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Since it was a Monday and the bistro was closed, I went downstairs from my suite to the Royale Bar at the Palazzo Giordano.
I hadn’t been back to our flat, not even to move my clothes and personal items to the suite at the Palazzo. I’d asked Giulia to get someone from the hotel housekeeping to take care of that.
I couldn’t get myself to go there, not without Elysa.
I sat at the bar counter and ordered sushi from the Japanese restaurant on the eighth floor. A sit-down dinner didn’t appeal to me—not when I was eating alone.
I had gotten used to Elysa. That was why I had gone home for dinner so often when she lived with me, even when work made it easier to stay out. I was a fool not to see how much she meant to me.
If only she hadn’t overheard me talking with Dean, maybe we’d be in a better place now.
But I knew the truth: I would’ve kept my head buried up my ass, oblivious to what I had. It had taken her leaving my sorry ass for me to finally pull my head out of it and see things clearly.
“Everything okay, Signor Giordano?” The bartender asked.
I nodded. “Grazie, Alfredo.”
The bar was the crown jewel of the Palazzo Giordano. The designers had gone for a vintage American speakeasy feel with dark wood, black leather, and gleaming brass, with low lighting that created a moody, intimate atmosphere. The backlit shelves behind the bar held an impressive array of liquor from around the world, but the real treasure was the cocktail menu, curated by one of the best mixologists in Italy.
After dinner, I ordered an Old Fashioned, the smoky richness of the bourbon blending with the hint of orange and bitters. It wasn’t my usual drink, but after the day I’d had, I needed something stronger than port or an amaro.
“Dante,” someone called out, and I was startled to see Theo Reid, a classmate from Harvard Business School. He looked much the same as he had back then: tall and broad-shouldered, with a clean-shaven head and an easy smile that put people at ease. This was handy, as he worked as a sports agent for professional football players.
“Theo.” I rose and gave him a quick hug. “What a surprise! It’s been ages.”
“It has been too long,” he agreed, settling onto the stool next to mine. “I just got in. I’m here for a conference. I tried to call you but got your voicemail.”
“I’m sorry, it’s been some hectic days.” Since Piedmont, my focus had been split between getting rid of Lucia and winning back Elysa—which meant my messages and voicemails had taken a backseat.
“I was going to try again when I was here and found you nursing a drink at the hotel bar.” He grinned. “I think this is calledkismet.”
I laughed. “How are you doing? I’m sorry I couldn’t make your wedding. But with Nonno ill….”
“I heard from Dean. I’m so sorry, Dante.” Theo patted my shoulder. “He was a great man.”
“Can I feed you at least?”
“I’m starving.” Theo opened the menu, a smile on his face.
“I hear you had a great wedding.”
“Yeah! It was a blast. We kept it small. Just Sean and my family and some friends. Speaking of weddings, how are you and the missus doing? It’s been what? A year now?”
I was saved from answering because Alfredo approached us and asked Theo if he could get him anything.
It had actually been eighteen months—though she hadn’t lived with me for nearly four of them. We’d celebrated our first anniversary with Nonno, two months before he died.
As Theo ordered, my mind drifted back to my wedding with Elysa. We married at Nonno’s vineyard in La Morra. Elysa had been mesmerized by the picturesque village, which is known for its prestigious Barolo wines.
I thought I would have to take her back, maybe for an anniversary…if she’d let us have another, that is.
We had kept the wedding small, just close family, which was all that Nonno could handle. No big party, no lavish reception, no honeymoon—just a quiet dinner with Nonno, Elysa, her father, a few of Nonno’s friends, and Dean, who had acted as my makeshift best man.
Elysa had declined to invite a bridesmaid when her mother refused to come for the wedding. She brushed it off by saying, "My father is walking me down the aisle—that's more than enough."
Then, I’d wondered why she had no friends. Now, I knew better. Elysa was private, an introvert by nature—but not friendless. She was the kind of person who chose quality over quantity, who valued deep, genuine connections over surface-level friendships.
She had been hurt too many times, especially by the people who were supposed to love her unconditionally: her parentsandher husband. So, she was careful. Selective. She kept her circle small, not because she couldn’t make friends, but because she had learned the hard way that not everyone was worth trusting.