“Every year Leo comes here, sometimes with your father as well, and Leo used to say, ‘Nicky, please let me make some changes.’ And he would say, ‘Maybe one day, Leonardo. One day. One day. One day.’”
She briefly chuckles at the memory. “Old men like your papà don’t like being told what to do, Olive.”
I smile at her, unfolding my arms, waiting for her to continue as we stand side by side looking out at the view.
“And when we learned you will inherit the restaurant and he... Well, Leo makes the best of things, and he was very happy to work with you,” she says. “Very happy.”
“He was?” I say, surprised.
“And I didn’t know the latest news that you will sell,” she says, holding a hand to her heart. “And so I felt so bad for him. Sorry, Olive. Is not your fault.”
“He will befine, Chiara. Whatever happens.”
“Sì,” she says, nodding once. A strong, determined nod. I turn to her.
“Hewillbe,” I say.
“Olive, I have to ask why you do not want your family business,” she says, genuinely confused, eyes rounded and moist.
“It ruined my family,” I say. “Thatfamilybusiness. My dad didn’t listen to Mum. Lost a lot of money. And eventually, Mum couldn’t take it anymore.”
Chiara is quiet and contemplative. “Men,” she says. “And people wonder why I never married.”
I laugh at this, glancing toward Chiara, leaning forward on the redbrick banister, which is hot to the touch.
“But Leo is not your father,” she says.
I seek him out and spot him collecting a drink and chatting easily to a pair of groomsmen. At that moment they turn to face us, and Leo points up. Unsure whether he’s talking about me or Chiara, I look away, feeling myself blush.
“Leo doesn’t have Nicky’s big ego,” she continues.
“It was part of Dad’s charm,” I say, feeling the need to defend my father. His big ego was part of what made him so charismatic.
“Leo puts other people’s feelings first. Always has done. It’s even maybe a problem,” she says woefully.
I don’t know that she means it as an accusation, yet I feel accused. “You don’t need to tell me what a good man Leo is. I’ve seen,” I say shortly, wanting this conversation to end.
I think about a young parentless Leo and what he went through. And then, how grateful I am my dad took him in. I stare hard into the distance, at a row of angry-looking dark clouds far away on the horizon, and then down at Leo, who has his hand on his hat to keep it from blowing away. Is there a change coming?
“Leo says your father would have done anything for the restaurant,” Chiara says.
“I know,” I say, sighing. “And that was the whole problem.”
Chiara lifts her hand to stop me from speaking. “Your father would have done anything for the restaurant,” she says again. “Leo, he would do anything for the people he cares for.” Chiara is talking aboutus. About me and Leo as a partnership beyond business. What has she seen? What does she think is going on?
“Anything, huh? Including walking away from Nicky’s?” I ask, my eyebrow raised.
“Including that,” she says.
LATER, I FINDLeo wandering down the aisle between the two tables, scouting for our seats. I am glad to be back with him, and I thread my arm through his.
“I count four Matteos and three Mias,” he says, glancing at my arm as it slides through his. “But no Leo.”
We continue walking, the sound of chatting increasing in volume as the guests continue to drink. The warm wind whips up the scent of lavender from the bushes that grow along the stone fence at the foot of the garden.Waiters start to place long wooden platters filled with antipasti on the gaps in the runner and to open bottles of wine.
“Leo,” he says triumphantly, before pointing to the seat next to him and grimacing. “Sorry, someone didn’t get the memo.”
I know before I look that I’ll be sitting at a table with the card nameNicolò.
