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He should leave it there, Dante knew. Certainly, he usually would. But Alicia was the one person he’d been able to talk to, and even after ten years that hadn’t changed.
‘I think she’s always been happy for him to take a lover if it means she can sleep alone.’
‘Really?’
They were leaning towards each other a little now.
‘However, she was not happy that her golden goose had laid another egg—me. Do you know what the name Giustina means?’
Alicia shook her head.
‘Justice,’ he said. ‘Impartial.’ He gave a sardonic roll of his eyes. ‘If ever there was a woman who was wrongly named—’ He broke off as Alicia started to laugh. ‘What’s so funny?’
‘The nuns used to say the same thing about Beatrice—how Beatrice Festa was an inappropriate name when she was such a cold little thing.’
‘How is she doing?’ he asked.
It was like the wood stove in the convent kitchen slowly staring to heat up, because that was what Alicia and Dante had been like. Cold, warm, warmer, and then so, so hot.
She must remember the inevitable freeze of the plunge pool post-Dante, but Alicia felt warm now, and she did not want to pull away. She knew how difficult it was to get Dante to reveal anything, and as he was starting to do so now she didn’t want to lose the moment.
‘Beatrice?’ he prompted.
‘I want to hear more about your family first.’
‘They’re rich, with boutique hotels in Florence and Rome. I was given an apartment, a bank account...suddenly I had a life I was told I’d always wanted...’ He swirled his wine. ‘Basically, for almost a decade, I’ve worked for my father.’
‘But?’ Alicia pushed.
‘I’ve also been my own entity. The Sicilian side of things are mine.’
‘That’s good. Isn’t it?’
‘For me it is.’ He nodded, then gave a black smile. ‘My contract’s up soon.’
‘You’re walking away?’
He shrugged.
‘Now you’ve got what you wanted?’
‘No, no,’ he said. ‘He got what he wanted, too. I don’t think he contacted me without an agenda.’
Colour flooded her cheeks and she stood. ‘Excuse me a moment.’
The restrooms were more like a boudoir, and it was really more than a moment’s escape—ten moments, maybe.
Her brain was spinning after a whole day of Dante, Dante, Dante, and she was startled when she saw her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was tousled, the red of her bra strap was exposed, her cheeks were flushed and, although it had been more than twelve hours ago, she still looked exactly as if she had just left his bed or wrenched her lips from his.
Could he see what she did? Alicia thought with a dart of anxiety.
He’d tipped her upside down so much so that she startled the woman next to her by suddenly asking the time.‘Che ore sono?’
‘Sò ottu ore.’
Only eight?
Time had always moved differently when she was with Dante.
