Alessandro stands up from the head of the table as I enter the room. He’s changed out of his all-black outfit for dinner, and his shirt is snowy white, open at the throat, no tie. He’s not wearing a jacket and I wish I could take mine off.
“Good evening,” he says, sweeping a hand to the place setting to his right. “Come and sit down.”
It’s a long walk to the end of the table, and I feel his eyes on me the whole way. I’m too nervous to look at him, though, so I take in the room instead. I was here earlier in the day, but it looks very different at night, with multiple candles up and down the table, the sparkling white and silver place settings, and a tasteful flower arrangement in the middle.
“Can I…” I open my jacket in a wordless question, and Alessandro nods.
Wilson appears again out of nowhere to take my jacket, and then Alessandro comes around to help me push my chair in. I sit upright and unmoving, wondering what this is all about.
“Would you like some wine?” he asks, after re-seating himself.
I don’t drink much, but I think I’ll need something to help me through tonight. “Yes, please.”
Alessandro raises a finger, literally one finger, and a server appears at my side, pouring out a restrained measure of white wine into my glass, and then one for Alessandro.
When the server has gone, Alessandro raises his glass expectantly, and I touch mine to his.
“Cin cin,” he says.
“Um, cheers?”
He doesn’t look away from me as we sip together, and only afterward do I wonder if the wine might be drugged.
Too late now.
Alessandro sits back in his chair, his gaze still resting on me, while I stare at the empty plate in front of me.
“Did you have an interesting day?” he asks, and I jump a little.
I nod. “I was in the library most of the afternoon.”
“I see.”
There’s a long silence, during which Alessandro doesn’t look away from me for even a second. I’m about to start squirming under his eyes, so I say desperately, “And you? Did you have an interesting day?”
“I buried my father.”
“Oh, shit.” It blurts out before I can stop it. “I didn’t—I didn’t know—”
“Of course you didn’t know,” he says carelessly, his hand waving aside my stammered apologies. “I did not intend you to know.”
I can’t think of what to say, and so we sit in silence all through the first course of a shared antipasto. Alessandro barely eats anything, but it’s been a while since my cheese sandwich, so I clear the plate. The next course is a lasagna, and once the white wine is replaced with red, Alessandro finally speaks—but only to the staff. “Leave us.”
The three servers withdraw and shut the doors after themselves.
I stare fixedly at my lasagna, my heart hammering loud in my ears. Something is coming. I can tell. Something big and terrifying.
But when Alessandro speaks, his voice is gentle. “Eat,” he says, picking up his own silverware. “I hope you enjoy it. Or if it’s not to your taste, I’ll have something else made for you.”
I take a big mouthful, worried I’ll have to choke it down, I’m so nervous, but the pasta is silky and the sauce so good that I immediately refill my mouth with a second bite.
“What do you think?” he asks, wearing the expression that I’ve come to associate with a smile.
“It’ssogood.” I eat fast, clearing my plate before Alessandro is even halfway done. Then I sit back with a happy sigh, the wine lending a happy glow. In the candlelight, Alessandro’s face is much softer, his scar less pronounced, hidden by shadows unless he turns his face fully toward me.
I wonder if he sat me on his right side on purpose.
“I didn’t go anywhere I wasn’t supposed to,” I say, as Alessandro finishes eating.
