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Since Lucia started working for me, I’d been feeling a gentle attraction toward her. Who wouldn’t? She was a good-looking woman—tall, beautiful, blonde, fit, with a perfectly symmetrical face. She was the type of woman who turned heads when she walked into a room, and who knew how to wield her beauty like a weapon. A woman who fit into my world with aplomb. But did she fit me? Because now, as I watched her, I felt…nothing.
No, that wasn’t entirely true. I felt guilty. I’d hurt my wife by voicing something that I hadn’t even been sure about because, right now, it was clear to me that Lucia was a fantasy spun out of control.
I thought of Elysa, and the contrast couldn’t have been sharper.
My wife wasn’t a fantasy. She was real. Her body was soft and curved in a way that felt like home, not an airbrushed magazine cover. Her nose was slightly off, a little imperfection that looked fucking cute.
She didn’t dress to impress anyone but to feel good about herself. She was always in understated clothes—except when she was by my side in my world.
I knew she preferred sneakers to heels, flats to stilettos. She’d rolled her eyes more than once when Patrizia made her wear shoes that Elysa called designer torture devices, and she shuddered at the thought of teetering around in a pair of four-inch shoes.
And yet,you prefer Elysa over Lucia, a voice inside my head told me.
Fucking conscience!
Where was it when I was talking to Dean, making a complete ass of myself?
Where was it when I was drowning in the grief of losing Nonno, trying to make sense of it all—and somehow deciding that giving up my wife and destroying my marriage would make it hurt less once he was gone?
Elysa’s beauty wasn’t about perfection. She was unapologetically herself, and that was magnetic in a way Lucia could never be.
Lucia was a fantasy. A fleeting distraction. But Elysa? She was tangible. A woman who grounded and challenged me while doing her best to remind me of things that mattered, like fucking movie night and a walk on the Lungotevere.
I remembered walking with her along the Tiber River, the two of us weaving through the chaos of Rome. The cobblestones beneath our feet were uneven but full of history. The purr of vespas zipping past, the occasional melodic chatter of locals spilling out of trattorias, and the scent of fresh bread and garlicfilled the air. The river stretched out beside us, its waters dark and rippling in the moonlight while the golden glow of lampposts lit the path ahead.
Elysa didn’t care about grand gestures. She didn’t need a fancy dinner in some Michelin-starred restaurant or an evening on one of Rome’s most exclusive rooftops. No, she was happy with simplicity—a walk, an espresso from a corner bar, a cone of gelato shared on the steps of Piazza Trilussa…. Being with her made the city feel intimate and personal, as if Rome itself slowed down just for us.
I hadn’t appreciated it then. Not the simplicity of it, not her ease in finding beauty where I’d always overlooked it.
Lucia demanded attention. She’d want to go to places where she’d be seen and talked about. But Elysa? She walked the streets like she belonged to them, and somehow, she made me feel like I belonged, too…with her.
As Lucia discussed a contract, my mind stayed with my wife.
I thought about the way she smiled, how her laugh always seemed to catch me off guard, or how she could silence me with one pointed look. I thought about the nights when she’d fall asleep with her head on my shoulder, her hand resting lightly on my chest.
I missed her.
And just like that, I realized I’d never truly wanted Lucia. I’d just let myself believe I did because it waseasier than admitting what I already had was more than enough—and, like a fool, I’d let it slip away.
“Dante, you with me?” Lucia mused.
I let out a deep breath. “Sorry, Lucia. I’m just…a hundred miles away.”
“Understandable. We can meet at another time.”
I nodded, but before Lucia could pack up and leave, I asked her the question that had been traversing my head since I spoke to my assistant. “Giulia said something that…well, made me wonder. Are people thinking something is going on between you and me?”
She flushed. “Ah…well….” She put a hand to her heart. “Yes, I believe so.”
“Why?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know, Dante. People just…I think some people know that you and I used to be together, and well…you know how your marriage seemsarranged? I think that fuels the gossip that yours is not arealmarriage.”
“Cazzo!”
“I’m sorry, Dante.” She then laughed softly. “But I get it. You have spent more time with me in the past year than your wife. You and I have eaten at more restaurants together than you have with your wife. I’ve been traveling with you while you haven’t even taken your wife for a honeymoon.”
No shit!