Chapter 16
EMILY
“Good afternoon, Signora Ricci,” says Ernesto, stepping out of the waiting limo to open its heavy door outside the iconic Saks department store.
“Thanks,” I say, feeling slightly self-conscious as pedestrians gawk at the way I move towards the waiting luxury car.
Yet at the same time, I feel a thrill of exhilaration as a childhood fantasy comes true.
The book inspiring the fantasy had been Eloise at the Plaza. Anna and I must have thumbed our grubby fingers over that illustrated children’s book a million times.
And now here I am, just a few blocks down on Fifth Avenue, wearing a dress similar to the one Audrey Hepburn wore in the film Breakfast at Tiffany’s.
From the way tourists stare at me, I must really resemble that famous star.
A few aim their phones at me, and one even shoves an autograph book under my nose.
I dart into the rear seat of the limo as soon as possible.
“Your new dress looks classy, Signora Ricci,” he says, meeting my eyes from his rearview mirror as the car moves into traffic.
“Thank you.” My reply is automatic. But so is the thought: Will Lorenzo like it?
Why the hell should I care if Lorenzo likes it or not?
He hired Antoine to take me shopping. He paid for this dress and all the others. If Lorenzo doesn’t like it, it’s his problem.
When we reach The Circle, Ernesto helps me out of the car.
“Have a nice day, Signora Ricci,” he says in that gruff voice of his.
The title grates on me. I’m tempted to just ignore it. Yet if I do, I’ll hear it dozens of times before I finally leave this city for good.
“I’m sure you mean well, but please don’t call me Signora Ricci. I’m not Italian.”
“You’ve got it, Mrs. Ricci.”
I want to say: *Don’t call me that either, I’m not a “real married lady.”
But I just force a smile as I make my way through The Circle lobby.
Free at last.
I press the gold button of the private elevator and soar to the penthouse.
What would it be like to live so lavishly? For real?
When I enter the apartment, I see Ciro tearing lettuce in the kitchen. Meaty steaks rest in some sort of spicy-smelling marinade.
“Good afternoon, Miss Emily,” he says. “My, you look beautiful. Antoine’s work?”
How does he know?
Then again, as the family’s manservant, Ciro knows everything.
“Yes,” I say.
“Very becoming, Miss Emily.”
“Thanks.” I look at the two steaks. “I thought you said Lorenzo dines out on business or at his nightclub every night.”
“Change of schedule,” Ciro says. “Lorenzo said he wanted to have his first official meal with you tonight. He’ll be home in about an hour.”
“Oh. I see,” I say, feeling the tiniest burst of pleasure.
So it seems I’ll be able to converse with my new husband outside the bedroom. Well, at least in this outfit I’m dressed as the Mrs. Ricci of his imagination.
“Can I make you a drink while you relax in the living room?” Ciro asks.
“No, thank you.”
I settle into one of the white leather sofas facing the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Forty-something stories below, yellow cabs jostle through the gridlock of Fifth Avenue. And Central Park beyond it stretches out a luxuriant green between tall, skinny skyscrapers.
The toy-like view makes me think of Teddy, and how much my kid brother would marvel over it.
But with the golden sun setting over the city, it’s a romantic view more than anything else. One that demands a viewing partner.
Hearing Ciro put dinner together in the open kitchen behind me makes me feel guilty for not offering to help.
Or at least, sitting down and starting a conversation to keep him company.
Something Gina would do.
But I’m not Gina.
More to the point, I can’t trust myself. Once Ciro and I drop our guard, and chat, I’m only too likely to ask questions about Lorenzo that he’d deem too personal.
Already, I predict his answer would be: “ask Mr. Ricci.”
So the only recourse is to take a gander into the library. I hesitate before rising.
When Ciro showed me the room, he specifically called it Lorenzo’s library. Implying that I’d be invading my husband’s private property if I entered.
But I’m married to the man. It’s my library too.
Once inside, I close the door behind me and lean against it for a moment. Then I call Anna. I’m relieved when she answers in two rings.
“Look at me,” I say, holding my phone away from my body so she can take in my new dress.
“Wow, that’s gorgeous,” Anna says. “Very sophisticated. Discreet. But it shows off that hot body you keep buttoned up tight. I bet even your late aunt would approve.”
“I thought the same thing when Antoine bought it for me.”
“Who’s Antoine?”
“Lorenzo’s ‘image consultant,’” I say, drawing the word out.
“It’s definitely a great image for you! Is Lorenzo taking you out tonight?”
“We’re just having dinner at home tonight. But Antoine practically bought out the store so I’d have a wardrobe at the ready. One dress to wear for a French restaurant. One dress for an Italian restaurant. Totally crazy.”
“Where are you calling from?”
“I’m in Lorenzo’s private home library,” I say, lowering my voice. “I’m surprised. He has all these books with leather binding and gold lettering.”
“Your new husband reads?” Anna says.
“Appears that way,” I say. “I just hope he didn’t buy them by the pound.”
That would be just like him.
“What kind of books are they?”
“I’ll take a closer look.”
I let my fingers trail over the fancy book spines once I arrive at his bookcase.
When I glance at the title of a particularly old-looking book, I gasp.
“Oh my God,” I say. “Lorenzo has an early edition of Pride and Prejudice.”
“Does a billionaire nightclub owner even know who Jane Austen is?”
“You never know.” I flip through the well-worn pages quickly. But I stop and read when I see one fragile page underlined in blue ink.
My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.
Lorenzo, a romantic?
“OMG!” I say, slapping my palm against my lips. “Listen to the passage he underlined!”
When I read it to her, Anna’s silent for a moment.
“This is deep, Em. And he must have read that book long before he met you. Do you think he was thinking about a certain girl when he highlighted that passage? If so, you definitely have your work cut out for you.”
Anna’s words give me pause.
Men, especially men like Lorenzo, don’t highlight romantic passages for fun.
The phrase must have had meaning for him.
And just my luck. I predicted off the bat I’d have to compete with gorgeous nightclub girls. And even ‘normal’ stunning daytime girls like the ones at the Equinox club.
Now, it looks like former girlfriends are coming out of the woodwork. And Lorenzo underlined romantic passages of Jane Austen in dedication to them.
Turning my attention to the book, I read a few more highlighted passages to Anna.
Could Lorenzo be a 21st-century Darcy?
I pose that exact question to Anna on the phone, reminding her of the romantic hero of our youth.
“Darcy?” she says. “Like, for modern-day?”
“Yes. As clueless teens, we loved Jane Austen’s depiction of Darcy. Today, readers would dismiss him as a ‘prig’ or an ‘alpha-hole.’”
“You’re certainly up on your Reddit slang,” Anna says with a little laugh.
“Hold the line. I haven’t checked into Manhattan Social all week. I’m curious what your hubby’s been up to.”
I wait while I hear Anna take a noisy sip of water on the other end of the phone.
“Here is the scoop! Look at this,” she says, flashing her phone screen at me. “Last night, your Lorenzo was caught in an embrace with the female lead of the new Star Wars pic.”
I examine the picture. My husband and the beautiful young star embrace.
Gut instinct tells me it’s a publicity-style shot for the cameras.
“So what? Entertaining celebrities is his job.”
“Right. Just saying, the ladies seem to love him. Hold the line a second. I got to answer the other line. Be right back.”
While I hold the line, I type in the URL for Manhattan Social so I can see exactly what Lorenzo does every evening in the course of his job.