CHAPTER 18

Colette

Upgraded to first class. It was a short flight, but fun to fly in the lap of luxury, sipping chilled champagne. We were both dressed up a bit, him in black pants, a white shirt, and a soft leather jacket, and me in a multi-patterned off-the-shoulder Save the Queen dress I’d picked up for a song at a resale shop. It was the perfect dress for traveling because, not only did it fit great, it was comfortable and the fabric didn’t wrinkle.

We landed just as the sun was setting, making the pyramid of the Luxor glow in the dying light. We breezed out of the airport, each holding a carry-on, and got into a cab for the Bellagio. Before checking in, we watched the dancing fountain right across from the Eiffel Tower. Daddy would say it was tacky but I was entranced by the whole splendiferous show. “I’m a bit surprised that you chose the Bellagio rather than the Venetian,” I said as the fountains died down and we headed for the lobby. I bet Maman would have loved it here.

“Ah, well, the Venetian is very beautiful, but is Italian for tourists.”

“Whereas the Bellagio?” I went through the door he held open for me.

“Is for true lovers of beauty.” The multicolored sculpted glass everywhere in the lobby backed up his view. I drew a sharp breath and let the colors and soft light wash over me. The Christmas decorations enhanced rather than detracted from the décor.

We were treated like royalty as we checked in. Either the personnel had been magnificently trained or it was the Dante effect again. Probably a bit of both. We had two adjoining rooms. Dante slid over his credit card, but stopped me from pulling mine out.

“Later,” he said. “We will arrange ourselves.”

We passed through a garden with hanging birds, plants, and flags. The effect was one of being in a past era as designed by someone from the future.

“Here we will come and have our first drink in Las Vegas,” he said, pointing to a glass-fronted room that housed a bar that was a wall of shimmering water.

“Wow. I mean, sure.”

We were at the elevators. Two elevator doors sporting the telltale intricate B’s glided open. “How much did you bring? To gamble?”

“Tutto. All.”

I gasped.

“But I will only risk one half. The other half I give to you. We put in the hotel safe, si?”

“Yeah, we wouldn’t want to get burglarized or anything.” Still, it was a lot.

“And you?” he asked.

“Ten thousand,” I whispered. He whistled. I put the other twenty in the bank but I decided, win or lose, I’d play with my ill-gotten gains. It would almost be justice to lose it all. It seemed like a lot but it still didn’t cover the thirty-two thousand that Wayne took. The bulk of which my mother had left me.

“The luck will smile on us. You will see.”

I couldn’t help but believe him.

Our rooms were gorgeous. I jumped on the bed and touched everything, even the miniature bottles of shampoo and conditioner in the bathroom. I unpacked and headed for the shower. I put on a bit more eye makeup than usual and dressed in one of my clingy black off-the-shoulder asymmetrical pieces, leaving one arm bare and the other covered. A passage from The Great Gatsby covered the entire sleeve and shoulder down to the top of my breast. I added red lipstick and earrings and mile-high heels.

I knocked softly on the door between our rooms, feeling a bit shy.

He opened the door wrapped in a robe, his hair damp. I couldn’t help imagining his naked body underneath.

In my right hand I held up a hanger with the suit I’d made for him this week. I’d worked hard on it, staying up till past two every night. The suit was black with text around the cuffs and hidden under the lapels, tone on tone. To complete the ensemble, I chose a shirt the color of bluebonnets with tiny dollar signs in white silk embroidered down the front.

“It is meraviglioso! Almost as beautiful as you.”

I would never get used to his big reactions. Delight radiated from his entire being. More payoff than I was used to.

He kissed my cheek and I felt my body react. Down, boy! I chided it. No replays of my night of shame. “But, what are these words?” He fingered the text. “Francese?”

“Yes, it’s French. Serge Gainsbourg’s lyrics to his version of the legend of Bonnie and Clyde.”

“Naturalmente.” His grin was wicked. “He sing it with Jane Birkin.”

“Also with Brigitte Bardot. I left out the tragic end, though.” I grinned.

