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The couple looked from my stiff face to Dante’s and snickered. They went back to their meal, but I distinctly heard them murmur in Italian, “Marriage troubles” and “So cute.”
I decided not to let him rattle me and spoke like a Somm in some snooty French restaurant. “For the wine, I recommend the Aglianico del Vulture.”
And I hope you choke on it.
“Interesting.” Dante checked the menu to find the wine I had mentioned. “Can you tell me about the wine?”
It’s red, you son of a bitch, like your blood that’s going to pour out when I stab you with something!
“It’s a bold and structured red wine with smoky and earthy notes. It will complement the flavors of the dish beautifully.”
But since it doesn’t cost over a hundred euros, you probably won’t like it.
“I’d like a bottle.”
He licked his lower lip, and he looked at me the way he did right before we’d end up naked. The man wasn’t playing fair, but I wasn’t some hormonal moron who could be led around by my clitoris.
“Maybe I can convincemy wifeto join me after she’s finished work,” he said huskily.
Not even with a gun to my head.
"I’m afraid after work, I’ve been hired to repaint the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel," I retorted, flashing him a saccharine smile.
He chuckled. "If I didn't know any better,bella mia, I'd think you have a thing for Michelangelo."
The bastard.He was up to something—I just didn’t know what yet.
“Sofia will be with you shortly with your wine.” I stormed back to the bar, flagging Sofia down. “Handle his table withcare,” I told her as I entered Dante’s order into the point-of-sale system.
“Your husband is?—”
“I know, sexy as hell.”
Sofia giggled. “I was going to say very charming, but let’s go withsexy as hell.”
“Get to work, Sofia,” I grumbled.
She nodded, looking a little too eager to get to Dante’s table.
By the time I checked on the kitchen and made myrounds, it was clear that Dante was putting on a show of being Mr. Amiable & Sexy.
I caught glimpses of him laughing with SofiaandPaolo, charming them with that effortless charisma that had drawn me to him in the first place. My staff, of course, was eating it up. Paolo looked like he wanted to propose on the spot, and even Maura, who never left the kitchen, came out to yank my chain after she heard my estranged husband had deigned to come to our bistro.
“My, my, your husband is certainly wooing you,” Maura noted, amused.
“He’s…what?” I choked the words out. “No! He’s up to something.”
“That much is obvious. He’s here for you.” She grinned. “Am I to assume you’re moving out?”
“You want me to move out?” I demanded.
“No.” Her smile was unwavering. “But I think he does.”
Dante looked at us and toasted us with his wine glass. Maura waved back.
“He’s the enemy,” I hissed at my friend.
“He’s your husband,” she retorted nonchalantly.