Page 69 of Pretender

She hums and grabs her glass of wine, taking a long sip.

Fuck, I’m not wrong?

I swallow hard, waiting, following her movements as she puts the glass back down on the white tablecloth, and folds her arms on the edge.

“I, umm… I snapped a photo of that plaque you were reading and tried to translate it.”

Adrenaline hits me at the same time as the relief. Okay, so I was being irrational about the ‘other man’ concern, but this is something else I’ve been worried about.

I’m going to have to tell her. Things I’ve never said out loud. Something I’ve not addressed head-on since I was twenty-three, moving my mum to London. When I found a bundle of letters wrapped tightly in a scarf among my dad’s old belongings. Letters that gave me a different story about my family. About my dad.

“Okay, and what did you find out?” My voice comes out strained and I clear my throat.

“It said Casa Aurato had been in the family for five centuries until the latest heir renounced his inheritance before his wedding. It also said something about reconciliation and the family in mourning about Giorgio? But I’m not sure I read it right. I was skimming.”

I stare down into my wine.

“It’s the correct translation as far as I can tell.” My voice is flat, talking into my glass before I take a sip. Linnea shifts on her chair and I sense I’ve made her uncomfortable. “What do you make of it?” I ask, lifting my gaze back up to hers and her knitted brow as she’s trying to figure me out.

Do I really want her to spell it out? It’s a topic I’ve avoided for years.

“Your father was meant to marry someone? But he met your mother on his holiday and ran away?”

While I contemplate what to say next, our server arrives with our first dishes. We nod politely as he explains what it all is.

He leaves, and our eyes meet across the table.

I exhale, trying to tidy up the chaos in my mind before I let the words out. “I was confronted with my dad’s past that didn’t match what I knew about him, and it’s been … hard. Hard to deal with. I’d rather we don’t delve into it over dinner, but I want to talk to you about it another time.”

Linnea opens her mouth, then closes it again.

“Of course,” she breathes after a beat. “Thank you for saying that much.”

I shrug, but it was more than I’ve said to anyone except Mark, and the knot in my gut is exactly what I’ve wanted to avoid.

“Ladies first,” I say gesturing to the dish in front of us. It’s a delectable sharing platter of a Florentine speciality, Carpaccio di Vitello and Vitello Tonnato. Raw, thinly sliced veal and poached veal with a creamy tuna sauce. It’s artistically presented with tomatoes, parsley, and shavings of Parmigiano.

Linnea serves a piece of each type of meat onto her plate and I follow suit. She starts on the raw one, and her face morphs into the most satisfied expression.

“Oh, that’s flawless,” she says.

Our conversation is effectively shelved.

She hums as she swallows her mouthful, clearly enjoying it.

A small chuckle escapes me and when she looks up at me I can’t keep my smile from spreading, so I just let it break free. Her lips twitch and she presses them together, but her eyes shine and it’s as if she’s beaming at me.

It’s always her eyes that give her away.

I’m cataloguing this little suppressed smile. It’s a delightful expression.

She pops another piece of veal into her mouth and lets out a small moan and by now I’m smiling so much my cheeks start to hurt. Watching Linnea eat is already one of my favourite activities.

And thankfully, we have a long tasting menu to get through, with wine pairing, so I get to do this for at least two hours.

By the end of our meal, the sun has set and the lighting in the restaurant is a golden, tender hue.

After agreeing not to talk about my family, our conversation went smoothly from university memories to work stories of hilarious clients and customers we’ve encountered. She talked about her friends and shared that she doesn’t have anyone like that in London, but she enjoys her team. I find it so hard to imagine her without a group of friends that adore her as much as the designers on her team.