“Good, because we will have a happy one.” He disappeared into the bathroom to change. I drifted to the window, the view a carbon copy of the one from my own room, feeling as if I were floating. I gazed down the Strip and, again, felt touched by enchantment, an undercurrent of excitement beginning to thrum through my body.

Dante came out of the bathroom. He spread his arms and turned with feline grace. “Allora?”

“Perfect. Almost.” I retrieved my sewing kit from my room then kneeled down to cuff the pants. When I finished, I rose and pinned the sleeves to the right length. Every time my fingers grazed his skin, my body tingled with a thousand hot pinpricks. I moved away.

“It fits like you measure it on me. How?”

“I have a good sense of . . . proportion, I guess. Space. Some people call it an eye.”

“More than an eye. To make this, you have a soul. You are a genius, so much talent. This is your life, your devotion.” He punctuated his words with his hands.

“It’s not what I devote myself to. It’s a hobby. Not real work.”

One day, I must have been about fourteen, I was working at my sewing machine when my father peered over my shoulder and said, “You have a great mind. Don’t waste it on being a seamstress. Une midinette.” I knew he wanted the best for us. And you didn’t turn your back on family. Ever. Even if you created distance, the ties were eternal. For better or worse, he would always be my father.

“Nico, teaching is a profession molto nobile, si? But you, you create such beauty, give so much happiness. It is a gift from God.” Dante stroked the fabric of the sleeve.

No one had ever put it that way before.

“This is a life’s work. You are born to do this. Do you see?” He placed his hands on my shoulders and his eyes locked on to mine.

“I see that you look wonderful.” But the raw material was of the highest quality.

“Grazie a te.” He went to the full-length mirror and looked at himself from the front and side.

Seeing him there wearing what I’d made, what I’d thought up and put together, how happy it made him hit me like a slap. “Now, go take it off, it will only take me a minute to hem and press.”

“Then we go have drink?”

I smiled. As I threaded the needle, I looked proudly at my fingernails. Short, but not ragged, covered with a layer of pale pink polish.

A half an hour later, we floated down to our first night in Vegas. Being dressed up with Dante on my arm felt better than the prom or even how I felt on the day of my wedding. Before I realized there wasn’t going to be one. We all grew up wanting to be princesses, at least for a few hours. This surge of pure joy was what the fairy tales were about.

We stopped for our first drink. Wine, of course. Cocktails, according to Dante, ruined the palate and made the mind fuzzy. After admiring the chocolate fountain and putting a leather satchel with half of Dante’s money in the safe, we headed for the floor.

We got some chips, then, he led me to a blackjack table. We stood watching for a bit, then he took me to another.

“Do you know this game?” he asked.

“A bit. I know the principle. You?”

“I grow up in Italy playing with my family. Also with friends.” He shrugged.

“And you always won?”

“Always. Until I begin to lose,” he said.

He selected a table and we took our places. I bet the table minimum but Dante rolled higher. And we won. Several hands. Nothing excessive, but up just the same. My glass of champagne forgotten at my elbow, I played like a child. This was better than Christmas. I was about to place another bet when Dante took a chip off his pile and handed it to the dealer with a smile.

“Grazie,” he said, “you bring much luck.” And this tough-as-nails pit dealer’s face turned scarlet as we left the table. We hit another. Not so lucky this time, but we were still up. Then another. I felt so vibrant, I wanted to keep playing. All night long, to keep this rush going. Dante touched my elbow.

“We must go.” Another chip, another smile. “We have reservations for dinner.”

“I don’t want dinner. I want to play.”

“Play or win?”

“Both.” I looked over my shoulder at the gambling area we were leaving.

“Then you must trust me.”

I really hadn’t thought that much about food and that I’d be eating in strange restaurants. I could pretend. But my stomach rumbled.

He steered me to a restaurant. “The food here is very fresh, organic. And you see, the kitchen is impeccable.” He swept his arm, as if he were showcasing the place. “Come. The kitchen is here.” It was open to the dining area and I could see everything. It sparkled.

