by Kyle, Regina
“And when you finally did remember, you told your friends—or whoever they were, since you didn’t see fit to introduce us—that we barely knew each other.”
The third coin hit him smack in the forehead and landed at his feet.
Her lip quivered, and it looked like she was fighting hard not to cry. “Do you know how that made me feel? Like you were ashamed to be seen with me. Like I was some kind of dirty secret you had to hide.”
Dante’s heart twisted at the obvious pain in her words. Part of him longed to comfort her. To reach out and fold her into his arms, reassure her that that his feelings for her were honest and genuine and that nothing between them had changed.
But that would be a lie. Besides, it was best this way. Painful, yes. But also quick. Better than dragging it out, continuing the pretense that he was capable of a long-term relationship.
He tightened his jaw. “We both knew this would have to end eventually.”
Zoe shook her head, her eyes wild and confused. “I don’t get it. You told me about Nicole, and I know how difficult that was for you. Ten minutes ago, you were talking about fountains and coins and love and marriage. Now you’re treating me like I’m radioactive.”
The tears that were threatening started to spill over. “Please, Dante. Talk to me. Tell me what changed.”
Leave it to Zoe to ask for the one thing he was incapable of giving her.
The truth.
He cupped her cheek, allowing himself that one last luxury. By some miracle, she didn’t pull away. Her pale skin was damp under his palm, and he brushed back a teardrop with his thumb. “I can’t give you what you want. I thought I could, but I can’t. I’m sorry, carina.”
The endearment was like a trigger. She jerked back, her expression stormy. “Don’t call me that. And don’t touch me. You’re no different than my cheating scumbag of an ex-boyfriend. Or my two-faced, design-stealing boss. You lied to me. Made me start to believe this was more than a holiday romance. I was an idiot to let myself fall for you.”
Now it was his turn to reel. She’d fallen for him?
Zoe hitched her purse up on her shoulder. “I’m leaving. Don’t follow me. I’ll have the doorman let me into your apartment, and my stuff will be out by midnight. Except for Houdini. As much as I want to, I can’t take him with me. You’ll have to figure out what do with him. Just make sure he has a good home. Somewhere he won’t be turned into pancetta. That’s the least you can do for him, and for me.”
Dante wanted to ask where she’d go at that hour, but she didn’t give him a chance to respond, turning on her heel and stalking away from him as quickly as she could in four-inch stilettos. She’d only taken a few steps when she wheeled around and tossed one last barb at him.
“You know what? I feel sorry for you, Dante. I get that you’ve been hurt. But guess what? Lots of people get hurt. I’ve been hurt. And yeah, it sucks. Big time. But it’s not a reason to shut yourself off from life. From love. I’m brave enough to put myself out there. To try again. I hope you are someday, too, even if it’s not with me.”
Unable to speak, Dante could only watch Zoe storm off into the pitch-black September night. When the darkness had swallowed her, he bent and retrieved the coins she threw at him, turning them over and over in his palm as the stupid legend echoed in his brain, mocking him.
One coin, return to Rome.
Two coins, fall in love.
Three coins, get married.
He drew his arm back to hurl them into the damn fountain, then stopped. Three euros. They were all he had left of her. Well, that and a pig.
He stuffed the coins into his pocket and stared at the fountain. The cascading water was strangely hypnotic, but not enough to dull the pain of letting Zoe walk away. He was doing the right thing breaking it off with her. Not only for his own protection, but for hers. He was damaged goods. She deserved a man with less baggage than he carried. But that didn’t make losing her any easier. And the thought of her with someone else—
His chest squeezed. She was right about one thing. Getting hurt—how had she put it?
It sucked. Big time.
Chapter Fourteen
Something cold and wet pressed into the back of Dante’s hand, dangling off the side of the bed. Without even opening his eyes, he knew exactly what it was. He groaned and rolled onto his back, bringing his hand up and out of reach of Houdini’s questioning snout.
