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Not because he was wrong, but because he was right.
Nothing stung more than the acrid taste of truth.
“It’s research,” Isabella said. “Therefore, it’s work. You can’t blame me for working overtime, can you? Look at Sloane. She’s on her phone even though the world’s best eggs Benedict is sitting untouched in front of her.”
“It’s not untouched. I ate two bites.” Sloane finished whatever she was typing and looked up. “You try enjoying your food when one of your clients posts a social media tirade about theirveryfamous ex-wife and proceeds to get into online arguments with…” She checked her phone again. “User59806 about who should drive their car off a cliff first.”
“Sounds tame for the internet,” Isabella said. “I’mkidding. Sort of. Look, there’s not much you can do about it now except take away your client’s social media access, which I assume you’ve already done. People will act stupid all day, every day. Enjoy your food, and deal with them later. Two hours of digital detox won’t kill you.” She pushed Sloane’s plate closer to her. “Plus, you need energy for all the fire breathing you’ll do later.”
Sloane pursed her lips. “I suppose you’re right.”
“I’m always right. Now…” Isabella shifted her attention back to me. “This fight. I think you should let it go on for another day before you have hot makeup sex. Three days is adequate time for all that tension to build and—”
“Isa.”
“I’m sorry! I don’t have a sex life at the moment, okay? I’m living vicariously through you.” She sighed. “And the argument isn’t a dealbreaker, right? He’s kind of…”
Right.
Silence cloaked the table.
I stared at my half-eaten plate, my skin icy despite the warmth from two mimosas.
“Don’t get me wrong. I know how you feel.” Isabella’s voice softened. “But I think it’s one of those cultural differences that’ll take time to smooth over. Dante cares about you, or he wouldn’t have been so upset. He’s just…not great at expressing his thoughts tactfully.”
“I know.” My sigh carried days’ worth of agonizing. “It’s just hard to remember that when I’m in the moment and he’s being so…sostubborn.”
In Dante’s world, his word was law. He was always right, and people bent over backward to accommodate or appease him.
But that was the thing. It wasn’t just his world anymore; it was ours, at least when it came to our home life. Arranged marriage or not, I’d signed up for a husband, not a boss.
I just wasn’t sureheknew that.
“He’s Dante Russo,” Sloane said, as if that explained everything. “Inflexibility is his middle name. Personally, I think you should make him sweat. Shut him out until he comes to his senses.”
“Great. So we’ll be waiting until the turn of the next century,” Isabella said. “Viv, what doyouwant to do?”
“I—”
“Vivian. What a pleasant surprise.” A smooth, creamy voice interrupted our conversation.
I straightened when an elegant older woman with a sleek silver bob and the skin of someone thirty years her junior stopped next to our table.
“Buffy, it’s nice to see you,” I said, hiding my surprise. She and her friends rarely stepped foot outside their uptown bubble. “How are you?”
I pointedly ignored Isabella’s quiet splutter when I mentioned the nameBuffy.
“I’m well, dear. Thank you for asking.” The sixty-five-year-old grande dame looked immaculate as always in a cream silk blouse, gray tailored pants, and Mikimoto pearl drop earrings. “I normally don’t come all the way down to the Bowery…” Her tone insinuated the twenty-five-minute car ride from her house was as arduous as the trek from Fifth Avenue to Brooklyn. “But I hear the brunch here isdivine.”
“The best lobster eggs Benedict in town.” I gestured at an empty chair. “Would you like to join us?”
Neither of us wanted her to stay, but it was the polite thing to ask.
“Oh, what a sweet offer, but no, thank you,” Buffy said on cue. “Bunny and I reserved the corner table. She’s glaring at me as we speak—she simply hates sitting alone in public…” She shot a reproving look at where a well-groomed blonde woman sat with her equally well-groomed toy poodle poking out of the top of her Hermès bag. Dogs weren’t allowed in the restaurant, but people like Buffy and her friends operated by different rules. “However, I wanted to stop by and congratulate you in person on securing Valhalla for the Legacy Ball venue. It’s generated quite the buzz.”
“Thank you,” I murmured.
I’d tried my best to find other alternatives, but none of them panned out, so I’d reluctantly gone with Dante’s Valhalla Club suggestion. I’d insisted on putting together the pitch, which he presented to the management committee since they didn’t allow non-members in the meeting.