One of the chefs grinned at me. I took a deep breath. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

He had steak. While I couldn’t quite bring myself to order red meat, I did get the wild Alaskan salmon that had still been swimming in the frigid coastal waters that very morning, the waiter assured me.

It was superb. All of it. It was so good that I even hazarded a bite of Dante’s steak. It was wonderful. After sharing a crème brûlée and the ubiquitous but exquisite espresso, we left the muted elegance of the restaurant. I felt like a normal person.

“Thank you.”

“No. You have given me so much. Grazie.” Our eyes locked. Slowly he pulled me toward him and kissed me. My entire reason for existing was wrapped up in that one kiss.

It’s just lust, whispered my brain. I pushed him away.

“Dante, we don’t want . . . I don’t want . . .”

But he didn’t release me. “I am crazy in love with you, don’t you see?”

“But what about the other night?” I broke away, embarrassed by the memory. He took my chin in his hand and lifted my head so I was looking at him again. At his mouth. Then his eyes.

“You were not ready, still too broken. Now, you are changed.” And he kissed me again. My whole body sang. I could no more have pushed him away than voluntarily stopped my heart from beating.

“Come, we play some more.” He took my hand.

“I have a better idea.”

“We play. We wait. Trust me.” And I did. It was becoming a habit. Could I help it if he was the most trustworthy criminal I’d ever met?

That night, after winning, quite often, and quite a lot, he took me to bed for the first time. When his body united with mine, I felt whole. This was the way it should be. When a person paid so much attention to the other, with both body and heart, the result was ecstasy. I wanted to be one with him forever. We lay locked together for a long time. I felt him stiffen and slowly, so slowly he began to move again within me. I willed this to go on and on, to never stop.

When he finally pulled away, I didn’t feel lost, the way I thought I would. I was complete. Making love with Dante was like performing a very slow, very intricate dance of joy.

I fell asleep in his arms. When I woke up, he was still sleeping. As if my gaze weighed heavy upon him, he opened his eyes and smiled.

“Ciao, Nico.” And that was when I knew. This was a man I could ride off into the sunset with. On a Vespa.

“I call room service for breakfast. What would please you?” He was propped up on his elbow.

I burrowed deeper into the snowy sheets and pulled him to me. “Let me show you.”

We eventually had breakfast and returned to the outside world.

The entire weekend was a string of food, shopping, gambling, sex, more gambling, more sex. We went swimming. For once I barely drank. I wanted all my senses sharp. And despite the fact that everyone around me was smoking, even inside the casinos, never had I so little desired a cigarette.

On Sunday afternoon, we were playing blackjack at the Mandalay Bay when Dante’s whole body stiffened. He put a warm hand on my arm and said, “It is time.”

“Time?” I was focused on the game and the pile of money I’d just won. “Just a few more. Look at how much I’m winning.” And I was. Beginner’s luck, they called it. I’d more than doubled my original stake, which covered the money Wayne had taken and then some.

He shook his head. “No. Nico, look at me.” I did. “It is time, now we walk away.”

We both tipped the dealer. I felt bereft but as soon as we left the pit, I was okay. More than okay. Fantastic.

“Now what?”

“Now, we shop, we swim, we eat. Tonight I have a surprise.” We left the casino. The desert wind chilled me. It was much colder in Vegas than I’d expected it to be.

“So what would you like to do now?”

“I’ll give you one guess.”

 

We did manage to make it out of bed eventually. We wound our way through the Bellagio until we reached a theater lobby.

“O,” I said. “I’ve always wanted to see this. Did you know the creator of Cirque is Belgian?”

“Cara, his name is Franco Dragone. He is pure Italian.”

“He was born and grew up in Belgium. In La Louvière. He still lives there.” Jacqueline knew him.

“But still Italian. And a success in America. The best of all the worlds. Come noi.”

We had fifth-row orchestra seats. I lived and breathed the performance, quivered with every scene, every dive, every note of music and swirl of fabric. My heart spun up into my throat and stayed there.

