"Are you sure? Because I gave you all that lettuce. That's, like, a whole salad right there."
It's not a salad. It's a pile of raw lettuce. But I don't have the energy to argue.
Other diners are watching now. An older couple at the next table is trying not to laugh. A waiter passes by and does a double-take at the lettuce mountain on my plate. By the time the waiter comes to clear our plates, he stares at mine. At the lettuce mountain. At the empty space where steak used to be.
"Dessert?" he asks carefully, eyeing my plate with what might be sympathy.
"Oh, I couldn't possibly eat dessert," Liana says immediately, putting her hand on her stomach. "I'm so full. But you know what? You should get the tiramisu! You barely ate anything!"
"I barely ate because—"
"One tiramisu, please," she tells the waiter. "For him. We’re getting married soon and I need to fatten him up."
The waiter looks at me and I nod. I'm too tired to fight it.
The tiramisu arrives. I reach for my fork. Liana's fork gets there first.
"I just want to try it." She takes a bite. "Mmm. Okay, that's amazing."
Then she takes another bite.
And another.
I watch in stunned silence as she eats the entire tiramisu. The one she ordered for me. The one she claimed she was too full to eat herself.
"That was delicious." She sets down her fork, satisfied. "You should try their chocolate cake. I bet it's incredible. I read all about it online in between trying on my dresses tonight."
"I'm not—"
"One chocolate cake," she tells the passing waiter.
It arrives. She eats it. All of it.
"Oh, and their panna cotta? Everyone raves about it. You should try it. We might not get another chance to come back."
The panna cotta arrives. Gone in minutes.
"I heard the cannoli here are life-changing."
Four desserts. She's eaten four complete desserts after eating my entire steak and claiming to be on a diet.
The waiter brings the check and my after-dinner cognac. I ordered it out of desperation, needing something to take the edge off this surreal experience.
I take a sip to settle my nerves. Liana reaches over and takes the glass right out of my hand.
"Ooh, what is this?" She sips it. "Oh, that's nice. Smooth."
She takes another sip.
"Is this cognac? Papa drinks cognac. I never really got the appeal before but this is actually really good."
Another sip.
She's still talking about the reality show, something about a rose ceremony and someone named Chad who's definitely getting eliminated next week, while casually drinking my hundred-euro cognac like it’s water.
By the time she sets the glass down, it's half empty.
"Anyway," she says brightly, "that's what I've been watching! What about you? Do you watch any shows? I can’t wait to show you all my favorites."
