“I didn’t mean to come between the two of you,” she says.
“It wasn’t about you,” I say. “He just doesn’t like change. And everything has changed now that Don Savastano has escaped from prison. Especially for Enzo.”
“They don’t get along?” she asks.
“Something like that,” I say, taking a deep breath. “I have to travel for work. I want you to come with me.”
"Where are we going?" she asks.
"Paris," I say. “We can spend a whole day eating nothing but chocolate croissants with extra butter on top."
She grins at me.
And just like that, all the heaviness in my bones dissipates. I feel as light as a feather because this girl smiled at me.
Maybe Enzo had a point.
I might be in trouble.
Big trouble.
23
GRACE
Igiggle when dinner is served.
Dante smiles at me from across the table, understanding my amusement immediately.
“Is there a problem?” the French server snaps.
“No, no, everything’s perfect,” I say.
The server mutters something under his breath as he leaves.
Dante, Enzo, and I are having dinner in Paris. We were just served warm brioche bread and whipped salted butter. The bread and butter reminded me of the conversation I had with Dante earlier today.
A whole day of bread, butter, and chocolate.
I’m grinning from ear to ear as Dante hands me a piece of buttered bread. Enzo looks between us like he’s concerned for our mental health.
When the other appetizer is served, I can’t help but giggle again. It’s potato gratin, a dish made with potatoes, garlic, and butter.
“I don’t get it,” Enzo says. “Why is she smiling like that?”
“She really likes potatoes,” Dante says.
“Right,” Enzo says, returning to his meal.
Dante smiles at me from across the table. My entire body feels like it’s filled with butterflies ready to take flight.
We’re in a cozy, candlelit corner of the restaurant. The people around us speak in low, murmured foreign languages. And every bite of the food is so decadent.
Everything’s changing so rapidly.
The wine keeps flowing. I hate it at first sip, but it grows on me. It makes me bolder.
And Dante.
