“Don’t be rude, Madison. Glinda just made me manager. And I’ve given myself a much-needed night off.”
I snort. “I can’t be there. You’ll have to find someone else. Since you’re the manager and nobody else can go, I think it’ll have to be you.”
“Madison, if you don’t get to the venue within thirty minutes, consider yourself fired.”
My reflection in the mirror is completely different from what I’m used to seeing. I look polished. I look like someone who cares about my appearance, not someone who grabbed my work uniform from the top of the laundry pile. The dress hugs my body in the right places, and falls in a flattering way. It’s like it was made for me, not made for some “ideal” shape I can never hope to achieve.
Next to my full-length mirror is my dresser, and on it, all of the information from my inheritance.
I have money. I have a house. For the first time, I have options.
I don’t need to work, Ms. Rubio said. I thought I’d hold onto my job to keep myself busy. But it makes me miserable, so why should I?
“Madison?” Jaclyn prompts, impatience making her tone shrill. “Madison, you better be there?—”
“I won’t be.”
Before she can argue, I hang up. I’m done. My phone immediately starts buzzing with texts. I mute Jaclyn and the buzzing stops. I plan on having a wonderful time with Damiano tonight, even though I’m shaking from adrenaline. For the first time, I stood up to Jaclyn. It feels strange, but right.
DAMIANO
I wait for Madison outside Chez Michel. When she walks up at five to nine, my heart speeds up. She’s gorgeous. I’ve known this all along, of course. From the moment she stepped out on that stage in Low Vice, I’ve known.
Her gray dress’s neckline is cut in a way that makes me want to trail my tongue along the edge.
“Bella.” I stride forward and kiss her cheek. I catch a whiff of her scent. Something soft and flowery. She styled her light brown hair in waves over her shoulders and I want to tug on a strand, see if it bounces back into shape, see if it’s as silky as it appears. “You are a vision.”
“Thank you.” Her smile is sweet, although shy. “You look nice, too.”
Placing a hand at the small of her back, I lead her inside. The host takes us directly to a room at the back of the restaurant. A single table sits in the center with two place settings. A low candle burns in the center, next to a bouquet of wildflowers.
“This is a private dining room?” Madison gazes in wide-eyed wonder. The room isn’t large, perhaps fifteen feet square, but it’s beautifully decorated. Soft lighting illuminates framed French landscapes hanging on the rustic stone walls.
“I want to get to know you without distractions, bella. I hope that is all right with you.”
She beams. “It’s sweet. I feel like a princess.”
“As you should.” I help her into her seat, then take my own. A moment later, our server arrives to recite the menu. I order a bottle of wine. As soon as she disappears, I face Madison fully. “I want to know everything about you, bella, but I’m not sure what to ask first.”
“Maybe you should let me ask questions, then.”
I grin. “Ask away.”
“Well, you’re from Italy, right?”
“I am. I grew up in tiny town in Sicily before moving to Palermo as an adolescent.” At times I’m homesick. But sitting in front of this beautiful woman—this is not one of those times. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.
She traces the handle of her fork with a slender fingertip. “How long have you been in the US?”
“Six years.” I think back. “Almost exactly six years, in fact. I came here in October.”
“So we’re approaching your anniversary.”
She looks like she has follow-up questions, and while I would love to indulge her, I am not quite ready to share everything. Thankfully, our server reappears with a bottle of wine. We go through the age-old dance of tasting and pouring, and finally Madison and I are alone again.
“How about you?” I ask. “Have you always lived in the United States?”
“I’ve lived in California for my whole life. The only time I left the state was for a school trip to Washington, D.C.” Her green eyes meet mine. “But I’m obsessed with travel memoirs.”
