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I ran a hand through my hair, resisting the urge to snap back. This wasn’t going anywhere productive.
“Elysa, I understand you’re upset, but you’re overthinking this. Patrizia won’t use Italian around you tonight. I’ve already made sure of that.”
Her laugh was sharp, edged with bitterness. "Oh, great. So now, instead of insulting me in a language I supposedly don’t understand, she’ll just do it in English. Problem solved."
I took a deep breath. “Patrizia’s professionalism is one of the reasons why she’s so successful. She wouldn’t jeopardize that. You’re letting your emotions cloud your judgment.”
Her lips parted slightly as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “You think I’m making this up because I’m emotional?”
I didn’t answer right away, and that pause was apparently all she needed. She turned away from me, pacing to the window, one hand on her hip, the other gesturing as she whispered, so I had to focus to hear her. “You never have my back.”
I frowned, impatience creeping into my tone despite my attempts to stay composed. “I’m just saying there’s another perspective here?—”
“I hear you.” She turned to face me, her smile tight,forced. “But this is the last event I attend with you. Just get your lawyers to move faster so I don’t have to deal with this crap anymore—and so you don’t have to suffer through my apparent lack of regard for other perspectives.”
“As always, you’re being dramatic. I’m trying to be fair, to consider all sides?—”
Her expression froze, and for a moment, I thought she might throw something at me. But instead, she merely shrugged. “It’s fine, Dante.”
Then she turned and walked into the bedroom, her posture stiff and her movements controlled. A moment later, I heard her speaking with Patrizia, her tone smooth and polite—none of the frustration from before slipping through.
Good.
Patrizia worked with the most influential people in Rome, and Elysa needed to learn not to let her insecurities get in the way. She was the one who always made things more complicated than they needed to be.
I was convinced that Patrizia wasn’t the problem here. Elysa was.
SEVEN
Elysa
Isat stiffly in the back of the sedan, staring out of the tinted window as Rome blurred past, my hands clenched in my lap to keep them from trembling.
I could still feel the phantom pinch of Patrizia’s cold fingers at my waist, the faint scent of her perfume clinging to the fabric of the dark blue dress she insisted Dante had chosen for me.
“You look very nice,cara…Elysa,” Dante said politely. “Patrizia as always outdid herself.”
Classic left-handed compliment, right on cue.
“Grazie,” I replied just as politely, not having the energy to tell him to shut the hell up, so I didn’t feel like jumping out of a moving car.
Dante didn’t even look up from his phone as he asked, “She didn’t say anything mean, now, did she?”
The way he said it was beyond condescending—downright insulting.
It wasn’t a question; it was a dismissal. Like I was some hysterical, immature woman who overreacted to everything. Like the problem wasn’t Patrizia—it was me.
“She made that hideous sound,” I murmured, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. I was speaking more to myself than to Dante.
“What sound?” he asked distractedly, his tone far too casual as if we were discussing the weather.
I swallowed hard, staring down at my lap, feeling intensely vulnerable. “When she zipped me up. She looked at me in the mirror, tugged the fabric, and made a noise. A grunt. Like….” I trailed off, shaking my head.
Finally, Dante glanced up. “Like what, Elysa?”
“Like disgust.” I felt my throat tighten. “Like I’m a fat cow, just like she said before. Only this time, she didn’t have to say the words. She made sure I felt them.”
Dante sighed, setting his phone down on the seat next to him. He looked at me, his brow furrowed in mild exasperation, the way someone might look at a child who refused to let go of a pointless tantrum.