The voice.

Like Jacqueline’s.

The tears slid down my cheeks. It was for this gloriousness, to be able to produce such soaring heights of beauty, that she’d turned her back on us all those years ago. She’d stayed in Belgium when we returned to the States. Art is both selfish and selfless.

At intermission I almost texted her to tell her I loved her. Not wanting to deal with her astonishment stopped me. I’d tell her at Christmas. For the first time there was a glimmer of excitement at the prospect of our holiday reunion.

Dante and I headed back into the theater.

The costumes were a visual feast. I was almost, but not quite, on overload by the time it drew to a close. And suddenly, I knew what I had to do. I had to play my part in the world of pure passion, intense joy.

I was trembling as we walked out of the theater. “They should have called it D instead of O.”

“Why?” asked Dante.

“Because it’s the closest man can come to the divine here on earth.”

Then, we walked in silence through the flashing lights, which suddenly seemed obscene, gaudy. Gambling no longer held the slightest attraction.

We stopped and bought rich dark chocolate and then went to the bar from the first night, the one with the wall of streaming water. We ordered champagne and clinked glasses.

“To Vegas,” I said.

“No. To life.”

“Yes.”

 

Later that night, lying naked in bed, Dante was feeding me morsels of the best chocolate I’d ever had in my life outside of Belgium. I savored it.

“I finally get it,” I said.

“What?” He handed me a glass of champagne.

“Why some people, lots of people actually, like my sister Gali, equate chocolate with perfect love, perfect sex.” I felt as if I’d never really tasted it before. “It’s . . .”—I searched for a word—“. . . sublime.” But for the whole experience and the man at my side, sublime didn’t even come close.

I took a sip of champagne. “I’m developing expensive tastes,” I teased. “You never should have brought me here. I wish we could stay this way forever.”

“No. It would lose the magic. Always know when to walk away and when to stay. It is the secret to life.”

But I didn’t want to walk away. I wanted to stay like this for as long as I breathed. San Diego, the university, packing up my things, all seemed removed from the force of this single moment.

He shifted so he was lying on his side facing me, his head propped up on his hand. “You will come to Sonoma with me?”

I looked at him, at everything he was. Not what he had been, not what he would become, but just what was.

“Yes.”

On the plane on the way home, coach this time but I didn’t care, we made plans. I’d already asked my landlady if I could stow my stuff in her garage till after New Year’s. I wasn’t sure at the time where I would be taking it. Home to Pennsylvania had been the best I’d come up with. But here I was, the girl with a plan. I’d get in touch with Annick today, start talking to people. Sonoma was perfect because it was so close to a major city. A major city I loved, at that. If I needed a storefront boutique, I could set up there. Eventually. But I would start small. The Internet.

We were about twenty minutes from landing when I squeezed Dante’s hand.

“Si, cara?”

“What are you doing for Christmas?”

He shrugged. “My friend, he is coming to California in January. I have no plans.”

“Would you like to come and meet my family?”

“I thought you never ask.” He grinned.

When the taxi dropped us off in front of my little house, I couldn’t wait to start our new life. I put my key in the lock. Dante was right behind me on the stoop holding our bags. I pushed the door open.

And saw Wayne, sitting at the table eating a sandwich.

“Hey, babe.” A lazy smile spread across his face.

 

I was stunned, as in, shot by a stun gun.

“Come here,” he said, “otherwise I’m going to think that you aren’t glad to see me.” He put down his sandwich and got up. I took two wooden steps in his direction then stopped. He came over to me, pulling me close. I hardened like plaster.

“Hey, Colette, what’s up with the surfboard act? Oh.” He saw Dante standing in the doorway. “Who’s your friend? Where are your manners? Come on in.” He dropped his arms and I took a step back.

I found my voice. “Dante, this is”—I almost choked on the word—“Wayne.”

