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“Papa,” I greeted.
“Elysa.”
“Vittorio.” Dante slid an arm around my waist and pulled me close. “It’s a surprise to have you drop in like this.”
“I know Elysa has Mondays off.”
I nudged Dante, who moved us so my father could come into the flat.
I closed the door, and we followed him into the living room.
“Can I get you something to drink?” I asked politely.
He shook his head. “I’m good,cara mia. I should’ve called”—he glanced at our television screen where Aragorn was frozen while he battled theuruk-hai—“but I hope I can have a little time with you.”
He sat on an armchair, and we sat across from him on the couch.
This was awkward, but I wasn’t sure what to say to Papa, so I said nothing and waited for him to speak.
“If he’s cheating on you, then you need to leave him,” he declared, and it shocked the hell out of me.
“He’s not cheating on me,” I said at the same time Dante barked, “I’d never cheat on Elysa.”
“But the photos.”
“They’re old, and some are taken strategically to make it look like something they’re not,” I explained. “And, yes, Dante and Lucia were in a relationship, but that was years ago, long before he and I ever met.”
My father frowned, his eyes narrowing. “He told you this?”
“Yes.”
“And you believe him?”
“Yes,” I said at the same time, Dante ground out, “I don’t lie to my wife.”
Papa let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping. “Elysa, I know I haven’t been a good father. I know I’ve failed you in many ways. But I’m asking you to listen to me now. Divorce him. Come back to Piedmont. I’ll take care of you.”
Something in me cracked at his words; the walls I’d built around my anger and hurt suddenly crumbled. “Take care of me?” I scoffed. “Like you’ve always taken care of me, Papa? By ignoring me? By treating me like an obligation? You really think I’m going to run back to Piedmont with you? I don’t trust you.”
“Elysa—” he began sharply, but I cut himoff.
“No,” I snapped. “I love Dante, and I’m staying with him.”
For a moment, my father just stared at me, his expression unreadable. Then, to my shock, his shoulders sagged, and he let out a long breath.
“I see,” he said quietly. “You love him.”
“I do.”
“And I love my wife,” Dante added.
Papa nodded. “I….”
“You hit me,” I threw at him.
“I regret that more than anything.”
“Is that an apology?” I demanded.