Chapter 20 Regretti Spaghetti #3
She set down the phone, her heart breaking.
Lifting it back up, she said, “Sorry, that was a low blow. Dammit, I wish things were different—”
A beep sounded, followed by a message from the operator, asking if she was satisfied with her message.
Sandy hung up and called again. “You wouldn’t believe what I did yesterday. Went on what maybe was a date. A nice guy named George. Handsome too. But old, so much older than me. Had a good time, but then he kissed me, and I slapped him. I have your father to thank for that.”
Husband #1’s face projected on a screen in her mind, the likeness to Jack always haunting her. He was out of jail and apparently living in Tulsa, but that was all she knew about him. They’d not spoken since the day the police had cuffed him in the lobby of the Omni in Atlanta.
She stroked Nicolo. “Love always comes with an ending, honey, as you know, and when it does, it takes a piece of you—of your heart—with it.” She let out a brief smile. “I have to protect what little I have left.”
The surge of raw life rushing through her was too much, so she quickly changed the subject.
“You might also like to know that Moira is at it again. Trying to bring more customers in. We had our first book club, and people actually showed up. We’ll see how the next one goes.
They’re reading Bianca’s book; she’s the daughter of George.
Long story. If you’d ever come visit, I could introduce you.
For now, have a wonderful birthday wherever you are and know that your mom always and forever loves you. ”
While George and Corrado chatted, Bianca uncorked a wine and scrambled to put together a charcuterie board at the counter.
She nearly cut her finger off, as she was barely paying attention.
Listening to Corrado’s voice, she kept wondering what was going on with him, why hadn’t he responded to her text, what was he doing here? With flowers?
George was charming and kind as he probed Corrado with questions. “How does one get a Michelin star?” he asked.
“There are certain standards we must meet. The service has to be impeccable, the ambiance exceptional, the food consistent, creative, and extraordinary.”
“And who gives the star?”
“An inspector. He’s undercover, visits a few times, and the chef’s success depends on him. Or her. This is why there can be no mistakes. Ever. Perfection night after night.”
“Sounds stressful.”
“Naturally. I suppose running a restaurant is a lot like writing a book. The pain is equal to the reward.”
Bianca cracked open a jar of olives. “Dad, I’m sorry you won’t get to go to the opening. He really is great.” She told him about the gazpacho.
Corrado added, “I’m working on a new dish now, a veal cheek braised for twenty-four hours, then served on a fennel root cream sauce; finished with a dehydrated wild mushroom and a sprinkle of rosemary ash.”
George’s eyes expanded. “I see.”
Bianca felt a desperate need to explain. “Dad’s more of a meat-and-potatoes kind of guy.”
“It’s true. I’m more Michelob Ultra than Michelin. But it sounds nice.”
“I think you’d like it,” Bianca said, ignoring George’s awful humor. “You have to open your mind. Food isn’t always about eating for sustenance. Corrado’s an artist. You should see his Insta page. Pure food porn.”
“Food porn?”
“That’s what they call it. Pictures of the dishes.”
“Well, I wish you well. Sorry I won’t get to taste your food.” George continued from there, interrogating Corrado, prying deeper than she would have preferred.
Immensely relieved, Bianca sprang to her feet quickly when Corrado suggested that he better go. She followed him down the stairs, and only once they’d reached the street did they speak.
“You didn’t realize what you’re getting into, did you?” she asked the chef.
“It’s great to see him again.”
“Right. Because he’s so easy, isn’t he?”
“He’s curious, that’s all.”
She searched his eyes, so warm and dazzling. “So you don’t return my text for days and then show up?”
“Did I not respond?” He dug out his phone. “I texted you back, that lovely picture you sent. Oh, sorry, I never sent the message. I’m a mess with the restaurant opening in two weeks.”
He seemed to be telling the truth and took her hand. “What happened, why did you leave me the other day? Did I do something wrong?”
“No, you didn’t do anything wrong. I just . . . like I said. I’m a mess, and I was sparing you from it.”
“I don’t want to be spared, Queen Bee. I like you. I miss you.” He ran his hands down her upper arms, then gently pulled her in. “I want you.”
She kissed him.
“Come with me,” he said, the temperature of the air around them rising. “Come home with me.”
She felt the question in all the right places. “I want to, but I can’t. My dad . . . it’s weird. He’s going to freak out about this, worrying that I’m with someone here in Bologna, far away from the States.”
Corrado didn’t fight her. He gave a simple shrug.
She kissed him again. “I really want to—”
He pressed a finger to her lips. “Say no more. I’m not going anywhere. Take your time.”
His words made her want him more. “You’ve been warned, Corrado. I’m a wreck right now. And you’re still here. Why?”
He reached for her shirt, pulling at the fabric. “You’re the one who left.”
She thought of Sandy, of how the bitch had slapped her father.
She didn’t want to be like her, mean and alone.
And she didn’t want to chase becoming Madmiral Megawatt, either, because that was the problem.
The entire reason she’d moved to Italy was to escape all things Megawatt, but let’s face it, she was treating slowing down and embracing la dolce vita with the same aggressive intensity as everything else in her life the last decade.
Why not just be human for a moment?
“Okay,” she said, deciding she wanted to be a candle in a sea of light bulbs, like him.
“Okay, what?”
“Take me . . . take me home.”
In the morning, they lay naked in the bed. Bianca was on her back, the sheets pulled up above her breasts. He was on his side, an elbow propping up his head.
They’d been chatting, but her focus was on the aftermath of this honeymoon they were on. Sure, the chase was fun. The reunion. She’d never had sex like that in her life. He’d learned some things in Paris. Her legs still quivered from last night and this morning.
But he didn’t know the real her. How could he when she didn’t even know the real Bianca?
Who was she if not a writer and a sought-after therapist?
She’d admitted her issues to herself, but she wasn’t ready to admit them to others—especially this man lying beside her.
He’d made it beyond obvious in so many ways that he wanted more.
That he wanted a relationship. But she still wasn’t ready.
It could be years before she totally sorted herself out and had time to love someone else.
Corrado started to pull back the sheets to expose a nipple, but she batted him away.
The pitch of his voice rose as he pleaded. “What? Do you know how long I’ve dreamed of being with you again, touching you, staring into these eyes that have haunted me over the years. I’ve missed you so much.” He kissed her cheek and whispered, “You don’t know how amazing you are, do you?”
“Stop it.”
“Seriously. Why are you hiding from me?” He giggled to himself. “Where are you, Bianca?” He touched her thigh under the sheet, and it made her shiver. “You are looking for you; I’m looking for you. The whole world is looking for you.”
“I’m right here.”
“Are you?”
He wouldn’t stop looking at her.
“What?”
“Why are you holding back? You ravaged me like a wild animal and now you’re hiding again. What’s happening?”
She wanted to tell him that it was all downhill from here, but wouldn’t dare, so she pulled the sheets up even higher instead and waited for a chance to escape.