“Nice to meet you, Dante.” Wayne held out his hand. Dante dropped the bags on the floor and looked at the proffered handshake as if it contained the herpes virus before taking it. I could tell Wayne was sizing up Dante. His chin lifted ever so slightly, a tiny smile played on his lips.

“Wayne, what are you doing here?” My voice was hoarse.

“Later, babe. Don’t you see we have company?”

His hair was a bit shorter in the back and he’d lost his Southern California tan, but otherwise he looked the same: brown hair that flopped over his forehead above dark puppy eyes, same boyish good looks. He was wearing jeans and an old navy-blue college sweatshirt. He was so familiar, so much a part of who I was. My knees buckled.

I stole a glance at Dante. His eyes were narrowed and his lips were pressed in one straight line. He was also in jeans and a simple wine-colored crew-neck sweater. Such similar clothes, but they didn’t look like they’d come from the same planet.

“You a friend of Colette’s from the university?” asked Wayne.

“No, I—”

“—Something like that.” I covered his words. “Dante, could I speak to you for a minute. Outside?”

He nodded. “Of course.” He picked up his bag and turned to go.

“Bye, dude. Nice meeting you. Any friend of Colette’s, you know?”

For an instant he hesitated then kept going. I followed him out to the sidewalk by the main house, out of earshot.

“Nico, you—”

“Listen. I have to do this my own way. I can’t just kick him out,” I said. I gnawed at my thumbnail. He took my hand away from my mouth and held it gently.

“I will have no problem with the kicking. Allow me.” I’d never seen Dante’s eyes so black. His body tensed.

“No.” I realized I was being abrupt. “Please.”

“But he is a monster.” He shook his head.

“Don’t you think you’re exaggerating just a little?” I shivered. The sky was overcast, threatening rain.

“He cause you so much pain.” Dante put his other hand on my shoulder.

“I know. I haven’t forgotten. But I have to do this on my own. Make a clean break. He’s a part of my life.”

His eyes flashed.

“Was, I mean. He was a part of my life. A big part. I owe him this.”

“You owe him nothing.” He looked as if he were about to throw something. Like a car.

“Maybe not.” I took a breath. “But I owe it to myself. I need closure.”

“I do not like to leave you with him.”

“It will be fine. I promise. Trust me.”

“So now it is my turn to trust you?” he said.

“Yes. Do you?”

“Bene.”

“Tomorrow I’ll meet you at—”

“Caffè Bella Luna,” he said.

“That was just what I was about to say.” It was our place. I smiled.

His hand moved to my cheek. “You see, Nico. We are of one mind, one heart.”

“One o’clock?” I said.

He grinned. “Si.”

I watched him disappear down the street before I went back inside.

“Miss me? Still biting your nails, same old Colette,” said Wayne. I dropped my hand. He tried to pull me to him once again, but I stepped away. It would be so easy to fall into his arms. It was where I’d lived for so long. The one constant in a world of variables. Colette loved Wayne, scratched on my heart like graffiti.

But things had changed. I’d changed.

“What did you do with the place? What’s all this?” He indicated the furniture and suddenly my anger burst out.

“What did you expect me to do, Wayne? Would you have preferred I sit on the floor for the past two months? And with what money? How could you?” All of the old anger, old hurt resurfaced and I banged my hand on the table. Hard.

“Yeah, about that.” He began to pace. “I did it for us.”

“Us?” I laughed.

“As in me and you.” He swiveled and looked at me.

“Could you explain how taking the furniture and all of my money, leaving an ‘I’m sorry’ note was for us?” I grabbed a chair and sat down, glaring at him. “Enlighten me.” If he got out of this one, he could take his act to Vegas and make a fortune as king of the escape artists.

“Aww, babe, don’t be like that. I was hoping we could skip all this and just take up where we left off.”

“Not a chance.” My body felt like cold steel. “And stop calling me babe.”

“Okay, okay. If that’s the way you want it. But just hear me out, all the way through. Don’t interrupt me. I’ll tell you my side.” He started pacing again.

“Sure. Because frankly, from my side, it really stinks.” I stopped myself from biting my nail.

