6. Nora
— ? —
Nora
Four Weeks Later
The Castellano account is mine.
I’m standing in my boss’s office, trying to keep my face professional while she tells me the news. “They asked for you specifically, Nora. Said you were the only one who actually listened to what they wanted.”
“I just paid attention.”
“That’s more than most people do.” She slides a folder across her desk. “This is a big deal. You know that, right? The Castellanos have been with Morrison & Klein for fifteen years. Asking for a new account manager is unheard of.”
“I know.”
“So don’t screw it up.”
I take the folder. “I won’t.”
***
The text comes while I’m grabbing lunch.
Dinner tomorrow? There’s a new Italian place in the Village I think you’d love. - Julian
I stare at the screen. This is the third time he’s asked. The first two times, I said I wasn’t ready. That I needed to focus on work. That I didn’t want to give the gossip blogs more ammunition.
All true. All excuses.
Because the real reason is that saying yes to Julian feels like admitting something I’m not ready to admit. That my marriage is really over. That I’m really moving on. That Dante is really-
My phone buzzes again.
No pressure. Just two people who enjoy each other’s company sharing a meal. I promise to be on my best behavior.
And then:
Mostly.
I laugh. It surprises me. And suddenly I’m thinking about what Sophia said -detonate- and about the gala, about how it felt to be looked at like I mattered.
I type back: What time?
His response is immediate: 7 PM. I’ll send a car.
I can get myself there.
I know you can. But let me anyway.
I hesitate. Then type:
Fine. But I’m paying for my own dinner.
We’ll negotiate.
I’m smiling when I put my phone away. Actually smiling.
This is what moving forward feels like.
***
The ambush happens the next morning.
I’m leaving my building at 6 AM - early gym session, trying to reclaim some sense of routine - when I see him.
Dante.
He’s leaning against a car parked across the street, and he looks like hell. Unshaven, dark circles under his eyes, wearing the same clothes I’ve seen in his closet for years. He looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks.
Good, whispers a mean little voice in my head. Let him suffer.
Then he sees me, and his whole face changes. Lights up. Like I’m the sun and he’s been living in darkness.
I hate that my heart still stutters when he looks at me like that.
“Nora.”
“Dante.” I don’t slow down. “What are you doing here?”
“I needed to see you.” He falls into step beside me. “You won’t return my calls.”
“There’s a reason for that.”
“I know. I know, and I’m not-” He rakes a hand through his hair. “I’m not here to fight. I just wanted to talk.”
“So talk.”
“Not on the street. Can we go somewhere? Coffee, or-”
“No.”
“Nora-”
“I have a gym session in twenty minutes and a meeting at nine. I don’t have time for coffee and I don’t have time for-” I gesture at him. “Whatever this is.”
“This is me trying.”
“Trying to what?”
“To fix this.” He stops walking, and something in his voice makes me stop too. “I know I fucked up. I know the year before - I know I wasn’t there. I know I broke every promise I ever made to you, and I know you have every right to hate me.”
“I don’t hate you.”
“Then let me-”
“I don’t hate you, Dante. I don’t feel anything for you at all.” The lie tastes sour in my mouth, but I say it anyway. “You’re not in trouble for the kiss. I told you that night - I believe you. She kissed you. You pushed her away.”
“Then why-”
“You’re in trouble for the year.” I turn to face him. “For every dinner you canceled. Every anniversary you forgot. Every time I reached for you in bed and you turned away. Every time I tried to tell you something was wrong and you said after the deal, tesoro, after the deal.”
He flinches at the pet name. Good.
“I loved you so much,” I say, and my voice cracks, and I hate it. “I loved you, and you made me feel like I was invisible. Like I was furniture in my own home. Like I didn’t exist unless you needed something from me.”
“Nora-”
“So no. I don’t want coffee. I don’t want to talk.
I don’t want to hear your explanations or your apologies or whatever speech you’ve been rehearsing in the car.
” I step back. “I want to go to the gym. I want to go to work. I want to have dinner with someone who actually sees me when I’m in the room. ”
His face goes white.
“Dinner with someone,” he repeats. “Julian Cross.”
“That’s none of your business.”
“He’s using you. You know that, right? He’s only interested because you’re my-”
“Because I’m your what?” I step closer. “Your wife? Your property? Your thing?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean?”
He opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again.
Nothing comes out.
“That’s what I thought.” I turn and start walking. “Goodbye, Dante.”
“Nora, wait-”
His hand catches my elbow. I look down at it, then up at his face. Hold his gaze until his fingers loosen, then drop.
“Don’t touch me,” I say quietly. “Don’t show up at my building. Don’t ambush me on the street. If you want to communicate, you can go through the lawyers like everyone else.”
“Please-”
“I’m done begging, Dante. You should be too.”
I walk away.
I don’t look back.
***
The text comes while I’m in the shower at the gym.
7 PM still works? - Julian
I stare at my phone. Water dripping down my face, heart still pounding from the confrontation.
Yes, I type back.
Then, before I can second-guess myself:
Looking forward to it.