Chapter 32
The menu change process is going very well. The dishes they've presented to me are excellent and flavorful. I don't think it will compromise the Italian cuisine, which is what I value most in my restaurants—it's my heritage, where I came from, and it will always be part of me.
I haven't seen Emma since. I stopped by Carter's company to talk to him and caught a glimpse of her that day.
From what I understand, she's working on a new project for Henry and Nicola's office, so she's out of the building most of the time.
I overheard a conversation between Samantha and Carter—she'd be home alone this weekend.
I thought it would be the perfect opportunity to talk to her, calmly.
So I waited until Saturday. I thought about going later in the evening, but I wasn't sure she'd be home then, so I decided to go in the middle of the afternoon.
I park the car in front of her house and sit there for a few minutes, just watching.
Everything looks quiet. I get out and knock on her door.
I hear a strange sound—like she's crying on the other side—and knock again. Finally, she opens.
Emma's eyes are red, tears streaming down her face. When she sees me, she startles and puts her hands behind her back, hiding something. We stand there staring at each other until she speaks.
“What are you doing here?”
“I came to see you. We need to talk.”
“We do, but this isn't the time.”
“Why not now? What are you hiding behind you?” I crane my neck to see past her shoulder.
“Nothing. Go away, Mattia, please. I already said this isn't the time. I need a moment.”
“I came to talk to you, and I'm not leaving until we do.”
“No, Mattia, please. I already said not now.” Her voice rises.
“What happened, Emma?” I extend my hand toward her. “Let me see what you're hiding.” Reluctantly, trembling, she brings her hand out from behind her back. What I see makes me draw a sharp breath as a chill runs through me. It can't be.
“You're pregnant, Emma? Is this what I'm seeing? It's not possible! Damn it—” I'm already raising my voice, her test in my hands, staring at it in disbelief. Rage consumes me, and I don't even realize I'm hurting her with my words. “Fuck, Emma, how did this happen…”
“Mattia, stop and listen to me, please. When I left you and came home, it was because Frank, my ex-boy—”
“I get it. You don't need to say anything else, Emma. I understand everything now. I'm leaving. I don't even know why I came here anymore, dannazione[33].”
“Mattia, listen to me. Let me explain…”
I turn my back on her and head to my car.
I can hear her calling after me, but I don't pay attention.
How stupid I was to actually believe she loved me—and still come after her.
Stupido, imbecille—that's what I am. I start the car and drive away without hearing any explanation from her.
I think I've heard enough already. It's over.
I get back to my apartment, still reeling from everything I saw. Owen comes over, asks me what happened, and I tell him everything. Then he says:
“Couldn't the child be yours?”
“No. She told me she came home because of her ex. It can only be his.”
“But did she tell you she came back because she was pregnant with his child?” Owen’s words make me pause.
“I didn’t let her speak. I just left without hearing any explanation.”
“All right, just don’t do anything impulsive you’ll regret later.”
I pour myself a glass of whiskey and down it in one gulp, the liquid burning down my throat.
I pour another glass, sit on the couch with my arms resting on my knees, thinking about everything that happened.
Everything was fine—I came after her so we could be together, so we could finally work things out.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. But then I think about what Owen said.
What if this child is mine? Did I make a mistake by not letting her speak?
No, I’m sure she would have told me, considering how much time we spent together.
And it’s been over a month since she left.
I sit there, turning it over in my mind for hours, and finally decide to let it go.
I came here for her, and I bitterly regret it, but I’m putting it behind me now—everything that happened between us, up to that day—and I’m moving on with my life.
Taking care of my restaurants, as I’ve always done.
I get up and head to my room, take a long shower to relax, and with the towel wrapped around my waist, lie down on the bed.
My head is still buzzing, but finally, I fall asleep.
The next day I wake up early, and like every day, I go straight to the gym, work out until I’m exhausted, then head up to my apartment for a shower. After breakfast, I go to the restaurant. I want to finish all the changes as quickly as possible so I can leave.
Everything is going well, except for my constant thoughts of Emma, but that will change. I bury myself even deeper in work, and finally, after a week, I get everything in order to leave. I’m walking out of the restaurant when Carter pulls up.
“Hey, man, how’s it going?”
“Working hard as always. What brings you here?”
“We’re going to a bar tonight. Nicola’s leaving, so we decided to get together for a farewell.”
“Is the office finished?”
“Yes, and it turned out wonderful as always. Emma keeps proving herself better every day.”
“Text me the address. We’ll be there.”
“Okay, see you later.”
Around eight o’clock, I get the text with the address.
I’m already ready, so Owen and I head out.
When we arrive, I scan the place and spot where everyone is sitting.
As I approach, I see Emma sitting next to Samantha, on the opposite side from me.
I greet everyone at the table and take my seat next to Carter.
The evening was good—fun, even. I exchanged a few glances with Emma, who didn’t seem to be doing well, and she left shortly after I arrived. Better that way.
“So, Mattia, when are you leaving?”
“I’m leaving this week, by Wednesday at the latest.”
“You didn’t stay long.”
“Yeah, I came to sort out some things at the restaurant, and everything’s all set now.”
“I heard there’s going to be a new menu?” Carter asks.
“Yes, we were getting some requests. I looked them over and decided to add some different dishes. I hope you’ll visit the restaurant and try them—and don’t forget to give me feedback.”
“Definitely. Next week I’m planning to take the company staff out for dinner. They’ve been working hard, and the projects have been very well received. It’s a good way to motivate them.”
“Send me a message beforehand. I’ll reserve a private room for you, on the house.”
“I like the sound of that. And Emma, didn’t you talk to her?”
“I went to her house, but she didn’t answer, so I stopped trying.”
“Ah, yes, she wasn’t feeling well this weekend—that must be it. Let’s toast, guys, to another job well done.”
We toast, and after a while, we leave. I finish wrapping up a few things that came up, and finally, my jet is ready to take me home.
I didn’t speak with Emma again, and she didn’t reach out to me either—it was better that way.
I say goodbye to New York, feeling like I’m leaving something behind, but no, I decided to leave that matter in the past, and that’s where it will stay.