“Havewe figured this out, then?” I say, dragging a napkin across my mouth.
“I think we have,” he says.
“We need to test all three dishes.”
“Antonia says we can use their kitchen after breakfast again. We did it,” he says, shaking his head with almost disbelief. Then he pushes his plate forward. “I’m done.”
“Same,” I say reluctantly. I don’t want tonight to end. “You know, when I was a kid, I used to think the wordsouswas actuallySue, as in the girl’s name. I thought Dominic’s name was Sue.”
“Big old Dom?”
“Yep,” I reply, grinning. “I used to call him Sue, and they never corrected me. I only figured it out when I was, like, fifteen, when I was helping Mum with the pay slips. I was like,Who is Dominic Forelle?”
Leo howls at this. “That’s really fucking cute,” he says, smiling at me with such a sweet, unguarded smile that I bite my lip.
“Limoncello?” he says.
“You know it,” I say, sitting back and sighing heavily. I want to sit here with Leo and talk long into the night, despite its being a terrible idea.
Two Limoncellos arrive, and as soon as the waiter is out of sight I knock mine back. It’s hard, lemony, and sweet and goes down extremely well. I find that I’m struggling a little to hold on to my thoughts.
“You know it’s for sipping, right?” says Leo, laughing.
“Says who?” I say, laughing.
“Careful. You’ll get wasted,” he says, but he cannot resist the challenge to knock his own back at almost the same speed. I take that as an invitation to get another, waving my hand at the waiter.
“Un altro,” I say, holding Leo’s steely gaze across the table.
I knock back the next one, not losing eye contact, and he does the same.
I raise my hand once more, but Leo sits back and folds his arms. “No more for me. I’m done.Bloody hell.”
I offer a smug grin. “Well,that’sno fun.”
“I can’t get wasted,” he says. “I have to cook tomorrow.”
“Yes, you do,” I say teasingly. “But nothing fancy, got it?”
“No freeze-dried caviar?”
“Absolutely not,” I say, laughing.
“Raisin and grappa crumb?” he tries.
“A bit better,” I say, smiling.
We stand, and I realize I’m very drunk and wearing a short skirt and very high heels. A lethal combination.
“Come on,” he says, holding open the door and catching my elbow as I stumble slightly on the stone step down onto the road. Catania at night isbusy. I shoot Leo a broad grin, and he shakes his head.
“Now Igottasee you wait tables in those,” he says.
THIS IS Acity made for the night. In the distance music swells, accordions and jaunty Italian music for tourists. A car honks as it passes me.
“Let’s get you back to the hotel,” he says, as he pulls me out of the way of a couple walking a small dog.
“Ciao,” mutters the man, rolling his eyes at me.