Page 167 of Cara & Gian: The Guzzi Duet

“Well—”

“I mean, you can say that, but I don’t think it is. I think that you’ve gotten yourself tangled up in your own situation with a man, and like your sister, you keep running—”

“I haven’t gone back once, actually.”

“But you consider it. You want to.”

Cara wouldn’t look Frankie in the eye. “I’m not like Lea, and I’m not like your wife, Frankie. I have a line that I don’t want to cross, and I didn’t appreciate being forced over it without even knowing what was happening.”

“Fair enough. Question for you, then.”

“Sure.”

“Had Gian said upfront that he had a wife—estranged for years, basically separated from, whatever—would you have continued seeing him?”

“I don’t know,” Cara answered.

But her voice wavered.

She had taken a second to answer.

Frankie continued staring at her, and in that moment, she didn’t think he looked at her and saw Lea at all. He just saw a confused, sad woman.

“I think you do know, Cara. Again, circumstances, and all. They make all the difference.”

Cara made a dismissive sound. “Well, it certainly does now, anyway. Like you said, his wife is present, apparently.”

“Public opinion counts for too much in this life, unfortunately, and we made men are entirely to blame for that, too.”

She didn’t reply to that.

She didn’t know how to.

Cara fidgeted in an attempt to soothe her nerves as the maître D’ of the posh restaurant scrolled through reservations on a tablet. It didn’t help, and considering it had been months since she had dressed up and gone out on a formal date, she felt all kinds of awkward.

“Name?” the man asked.

“Rossi. Cara.”

“Ah, here we are. Follow me.”

Cara managed to get distracted by the high-vaulted ceilings of the restaurant, and the crystal chandeliers hanging over every single table. She was led closer to the open concept kitchen of the restaurant, and further away from the bar.

“Miss,” the maître D’ said, bringing Cara from her daze. “Your table.”

Cara thanked the man, and sat down at the empty table. Checking her phone, she noted she wasn’t early, but she wasn’t late, either.

Nathan—the doctor she met at the café—arrived less than five minutes after she had sat down, wearing a proper suit and a smile. “Cara.”

He took her hand, bent down, and kissed two of her knuckles, allowing her to stay seated. Then, he too took the only other chair available at the table.

“Why do you seem surprised to see that I showed up?” Cara asked.

Nathan laughed, taking the menus from the server before shooing the man away. “No promises, remember? That’s what you told me when we met. I get a random text, just as I’m coming out of a routine surgery, that asks about dinner, and nothing else. That doesn’t seem a little on-the-fence to you?”

Cara had to give him that. “All right, fair enough.”

“You look beautiful.”