Mario
The table sat thirty. A dozen chairs each squeezed together on the long sides while three odd chairs graced each end. My father, in typical fashion, set himself in the king’s chair nearest the center of the dozen facing the best view. Opposite him was one of his blander political allies, but the far ends were reserved for his primary foes or bitterest allies. Quadrants were drawn. My father clustered useful allies or assets nearest to him, staggered between guests of varying power or beauty.
His counterpart across the table was sandwiched between their rival’s wife, a formidable force in her own right, and the wife of a wealthy businessman. The rival on his far right held court with a race car driver and a leading fashion house maven. Flanking them were two men of high status. That would be a boring conversation, but endlessly fruitful for them, no doubt.
On the opposite end, were men of infinitely more power. Don Manca leading the charge with a wealthy Greek financier at his side. With a deft move, I captured the card at Don Manca’s right hand, and placed my card next to Allie’s place on the corner. The poor soul who’d lost his card was stuck next to Dianora.
Between the antipasto and primo, I collected Allie’s hand and pulled it to my lips. The ring on her finger was warm as my kiss brushed it. I lingered there, savoring her skin and the beauty that was my bride. As I did, I played with her fingers, positioning them so the table would glimpse the gold adornment on her left hand.
“You’re being obvious,” Allie noted.
“I am?”
She nodded, a smile playing on her lips. “I’m beginning to think you plan farther ahead than I do.”
If she only knew. “It’s called plotting against enemies. And I’m very good at it.”
The words carried across the table, and Dianora’s eyes narrowed.
“What he isn’t good at is honoring contracts.”
Her words carried, creating little ripples of reaction in their wake. She pointedly toyed with a large diamond ring on her finger I hadn’t noticed before.
Allie leaned to me and quietly asked, “What did she say?”
“Does your lady friend not understand Italian? How… rustic.” Dianora smiled and switched to Greek to address the financier. “To think, Americans go their entire lives learning only one language. It puts them at a disadvantage, don’t you agree?”
Once she convinced the man to be her accomplice, she shot a barb in Allie’s direction, switching between languages with ease. “Do you know any German? French? Russian perhaps? Or even the lovely Greek language this esteemed friend of our families speaks?”
The man smiled at her compliment.
“She’s mocking me, isn’t she?” Allie’s whispered question didn’t beg for an answer.
Dianora laughed and whispered to her friend.
He piped up, “Charles the Fifth was once rumored to say, ‘If I had to speak with God, I would do so in Spanish, because the language of the Spaniards radiates seriousness and majesty; if I speak with friends, it is in Italian, because the language of the Italians is intimate; if I need to flatter someone, in French, because there is nothing more flattering than their language.’ But it was Marcus Aurelius who said, ‘If the Gods speak, they will surely use the language of the Greeks.’”
Dianora beamed. “Such brilliant phrases. I only know a quaint one my father spoke often. ‘Wife and oxen from your own country.’ All else brings trouble.”
Don Manca cleared his throat and spoke in his heavily accented Gallurian dialect. “Mario, tell that Tuscan bitch to shut up and pass the bread.” Then he switched to English. “Speaking of oxen, my grandson’s wife is an animal doctor.”
Nervously, Allie confirmed to the curious guests that yes, she was a licensed veterinarian and fielded a follow-up question with ease.
“Was that how you met? Tending to a beast’s injuries?” Dianora skewered me with her glare.
Allie paled and shot a panicked glance at me, giving our secrets away.
“We met when I stole her cab.”
Her eyes dropped to her plate, but she smiled. “It was a ride share. And I don’t know how you ended up at the same destination.”
“He wouldn’t take me where I wanted to go. Claimed he couldn’t reset the route.”
“Really?”
“It’s true.”
Her little huh of surprise was cute. “Someone stood up to you?”
