d done to jeopardize our marriage, and I knew I was one lucky bastard to have a wife as generous as Elysa.
We walked hand-in-hand in the Eternal City.
I found myself glancing down at her every few seconds just to remind myself she was real.
I’d pulled out all the stops for this celebration.
After all, this was Elysa, my wife, my everything.
She deserved more than dinner and flowers.
She deserved Rome itself, laid bare and beautiful at her feet.
We started with an early dinner at Aroma, the rooftop restaurant with a view of the Colosseum.
I’d arranged for a private table, surrounded by candles and white roses, and the chef had prepared a special menu just for us—delicate zucchini blossoms stuffed with ricotta, handmade ravioli in a sage butter sauce, and the most tender veal saltimbocca she’d ever tasted.
I’d chosen the wine myself, a 2006 Barolo from Piedmont—her favorite—but when I poured her glass, she hesitated.
She smiled at me, her eyes sparkling in the candlelight, and raised the glass to her lips.
She took a small sip and told me it was excellent.
“You haven’t drunk much wine,” I complained when I saw she’d barely touched her glass of wine.
“I overdid it last night,” she murmured vaguely, “So I’m pacing myself today.”
After dinner, we walked to Piazza Navona, its fountains lit up against the dark sky.
The sound of water mingled with the notes of a street musician playing the violin.
Elysa head rested on my shoulder.
“This is perfect.”
I pressed a kiss to the top of her head.
From there, we wandered to the Trevi Fountain, the crowds thinner at this hour but still there, drawn to its grandeur like moths to a flame.
Elysa laughed as I handed her a coin, and she turned her back to the fountain, tossing it over her shoulder with a flourish.
“What did you wish for?” I asked, watching the playful smile curve her lips.
“If I tell you, it won’t come true.”
“Fair enough.” I slipped my arm around her waist as we continued our stroll.
Our last stop was the Spanish Steps, where I’d arranged for a private moment just for us.
It had taken weeks of planning and more strings pulled than I cared to admit, but when we arrived, the normally crowded steps were empty, lit softly by lanterns.
“Dante,” she whispered, her eyes wide as she took in the sight.
“Happy anniversary.” I guided her to the top step, where a small table had been set up with dessert—two slices of rich chocolate cake and a bottle of champagne on ice.
She turned to me, her expression full of wonder.
“You didn’t have to do all this.”
“Yes, I did,” I assured her.
Her eyes glistened, and for a moment, I thought she might cry, but she just smiled and took my hand as we sat down together.
As we settled into our seats, I reached for the champagne, twisting the bottle open with a quiet pop.
But when I started pouring, Elysa placed her hand over her glass and stopped me.
“None for me. ”
I paused, the bottle hovering in midair.
“Are you okay? You’ve been avoiding wine all night.”
She bit her lip, a flicker of nerves crossing her face before she smiled.
“I was waiting for the right moment to tell you.”
My heart skipped a beat, and I set the bottle down, suddenly unable to focus on anything but her because I suspected what she was going to say to me.
“Tell me what?”
She reached across the table, taking my hand in hers.
Her fingers trembled slightly, but her smile was steady, radiant.
“I’m pregnant, Dante.” She sounded both excited and apprehensive.
For a moment, I couldn’t breathe.
The world around us seemed to fade, the city, the lanterns, the marble steps—all of it disappearing until there was nothing but Elysa and the words she’d just spoken.
“You’re... pregnant?” I repeated, as if saying it aloud would make it feel real.
She nodded, her eyes searching mine nervously.
“Yes. I took a test this morning and…made Dr. Dinapoli confirm with a blood test in the afternoon.”
I stared at her, my heart pounding in my chest.
And then, before I could stop myself, I laughed—this wild, disbelieving laugh that echoed off the empty steps.
She blinked, her brows knitting together.
“Am I to assume you’re happy with the news? ”
I got up from my chair and walked around the table, pulling her to her feet and wrapping her in my arms.
“Immeasurably! Though happy may be too mild a word to describe how I feel.”
She let out a shaky laugh, her hands clutching at my shirt.
I pulled back just enough to look into her eyes.
“Elysa, this is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. To us.”
Her smile broke into a laugh, and I kissed her right there at the top of the Spanish Steps, with the city of Rome spread out before us like a blessing.