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She smirks, then leans in. “Here’s what I actually came to say, doctor. I will try to speak your language. Your marriage is sick—I don’t have the exact disease yet. My people are running the labs, but I know the prognosis. You’re a phase, and that is all you are to him. A soft American interlude between the real thing and the return of the real thing.”

“And the real thing is you.”

“I am very, very patient for my Lupo. He will be grateful for that.”

I text nothing to Tomaso. He’s watching, he’s ready. But reaching for my phone would tell Allegra she scared me, which will never happen.

I hate her, and yet, some small part of me respects this display of strength. She’s magnetic even doing this. That’s the awful part. Witty and dreadful and lit from within by total certainty. I understand for the first time how a man like Lupo spent years failing to stay away.

“I’m curious about something, Allegra.”

She looks me over, as if inspecting a prize horse. “I would be happy to recommend a stylist to get that tangled mane under control. A manicurist too. Those cuticles—is he making you wash dishes to earn your keep?”

“That’s not my curiosity, thanks. I’m simply wondering why you think this soft American interlude will be intimidated by an old narcissist who has more trouble with the concept of ‘no’ than the average frat boy.”

A smile splits her pretty face. “My dear, there is nothing you can tell me about myself that I do not already know. That is the difference between us. The real one. I know exactly what I am. You’re… what you are,” she says dismissively, “and Lupo will grow bored of you soon. When he does, he knows where to find me.”

“So, what is the point of the espresso, Allegra? To waste my time?”

“No, mi amore. The espresso is an excuse to chat before you’re packed off back to Boston. I like getting to know his dalliances. They always leave something of themselves behind in his heart. Some more than others. It is a way of taking his temperature, so I know what mood he will be in when he crawls back to me.”

I’m so over this. “Thank you for the coffee. But I’ll be going now.” I gather myself, stand, and head back for the car.

“He fed you the olive oil line, I assume.” She says it to my back, light, and it stops me exactly the way she intends.

“What was that?”

“He always leads with olive oil, then drip-feeds the rest. Ask him about the other cargo sometime, mi amore. Ask him what actually pays for that beautiful house.”

“Right.” I roll my eyes. “I shouldn’t have bothered to turn around. Thanks for the reminder.”

“Ask yourself whether a woman with a medical license should sleep in a bed that oil didn’t buy.” She lifts her espresso in salute. “Give my love to the child. She’s the only innocent thing in that house.”

I walk to the car with my spine straight and my hands steady, and I do not look back. Not this time. Tomaso reads my face and has us moving before the door is fully shut.

“How much did you hear?” I ask him.

“Not much. When you turned your phone on, it was still muffled. Face down on the table?”

“I kept it in my bag. Sorry. I’m new to this kind of thing.”

His jaw is tight. “She had a man across the street the entire time. I noticed him when you sat down. If she had made any wrong move, Doctor, I would have been at that table before her cigarette landed.”

I take a deep breath for my nerves. “She didn’t come to hurt me. Not physically, anyway. She came to talk, which with her is worse.”

“I have never liked that woman.” He takes the ramp fast. “I am sorry I couldn’t stop her from hurting you in that way.”

He’s a good guy. They’re all good guys. Whatever she meant about Lupo’s business was just her trying to get under my skin. It didn’t work. Not how she wanted it to.

By the time we reach the estate, I’m not frightened anymore. I’m furious.

Lupo hangs up when I step into his office doorway. “You’re all right.” He crosses to me, hands coming up to check me over the way I check Sarah. The tenderness of it is the last thing my anger can survive intact.

I step out of reach. “Don’t. Don’t you dare do the worried husband while I’m standing here holding what she said.”

“What did she say?”

“That you proposed to her twice. That you two speak a language I don’t, and she didn’t mean Italian. I’m a phase, a soft American interlude, and she’s the real thing, and she’s patient, and you’ll be grateful to go back to her.” My voice climbs, and I let it.