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“I didn’t see it.” His tone was raw with self-recrimination. “I was too caught up in my fears to see what I was doing to you.”
“And now you do?” I asked, a bitter edge creeping into my tone as my fears were fanned to full-on flames. “What happens if we try again and you slip back into old habits? How do I know this version of you—the vulnerable, honest Dante—isn’t just temporary? Because I’ve seen you be lovely, and I’ve seen you be mean, and I can’t go through that again. I won’t.”
He was silent for a moment, and I thought maybe I’d finally broken through whatever wall he’d built around himself. But when he spoke again, his words were steady, resolute.
“I’m not going to slip back, Elysa,” he assured me firmly. “Because I can’t afford to lose you. And I won’t. I’m going to fight for you, for us, even if you think it’s too late.”
“Dante”—I shook my head, letting go of his hand—"I can’t be your Band-Aid. I can’t be the thing that fixes you or helps you heal. I want usto be equals; I want us to be together because we love each other and want to be together, not because weneedit.”
“I want you,andI need you.” He smiled at me, tucking a loose curl behind my ear. “But I can live without you, Elysa—and I know you can live without me. I believe though that life is immeasurably better when we’re together.”
“I…I don’t know how I feel,” I confessed shakily. “I don’t know if I can trust you. I have been treated as invisible by my whole family and now even you. It’s…I think it might be better for us to go our separate ways.”
“That’s your fear talking, and that’s not happening.” He spoke calmly, like he was asking me about a vintage. “You need to brace for impact, Elysa, because I’m not letting you go. You’re my wife, and I’m getting you back. Now, why don’t you recommend an amaro to go with the dessert?”
TWENTY-THREE
Dante
Nonno always said that words had power, and hence, one should be careful about what we say. I wish I’d paid more attention to that because I had spoken way too many times without thinking, and now my wife looked at me not only with distrust but with a certainty that I would hurt her.
“Remember the time when you found out that Elika overheard you say shit about her to me?” I asked Dean.
“Yeah.”
“Well, remember when I was talking to you in Nonno’s library about?—”
“You’re kidding me,” Dean exclaimed over the phone.
“I wish. A week after that, she gave me divorcepapers.”
“Fuck!”
“Si.”
“Wait a minute. You said that’s what you wanted, so why don’t you sound happy about it?”
“Remember how you realized you were in love with Elika and you were being a jackass by?—”
“So, you’re in love with your wife, and she won’t give you the time of day?” Dean surmised.
“Si.”
I heard him laugh softly. “Fucking hell! One would think you learned from me.”
“One would be wrong.”
“I’m assuming you’re fighting tooth and nail to get your wife back?” Dean correctly guessed.
I stood on the balcony of my suite, the cool night air brushing against my face as I stared out at the city lights of Rome. I had my earbuds on, and my phone lay on the table in the seating area next to a glass of port.
“Fighting being the operative word,amico,” I said sardonically.
“Right! She’s not living with you, I assume.”
“No. She left the flat and I’m staying in a suite at the Palazzo. I just…can’t?—”
“Be at home without her?” Dean surmised.