Page 111 of Enzo

I doubt it’s the type of place Enzo would ever go to.

But he is today.

***

ENZO

Molly is in her element and it’s a sight to see. She seems more playful today, more like the woman I remember from Venice.

She seems eager to leave, and it pains me in a way I don’t understand. I have work to do and here at the penthouse I’ve not been able to focus as much.

I’m perusing the menu but I’m not too hungry. Molly always seems to be, hence the reason for me bringing her here. I keep forgetting that we’re in disguise. Or meant to be. I stopped thinking about that a few days ago, because we’ve been ensconced in our own little bubble, removed and away from our usual life.

Maybe I’ve let my guard down a bit.

But the more time I spend around her, the more I like it. The more I get to know her, the more I want to know her.

I watch her chatting away to the waitress as though they’re best friends.

“Where are you folks from?” The waitress asks.

“I'm from England, Richmond actually.” She talks in the poshest English accent I’ve ever heard, and my eyes widen, because she’s so good. So natural. Where did she pick that up from?

“And he’s from Montreal,” she says, looking at me.

I have no idea what a Montreal accent is like, so I remain silent. The waitress looks at us as if she can't figure out if we're joking or not.

“We met here, would you believe?” Molly puts her hand on mine, reaching across the table.

“Just now?” The waitress asks.

“A few days ago.”

“That's so romantic.” The waitress takes our orders and leaves.

“You have a very wild imagination,” I remark.

“Thank you. I'll take that as a compliment.”

“I'm not sure it was intended as one.”

She leans across the Formica table, arms folded together, grinning. “I’m still taking it.”

“Why did you do pretend that we were together?”

My voice sounds a little odd when I ask her and Molly notices. She slides her arms away, puts her hands on her lap, as if I’ve chastised her. “I was trying to … to be silly. I wanted to make you laugh.”

I’ve upset her. She does that. Always trying to make me feel at ease, make sure I’m okay. She’s picked up on my mood and she was adjusting for it. But now I’ve upset her.

“You do that without trying …”

Her lips part gently.

“You think she bought it?” I ask, my voice softer now.

“I don’t think she did.”

“Me neither.”