“Not now, pig,” he said, his voice gravelly with sleep and the aftereffects of too much whiskey. “It’s too early.”
“No, vita mia. It’s not. If anything, it may be too late.”
His grandmother’s clipped tone shocked him from half asleep to fully awake. He sat up, clutching the sheet to his bare chest with one hand and rubbing his tired, undoubtedly bloodshot eyes with the other.
“What are you doing here? And how did you get in?” Unlike the villa in Positano, Dante’s penthouse in Rome was all his, bought and paid for with his own hard-earned euros. Whatever right Nonna had to walk into Bella Vista unannounced, she certainly couldn’t claim that privilege here. Especially in his goddamn bedroom.
“Your brother let me use his key. He’s worried about you, too.”
Dante made a mental note to change the lock and give Luca a smack upside the head. Not necessarily in that order.
He scrubbed a hand through his sleep-ruffled hair. “Can you be worried about me in another room? I’d like to put some clothes on.”
“You have five minutes to make yourself presentable and meet me in the kitchen. I’ll brew some caffè. If I can find any beans.”
“In the cabinet next to the refrigerator. Bottom shelf.”
Nonna picked up Houdini, who was snuffling around the foot of the bed, and swept out of the room like a queen, somehow managing to look regal and imposing and more than a little bit intimidating, even with a squirming pig under her arm.
Knowing better than to defy her, Dante threw on a pair of drawstring linen pants and a T-shirt and made his way to the kitchen. He found her fussing with his espresso machine, Houdini scarfing down pig pellets from his bowl in the corner.
“Thanks for feeding the little monster.”
“I’m surprised he’s still here.”
No more surprised than Dante. He’d meant to give the pig away. Even gone so far as calling the SPCA. But he couldn’t bring himself to sever the last remaining connection he had with Zoe.
He shrugged. “It’s complicated.”
“I’m sure it is.” Nonna slid a porcelain cup under the spigot, pressed a series of buttons, and was met with silence.
“Need some help with that?” he asked.
She waved a hand at him dismissively behind her back, not bothering to turn away from the coffeemaker. “I’ll figure it out. I was making caffè long before you were a glimmer in your mother’s eye.”
“True.” He leaned against the counter. “But didn’t you have to grind the beans with a mortar and pestle and brew them in a tin pot over an open fire?”
“Don’t be fresh.” She tried again, stabbing at the buttons as if they personally offended her by not working. This time she had better luck, and the machine sputtered to life, thick, dark, rich-smelling liquid dripping into the cup.
“Then what should I be?” he asked, going to the refrigerator for a container of cucumber slices, which he added to Houdini’s bowl.
“Honest.” She pointed a bony finger at a chair. “Sit and tell me what’s troubling you.”
He followed the first of her marching orders like a good little soldier, tossing the plastic container into the sink and taking a seat. But that was where his obedience ended. The honesty she wanted? That would have to wait.
Hell, he was having a hard time being honest with himself. All he knew was that he was goddamn miserable. Even making caffè seemed like a Herculean task in his
present state. The memory of Zoe’s tear-stained face as she pelted him with euros haunted him.
“What makes you think something is troubling me?”
Nonna steepled her fingers and drummed them together, like she was trying to remember something. “Maybe it’s a grandmother’s intuition. Or maybe it’s the fact that you’ve become a virtual hermit the past few weeks. You haven’t returned any of my calls or texts. And Luca says you canceled your trip to New York to scout locations for the new restaurant.”
His brother had a big mouth. Luca was definitely getting his head smacked. Hard. No matter that what he said was true.
And the New York trip wasn’t the only thing Dante had called off. His head—and his heart—were somewhere else since Zoe left. The restaurants were better off without him for the time being. He was in no shape to handle complex business dealings. But he’d be back on his game soon; then things could go back to normal.
At least, that was what he kept telling himself.
