Chapter 2

Seattle answered before breakfast.

The position was still open. They could keep the terms we'd discussed. When could I start?

I typed that I would confirm shortly, then put my phone down beside my untouched coffee.

Matteo came into the kitchen fastening his watch.

"Keep Friday night free. Dinner at my father's."

"Am I actually having dinner this time?"

He looked up. "What does that mean?"

"The last two times, I spent half the evening at the docks."

He came behind my chair and kissed the top of my head.

"Then no docks on Friday. Just us. Wear the blue dress."

We'd bought it together. He'd waited outside the fitting room, holding my bag, and told me not to ask what it cost if I liked it.

"You remember that?"

"I remember plenty."

I took it out of the garment bag on Friday afternoon. The little tag was still attached. I cut it off and laid the dress across the bed.

My phone rang before I could change.

"Can you stop at the docks?" Matteo asked.

I looked at the dress. "You promised."

"I know. Just settle something with the man waiting for Adrian. He needs someone he knows."

"Where's Adrian?"

"Here. Bianca doesn't want to arrive alone."

In the background, she asked whether she'd have to sit beside someone she didn't know.

Matteo moved the phone away. "You'll sit next to me. Stop worrying."

"Matteo."

"I'm here."

"Why can't Adrian go?"

"Because you're better with this guy. Please, Elena. I'll wait for you."

I left the dress on the bed and picked up my car keys.

The matter at the docks took longer than he said it would. The man wanted to talk to Matteo. I called, got no answer, and finished what I could without him. By the time I returned the office keys, dinner had already started.

At seven, I called Adrian.

"Is he there?"

"He's helping Bianca pick something to wear. What's wrong?"

"I was supposed to be there with him."

"You'll get here. Nobody's going anywhere."

Someone called his name, and he hung up before I could tell him how much longer I'd be.

I put my phone beside the office clock. For years, Adrian had called me whenever a date went badly. I'd listened outside restaurants, in parked cars, once on the bathroom floor while Matteo slept. Now he couldn't spare another minute.

At seven thirty, Luca sent a picture of Bianca holding up two earrings.

Which ones? he asked.

I typed, Are you still waiting for me?

The message showed as read. A minute later, he sent a thumbs up beneath the picture, apparently meant for someone else.

I put the phone away and finished the conversation in front of me. When the man finally left, I washed my hands, smoothed my hair, and drove over without stopping to change into my dress.

I'm leaving now, I texted.

No reply.

At the house, a woman was clearing the dining table. She stopped with a stack of plates against her apron.

"They've gone out."

"All of them?"

"Miss Moretti wanted to go somewhere for a drink."

She pointed to a covered plate at the end of the table. "Mr. Bellandi said this was for you."

I lifted the cover. Cold pasta in a thick red sauce. A piece of bread sat in a wet smear of oil.

I could smell the chili before I touched the fork.

Matteo used to taste my food before handing it over if he thought it might upset my stomach. Once, he'd made a waiter bring the menu back because the sauce I'd ordered had peppers in it.

I set the cover down.

This time he answered on the second ring. Music thudded behind his voice.

"All done?"

"I'm at your father's."

"Good. There's food for you."

"You said you'd wait."

"We did. You took ages."

"You sent me there."

He exhaled. "Elena, don't do this over dinner."

"I haven't had dinner."

"Then eat. We'll be home later."

Bianca said his name. He laughed at something I couldn't hear.

"I have to go."

The call ended.

I put the fork down without taking a bite. The woman clearing the table offered to heat the plate.

"No, thank you. I'll get something on the way home."

I drove back to the apartment. My dress was still where I'd left it. I hung it in the wardrobe, put the empty garment bag on the shelf, and ate toast standing at the kitchen counter.

Then I emailed Matteo's father and asked to see him alone.

He received me the following morning.

"Matteo isn't coming?" he asked.

"I didn't ask him to."

He put down his reading glasses.

"What do you need?"

"I've accepted a position in Seattle. I want to leave. I'll hand over everything I've been handling first."

He watched me for a moment.

"Are you taking anything of ours with you?"

"No."

"Anything unsettled?"

"Nothing I can't hand over properly."

He nodded. "Then tell me when."

I gave him a date twelve days away.

Outside his study, I called Seattle. This time I didn't say I needed longer to decide.

By the time Matteo texted to ask whether I was free that evening, I'd put my departure on the calendar.

I opened the message.

Bianca wants to get everyone together. Can you make it?

I checked my calendar before answering.