“See, you’re already doing it,” he said.

“What?”

“Being all hard and cynical and shit.”

“I’ll make an effort.”

“Good. You look great by the way.” He gave me a big smile.

I looked down at my glittery Vegas T-shirt and black leggings. The shirt was tacky but I loved it anyway. “Don’t change the subject. You were about to tell me how taking the furniture, my money, and abandoning me was for my benefit.” I ticked his crimes off on my fingers.

“I’m getting there.” He ran his hands through his hair and sat opposite me. The smell of his half-eaten sandwich was nauseating. “Back in September, I felt like a failure, you know?”

I nodded once, unwilling to give in to the pity he was trying to inspire in me.

“No job, no prospects, just hanging around the house all day.”

“I remember that part.”

“Geez, Colette. Give me a break, wouldya?”

“All right.” I relented.

“So I decide to go back East and see if I couldn’t drum up some, uh, family contacts, you know? And it worked. It took a while, but I just landed a great job with Multitech in Boston—”

“But—”

He held up his hands. “You promised to hear me out.”

“Okay.”

“It was really hard at first, lots of dead ends. But I finally got picked up by Multitech. I used the money to put a down payment on a great apartment. One of those brownstone tree-lined streets you always go on about. And the furniture, well, I used it to start furnishing the place. I’ve been sleeping on the couch, figuring we could pick out a bed together.”

“But why didn’t you tell me all this?” I started on my nail again.

“Because what if I failed? I couldn’t face you until I succeeded. And Colette, there are so many colleges out there, it’ll be a cinch for you to line up a new teaching job. You just have to give your notice—”

“That won’t be a problem.” My voice sounded gray to my ears.

“Great! Fantastic! See? It’s all falling into place.”

“But Wayne, an e-mail, would that have been so hard? I would have understood.”

“You don’t get it.” He covered my hand with his and started playing with my fingers. “I love you. I felt I needed to be worthy. You stood by me all those months when I was a mess. You always stand by me. You know I love you, right?”

I didn’t trust my voice.

“And you love me.” It was not a question.

I looked at him. His brown eyes pleaded. How did you stop loving someone who’d been a part of your life for so long?

You didn’t.

“Yeah. I do.” It was true.

“Colette, baby.” Suddenly he was kneeling on the floor at my feet, both of my hands clasped in his. I realized how cold my hands were when they made contact with his warm ones. “Will you marry me?” He let go to reach into the pocket of his jeans. He pulled out a pale blue box and flipped it open to reveal a round solitaire in the classic Tiffany setting. It glittered in a sudden shaft of sunlight from the window.

Here it was. Everything I’d always wanted. Right here, at my feet.

I took a deep breath. And held it.

“Say something. In case you hadn’t noticed, I just proposed.” His eyes were wide.

I let my breath out.

“Yes.” This was stronger than I was. Destined. He grinned and slipped the ring on my finger. It was too big.

“Great! Terrific!” He got up and gave me a quick kiss on the lips. “You hungry?” he asked, sitting down again.

“No.” I looked at the ring hanging lopsided on my finger. I could get it resized. I waited for the rush of joy I was supposed to feel, the giddy excitement, but so far, nothing. Maybe it took a few minutes to kick in.

“Same old Colette.” He wolfed down the rest of his sandwich. “What did you do, get religion?” He pointed at the crèche.

I shook my head.

“Besides,” he said, after swallowing the last bite, “you need me. You have terrible taste in furniture when I’m not around.”

I put the ring back in the box. I was afraid I might lose it.

 

I arrived at the Bella Luna a few minutes before one. Dante was already there chatting easily with the waitress. He was wearing the T-shirt I made for him after our first job. Wayne’s ring was in the inside pocket of my bag. I was just back from Tiffany’s in Fashion Valley with the news that the ring couldn’t be resized in time for my trip home.

Dante smiled when he saw me and it felt like the sun had just come out. He waved me over. When I reached the table, he was standing and holding out my chair. He leaned in to kiss me but I turned my head and the kiss landed on the corner of my mouth.

