Page 89 of Dante

“What’s Little Italy?” I ask.

“It’s where the first wave of Italian immigrants settled at the turn of the last century,” says Lorenzo, walking toward the door. “Now it’s a big tourist place, but lots of the family-owned restaurants are authentic. You can find plenty of the character types you’re looking for there.”

“Sounds fun! Will you take me?” I ask Dante.

My voice sounds ridiculously wistful, like a six year old begging to go to Disneyland. But this Little Italy place sounds like just what I need to make my chef personalities come alive.

And of course, I can just imagine how delicious it will feel to walk into an Italian restaurant on Dante’s arm.

Dante checks his watch, the mood shifting so subtly I almost miss it.

“Another time. I have to go,” he says. “There’s a meeting I must attend.”

Nothing more. No explanation. I nod like I understand, but my stomach tightens.

I watch him leave the office, the door closing softly behind him.

For all the things he’s said ‘yes’ to, like Biscotti, the Academy, the restaurant, there are still entire parts of his world I’m not allowed to see.

It’s just a matter of time, I tell myself. But I’m not so sure.

CHAPTER 34

GINA

“I’m so glad you came to meet me, Angie,” I say, watching a nail technician painting my toenails a glossy, unapologetic red.

Beside me, Angie stretches her legs out on the padded footrest, wiggling her freshly painted toes.

She’s chosen something a deep burgundy for her pedicure. A color that reminds me of wine spilled on a white tablecloth or forbidden lipstick marks on a man’s collar.

It suits her.

“Visiting a swanky spa is no sacrifice,” she says, her eyes traveling over the spa’s cream-colored walls.

The place is swanky indeed. Orchids are positioned just so on every surface, and crispy dressed attendants move quietly around us.

Angie takes a sip from her cucumber water and sighs. “If I were you, I’d live in this spa full time. Massages. Facials. Lunch with the girls. Repeat.”

“You’d be bored,” I say.

“Of luxury?” She laughs. “Never.”

“Well, that’s you. I’m energized by everything happening outside this spa.”

I tell her what’s happened since we last chatted, especially about my project with Professor Washington at the Academy.

Angie’s eyebrows shoot up as she swirls her cucumber water. “Back to your schoolgirl days, eh?” She leans forward slightly.

“What’s this I hear about Dante buying you a restaurant?”

I sense from her tone that she thinks it’s some extravagant gift. Like a Hollywood celebrity buying his wife an island.

“The restaurant is a collaboration between me, Lorenzo, and Luca, not mine alone,” I explain, shifting in my chair as the manicurist moves to my other foot.

“So I’ve heard about this academy of yours and the restaurant, but what about married life?”

Angie’s voice drops to that conspiratorial tone she uses when she wants the real dirt.