“I’ve relegated it to a past I can’t forget but that I don’t want to remember. I only think about Linda and what a terrible thing she was born from.”
“I really can’t imagine the hell you went through.”
“We live in a world where a father who doesn’t recognize his children is let off the hook, but if a mother feeds her children a hot roll for dinner because she hasn’t managed to go grocery shopping after a fourteen-hour workday, she gets reported to social services. Until society recognizes that parenting is the responsibility of both parties, there will always be girls like me who go to bed virgins and wake up whores, who give birth alone, who raise nobody’s children, while the father remains a saint with all the accolades and no burdens and lives his life as if nothing ever happened. You know, when Count Umberto told me George had died, I felt relieved. I was finally free of having to decide whether to reveal his existence to Linda or not. I may be a bad person, but I don’tregret any of my decisions. But maybe, if I’d been smarter, I would have made my daughter’s life easier.”
“Speaking of such, that brings me to the point of this dinner. Linda’s surname.”
“What’s wrong with it?” she asks defensively.
“Nothing. Benetti’s a fine name, but I would like it very much, if you agreed, if she could add D’Arcy. I’d like to recognize her as family.”
“Michael,” she stops me, raising her hand. “I’ve already told you what I think. I don’t want any interference.”
“It’s only to facilitate—in a very distant future, I hope—her inheritance. My brother burned through everything down to the last cent, but I still own a more than substantial portion of the D’Arcy estate, and I have no heirs.”
“Maybe you’ll get some.”
“And maybe I’ll live until I’m a hundred, but I want Linda to have what she deserves. I know you’re not interested in my money, but I want to right my brother’s wrongs.”
“My free will as a mother is priceless.”
“It’s sacrosanct.”
“I’ll talk to her about it,” she replies in the tone of someone who wants to change the subject.
“I already talked to her.”
“What? How dare you?” Elisa is already on the brink of war.
“She called me at the office. She wanted a letter of recommendation for the high school you chose, and I asked her about it. Who do you think told me you were coming to the London Wine Fair?”
Elisa blinks, surprised. “Linda?”
“How else would I have found out?” I lean toward her, my face close enough to hers to feel the heat. “Sebastian didn’t ask me to go anywhere—I asked him.”
Finally, her beautiful mouth hints at a smile. “So you were there just to see me?”
“Afraid so,” I admit.
“So, was I right to dress up before arriving at the stand?”
“Did you dress up just for me?” I imitate her.
Elisa turns her fork on her empty plate. “Afraid so,” she says, playing along. And for the first time during this dinner, I feel something akin to relief. “I saw you from across the room, and I went to freshen up.”
“We’ve covered everything we said to each other during our fight except for one thing,” I say, ready to go all-in.
“What?”
“I told you I love you.”
“I remember.”
“And you didn’t answer me,” I add.
“I remember that too.”
“I’d like to know what you think.”
