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With practiced nonchalance, I relocated her to a table where she’d be stuck with Franco Mancini andGino Conti, two men whose idea of engaging dialogue involved heated debates over crop rotations and the merits of organic fertilizers.
Franco owned a sprawling vineyard in Tuscany, and Gino was an agricultural consultant, both highly respected in their fields—but neither exactly known for keeping a woman like Lucia entertained. Soil acidity, harvest yields, irrigation techniques? That would be her thrilling discussion for the night.
As a final flourish, I seated her beside Vittoria Bellini, Dante’s second cousin, who had two notable qualities: an obsessive dedication to cataloging her extensive shoe collection and a deep-rooted dislike for Lucia. The feeling, as far as I could tell, was mutual.
A perfect trio of tedium.
I moved a few more name settings and relocated a couple from Lucia’snewtable to ours. I straightened Lucia’s name card with a satisfied smirk, suppressing the wicked grin threatening to break free.
Let the games begin.
I sat back right when people started to come to their tables. I spoke to my neighbor, a gentleman I hadn’t met before, and his wife. Signor Colombo ran one of the largest banks in Italy, and his wife was a pediatrician.
I liked that Susanna Colombo—well, Dr. Susanna Colombo—was not a society wife. We were having a great discussion about the psychology of wine tastingand how scent and memory were intrinsically linked when Dante finally deigned to find his seat, and his suited arm brushed against my naked one.
Lucia looked at the card next to Dante and frowned. “I thought I was at your table.”
I smiled innocently at Lucia.
Susanna chuckled, and I wondered if she’d seen me move Lucia’s name card. “You know, Cristina, she’s been making last-minute changes to the table seating,” Susanna said.
“It’s so like her to keep at it,” her husband offered, his lips pursed as if he was pushing back a smile.
These were good people, I thought giddily.
“I think you’re there.” Susanna pointed to the table where I’d put her name card and confirmed that she had seen my little maneuver. “Right next to Gino Conti and…Vittoria Bellini.”
Lucia kept her smile tight and patted Dante’s shoulder. “I’ll see if someone will move here and?—”
“It’s fine,” Dante assured her. “Enjoy your meal. We can talk work at work.”
No, really? Work at work?I rolled my eyes and caught Susanna’s wink as she tilted her head. I bowed my head and mouthed, “Grazie.”
So, okay, it wasn’t my finest moment. I’d let jealousy get the best of me, but now that the heat of it had passed, all that remained was a cold, sinking certainty—Dante and I were done.
And yet, here I was, still fighting for him in my own covert, ridiculous ways, just as Renzo Carrera had pointed out.
It was hopeless.
I was hopeless.
I picked up my champagne glass and took a gulp. The bubbles fizzed against my tongue but couldn’t chase away the bitterness that had lodged in my chest—oh no, that would takeseveralglasses of wine, and the pain would come back along with a hangover.
Dante spoke politely with his companions, asking them how they were enjoying their meal as it was served. He complimented the wine and Cristina Carrera’s fine taste. I wondered what he’d think if he knew I had set the food and wine menu together. He would probably think I was exaggerating my influence.
He then talked to Signor Colombo and Susanna, whom he knew. Of course he did; this exclusive society circle was incestuous, and everyone knew each other.
As I watched Dante, I noticed something painfully obvious—with Lucia, he was at ease. With me? Not so much.
And that was all I needed to internalize whenever I wavered with regards to my marriage with Dante.
I resolved, yet again, that this was the last time I’d play this role for him. The heartache wasn’t worth it.
The worst part? Dante didn’t even seem to notice how much this hurt me.
Not once had he looked at me, really seen me.
No, we’d both fallen neatly into the roles we established over the past year—I, the foolish wife still in love with her husband (which, according to Signor Carrera, was obvious to anyone with eyes) and, Dante, my husband who felt trapped in a marriage he never wanted.