Page 77 of Ricardo

I suspect she didn't even need me there. She could have sliced him in two if she wanted to.

I don't say anything until we reach the main hall, where the air cools, and the sound of the terrace fades behind us.

Then I say, “Job well done.”

Her eyes cut to mine.

Yes, very angry.

“I had it handled.”

I stop near the entrance to the dining room and turn fully toward her. “You did. That does not mean I will stand beside you and listen to a man speak to you that way.”

A hostess appears at the dining room entrance before the pause can become more dangerous than it already is.

“Mr. Conti,” she says warmly. “Will you be dining with us?”

I keep my eyes on Julia for one second longer, then turn. “Yes. A private table.”

“Of course.”

Julia looks at me. “We don’t need—”

“We do.”

Her brow lifts. “Do we?”

“Yes.”

“Is this another thing you know without consulting me?”

“I am consulting you now.”

“You already asked for the table.”

“I am consulting you efficiently.”

The hostess is back, not even a moment later, and gestures us toward the dining room. “This way, please.”

With no choice, Julia turns to follow.

The private dining room is smaller than the main room and much quieter. Paneled walls. A fireplace gone cold for the season. Tall windows overlook the eighteenth green. A few round tables set far enough apart to make discretion feel architectural. The hostess leads us past all of them to a private room where the table is already being reset by a server who moves quickly when he sees me.

Julia sits first.

I wait until she is settled, then take the chair across from her.

The hostess leaves us with menus and a promise to send someone immediately.

Julia is still seething.

“You want to let it out now?” I ask.

“No,” she snaps. Then she jumps out of her chair.

“That little—” She cuts herself off, but balls her hands into fists as if to strangle the invisible man in front of her.

I lean back in my chair and say nothing.