Nonna pulled the cup from under the spigot, set it down on the table in front of Dante, and sat opposite him at his butcher block table. Her cool, blue eyes bored into his from across the weathered wood, and his stomach plummeted to his feet.
This was the Nonna he remembered from his childhood. The one who could get a Trappist monk to talk. The woman was worse than the Spanish Inquisition. He’d never been able to hide anything from her. Why did he think today would be any different?
“Then again,” she continued, crossing her legs and smoothing her designer skirt over her thighs, her gaze still locked with his. “It could be that I had lunch with Flavia yesterday.”
He gripped the cup so hard he was surprised it didn’t shatter. “I didn’t realize you two kept in touch after—”
He broke off, staring down into the steaming black brew, as if the answer to his problems were in its depths instead of across the ocean in San Francisco. He was still convinced that ending things with Zoe had been the right thing to do. He was broken. Empty. Incapable of giving her what she needed, deserved.
He just wasn’t prepared for the depth and breadth of the pain of losing her. For some reason, he thought it would be easier this time. They’d only been together for a few weeks. And it wasn’t as if Zoe were gone forever. But that didn’t seem to matter; she was still lost to him.
Nonna reached across the table and laid her hand gently over his. “Of course. She’s part of our family. Nicole’s death didn’t change that.”
He cleared his throat to dislodge the lump that had formed there. “I suppose she told you we ran into each other.”
“She did.”
“What else did she say?”
Dante held his breath as Nonna made a show of brushing a speck of lint off her sleeve. Finally, after what seemed like hours, she answered him.
“She said you were with someone. A woman. I assume it was Zoe.”
“And?”
“And you acted like you barely knew her.”
He sipped his coffee. Not bad for Nonna’s first time using his far-too-complicated machine. He wasn’t even sure why he’d bought it in the first place. A moka and a stovetop burner did the job just as well.
“Stop stalling.” Nonna scolded him like he was still the teenager who snuck off to smoke clove cigarettes behind the high school. “Don’t you have anything to say for yourself? I can’t imagine Zoe appreciated being treated like an afterthought instead of someone you care about.”
He considered denying his feelings for Zoe but quickly dismissed that idea. It was no use. Nonna would see through him. She always had.
“I didn’t treat her like an afterthought,” he hedged, praying he wouldn’t get struck down by lightning for the lie.
“That’s not how Flavia tells it.”
“Flavia talks too much.” Just like his brother. The world would be a better place if people minded their own damn business.
“Oh, mia vita.” Nonna shook her head at him, her eyes sad and the corners of her mouth curving downward into a disapproving frown. “I thought I raised you better than that.”
Uh oh. She was bringing out the big guns now. Guilt was a powerful motivator, especially when wielded by the woman who had put her career on hold to take care of him and his brother.
“It was for the best,” he said, not sure who he needed to convince more, his grandmother or himself.
“Zoe’s or yours?”
“Zoe’s. It made it easier for her to leave. No long, drawn-out goodbyes. No false promises about trying to get together sometime.”
“Who says they have to be false?”
He didn’t answer, and Nonna shook her head at him again, this time with more sympathy than scorn. “I think I understand what you’re not telling me. This isn’t about Zoe. It’s about Flavia and Aldo. You weren’t ready for them to see you with someone else.”
“I can’t imagine what they must think of me now. But it’s more than that.” He took another sip of strong caffè, not meeting his grandmother’s gaze. If he looked at her, he wouldn’t be able to do this.
“Let me guess.” Nonna’s voice was gentle but firm. “You’re still blaming yourself for Nicole’s death. And you feel guilty because you have feelings for someone else.”
Yes and yes. But he couldn’t seem to get the words past his throat.
“And you think you should be punished for that,” Nonna said softly. “For loving again.”
Her words reminded him of Zoe’s that night on the Spanish Steps. They weren’t wrong. He’d been punishing himself so long for so many things.
“Yes.” He lifted his head, and his eyes found his grandmother’s. “I loved Nicole. She was my soul mate.”