He sat opposite me, his grin gone. “So, he is kicked out? Si?”

“Dante—”

“You tell me after. First we order.”

I realized I was starving. I hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast yesterday morning in Vegas. I set my bag on the floor beside my chair. My heart was beating too fast, too hard. Whoa boy!

“Shall I . . . ?” He indicated the menu.

“Go ahead.”

He ordered two risotto ai funghi and a bottle of white wine.

“Come stai?” asked our waitress.

“Bene. Grazie,” I said. I realized I wasn’t going to have much of a chance to learn Italian after all.

“So, now,” he said, and watched the young woman leave before turning to me. “You have thrown him away?”

“Out”—automatic grammar correction still on strong—“No.”

“I understand it is difficult. Quando, allora? I can help you.”

“Dante, I’m sorry,” I said to the saltshaker.

“For what? You not look at me. Perché?”

I could feel his gaze. I looked up. “What we have, it’s great, but—” I said this to his left ear.

“It is better than great. Great is a meal, the one we will share now. We have, together . . . the true life.”

I turned my fork over and over on the tablecloth. “No. It was”—I paused and insisted on the past tense—“amazing but it wasn’t real. It was a fairy tale.”

“You are molto intelligente, Nico. But right now, you say stupid things.”

I finally raised my eyes to meet his. He didn’t look angry. Or confused. Our waitress came and filled our water glasses. I gave her a smile, grateful for the interruption.

I took a sip of water. “Let me explain.”

“No. I will explain. Seeing him again was a shock, no?”

I nodded.

“And you have been together for tanti anni?”

“Since I was fifteen,” I admitted.

“Too long. It is normal that it is difficult. But such a man. He is not a man. He is a little boy who takes money from a woman, who abandons her, not once, but twice. How can you believe he will not start again?” He finished, sounding like an attorney who had just delivered the irrefutable closing argument in an open-and-shut case.

“He’s changed. He’s . . . grown.” I needed to make him understand.

Our waitress came back, this time with our wine. Dante tasted it and nodded. She filled our glasses and placed the bottle in a sweating bucket. Another Gavi, I noticed. Suddenly I was very thirsty.

“Grazie,” I said. Might as well get as much practice in while I still could. I drank half of my glass of wine. I knew it must have been good, but I could barely taste it.

“Nico, I know this type of person. He is a taker—one who steals.”

I shot him a glance.

He made a face. “Not of things. Things can be replaced. But of the heart. He will break you again.”

“You can’t know that. You don’t know him.” I drained the rest of my wine. His glass was still full.

“But I do. He is the kind who will love you only when you are broken. To feel strong.” He took my hand. I curled my fingers in to hide my nails, bitten down to the quick.

I kept shaking my head, probably looking like some stupid windup doll. “It’s not like that.”

Our food came but neither of us touched it.

“So what we have, for you it is . . . niente? Nothing?” A slight frown appeared between his eyebrows.

“Of course not! It’s something. It’s a big something. But Dante, it’s not real life. It was a lovely dream. Wayne is real.”

“Life does not have to be hard to be real.” He picked up his knife and fork, then set them down again. “Can you say that you do not love me?”

I bit my lip. “No, I can’t.” I loved them both. I had a sudden flash of myself as the Jeanne Moreau character in Jules et Jim, loving two men, the absolute ménage à trois. But the thought of Dante and Wayne being friends was so absurd, it made me smile. Life was not a French film.

He caught my smile and latched onto it. “Allora, I do not accept.” He put his napkin on the table, abandoning all pretense of eating. “I will give you one week. One week from today to think about what life you want.”

“But—”

“Listen to me. In one week, it is the day before you go home for Christmas. If you want our life, you come to me. Here. I will wait for you. Tuesday. Eight o’clock. If I don’t see you, I go.”

“No, Dante, this has to be good-bye,” I whispered.

“What are you frightened of?” He threw some bills on the table and we both got up, leaving our untouched risotto to congeal.