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“Nonno wouldn’t want me there under false pretenses,” I snapped. I waved to the server, and when he came close, I requested, "Whiskey,liscio, per favor."
Yes, sir, I needed a whiskey neat.
The server nodded, a polite smile on his face. “What kind of whiskey, signora?” He inquired in Italian.
“Scotch…single malt,se possibile,” I replied with a small smile.
He gave a slight bow. “Subito.”
I watched him walk off as I nervously tucked some hair strands that came loose from my ponytail behind my ear.
I could feel Dante’s eyes on me from across the table, focused as though he was trying to decode something about me.
“What?” I tilted my head toward him.
He shook his head, looking almost amused—or was it surprised? “Your Italian is good, though you have a strong American accent.”
I laughed in self-deprecation.
“With you, there is never any winning, is there? You can’t just say,hey, you speak Italian well. No, it’s you do it wellbutwith an accent, you loser.”
He looked like I had hit him. “I don’t think you’re a loser. I just?—”
The waiter returned swiftly, and I thanked him and took the whiskey like a shot.
“She’s just pretending to work at her friend’s bistro,” I said in a sing-song manner. “You said that to Lucia when she asked what I did. Do you know that Maura and I became friendsafterI began working for her?”
“We’re getting off topic.” Now, he did use the master-to-moron tone, and I wanted to rip him a new one.
“And what the hell is so wrong with being a server? Why would you mock good, honest work?”
He was taken aback. “I don’t, Elysa.”
“Do you respect what I do?”
He hesitated and nodded. “Yes.”
I scoffed. “I call bullshit on that. Youdo not respect me. At fucking all.”
He sighed. “You’re drunk.”
“Are you kidding me? I just had two drinks, it’s gonna take a minute before it’s in my goddamn blood stream.” I took a calming breath. “So, don’t go justifying your arrogance and rudeness by saying I’m soused.”
“Elysa—”
“You asked to meet to talk about thefuture,which I thought meant we were going to talk about the goddamn divorce, but what you want is for me to pretend to be the good wife, again, while you prancearound with your mistress in front of me and then call me a slut for talking to a man.”
Some heads turned because I wasn’t really keeping my voice down. Okay, so I was maybe a little tipsy.
His jaw tightened. “Let’s not make a scene.”
“Weare not making a scene, Dante.” I gave him a sly smile. “Iam making a scene all on my lonesome.”
“Elysa, why is it that I always end up hurting you?” His eyes filled with pain, and it was my turn to be taken aback. I’d never seen Dante vulnerable like this.
“I don’t know, Dante, but isn’t that my question?” I asked sadly.
“I…I think you’re a remarkable person.”