And he was afraid of having that again, only to lose it again. Not that he was admitting that to his grandmother.
Nonna covered his hand with hers again. “Haven’t you ever wondered why I kept throwing women in your path? At the restaurant. The opera.”
Dante pulled his hand away and leaned back in his chair. “So you admit to trying to fix me up.”
“Stop changing the subject and answer my question.”
Dante drained the rest of his drink and put his cup in the sink. “I can find my own women, thank you.”
“I’m sure you can. But you haven’t actually been looking, have you?” Nonna’s voice turned serious, any hint of levity gone. “You’ve been living a half life. And that’s not what Nicole would have wanted. The best way to honor her memory is to live fully. And that means not cutting yourself off from love.”
He braced his palms against the counter and stared out the window over the sink at his rooftop garden. The bougainvillea Nicole had planted were in full bloom. Rare for October, but it had been unusually warm. The sea of magenta was yet another reminder of his fiancée. Of the pain left in the wake of her loss.
His grip on the counter tightened, the whites of his knuckles clearly visible. “It’s not that easy.”
“Of course it’s not. Nothing worthwhile ever is. It takes strength. And courage.”
He felt Nonna come up behind him and turned to face her.
“Here.” She slipped a piece of paper into his hand.
“What’s this?” He unfolded it and studied his grandmother’s distinctive scrawl.
“Zoe’s address in San Francisco. Apologies are always better done in person.”
“She gave you her address?” An irrational shard of jealousy pierced his already bruised and battered heart. She’d never shared that with him.
“I got it from Antonio.”
Dante scraped both hands through his hair, then let them drop uselessly to his sides. “I doubt Zoe will agree to speak to me, much less see me, after how I treated her.”
“You’re a smart man. Usually. I’m sure you’ll find a way to make her listen to you.”
; Nonna stood, retrieved her purse from the back of her chair, and bent to kiss him on the cheek. “Ciao, vita mia. Be brave. And good luck.”
With that, she breezed out of the room and out of his apartment the same way she’d come in—abruptly and unexpectedly, the hollow click of his front door echoing in her wake. The sound woke Houdini, who’d fallen asleep halfway through his breakfast, his snout buried in his food bowl. Almost as if he sensed Dante’s distress, the pig trotted over to him and flopped down onto his bare feet.
Dante’s first instinct was to brush the animal aside. Instead, guided by some unseen, unknown force, he knelt down and absently scratched Houdini’s scruffy head with one hand, still clutching the slip of paper with Zoe’s address in the other. The pig flopped onto his side, wordlessly begging Dante to rub his belly. With less reluctance than he expected, Dante lowered himself to the floor and ran his fingers over the pig’s stomach.
Was this his life now? Consigned to spend the rest of his days with only a pig for companionship?
He stared at the address on the paper, almost taunting him. Nonna was right. As usual, dammit. He was only half living, thousands of miles apart from the woman he loved. In one short month, she’d become as much a part of his daily routine as breathing, with her sunrise yoga, her obsession with Freddie Mercury, and her soft-hearted tendency to take in stray animals.
The animal in question crawled into Dante’s lap, closed his eyes, and made a satisfied sound somewhere between a grunt and a snort that tugged at Dante’s heart. Dante resumed scratching. Resistance was futile. Like resisting Zoe had been futile.
And yet he’d pushed her away, too proud—and if he was honest with himself, like his grandmother asked him to be, too scared—to risk heartbreak a second time. Nicole’s death may have been a tragic accident, something no one could have predicted or prevented.
But losing Zoe?
That was all on him.
…
“Hey, big sis.” Fliss flounced into Zoe’s corner office—a far cry from the cubicle she worked from before she got fired, rehired, and promoted—with all the drama of a leading lady on one of those soapy CW teen shows. A plastic bag with the logo of Zoe’s favorite ramen house dangled over one arm. “Special delivery. And I love the new digs.”
