Chapter 2

I took my suitcase down from the top of the wardrobe.

For the past two weeks, I'd rehearsed a sensible explanation for staying: I had a job here. Moving abroad was expensive. Starting over could wait.

None of those had been the real reason.

I'd been afraid of what leaving would mean for Luca and me.

Now I packed the notebooks from my master's degree, my laptop, and the clothes I would need for work. The research I'd once been so proud of had spent long enough gathering dust while I arranged my evenings around his schedule.

My phone lit up beside the suitcase.

Isabella had posted a screenshot of my breakup message.

Enough with the drama. It's getting embarrassing. 🙄

The comments were already piling up.

Another breakup threat. Terrifying.

She's an office assistant. What exactly does she think she's bringing to the table?

Luca could have anyone. She should be grateful he even looks at her.

I read them once.

Then I left a comment of my own.

It wasn't a threat. You're welcome to stop discussing me now.

Luca called almost immediately.

“I've told her to take it down.”

“Good.”

“They were being idiots, Elena. None of them knows anything about your work. I'll deal with them.” His voice softened. “You know I don't think that about you.”

I folded a sweater and put it in the suitcase.

“Elena?”

“I'm here.”

“Then talk to me.”

There was nothing left I wanted to explain. I had spent three years trying to find words he would take seriously. I wasn't going to spend my last night at home doing it again.

He mistook the silence for surrender.

“It's almost midnight. Get some sleep. Tomorrow's our anniversary. I'll take you to Bellini's.”

“Luca—”

“If you mean what you said, tell me to my face.” His voice tightened. “Three years deserves more than a text.”

I looked at the small, empty jewelry box on my dresser.

My mother's bracelet was still with him. The clasp had broken, and he'd offered to have his jeweler repair it. I'd asked twice whether it was ready. Both times, he'd said not yet.

“All right,” I said. “One conversation. And bring my bracelet.”

“I will.”

At one the next afternoon, he sent me the restaurant address.

Bellini's was a little Italian place I'd mentioned a month earlier. The dining room booked weeks in advance, but they kept a few tables for walk-ins. Luca said he'd come early to put our names down.

The Don of the Moretti family could have made one call and cleared the room. Instead, he was apparently waiting like everyone else because I'd once said I hated watching people scramble to accommodate him.

Every few minutes, another update arrived.

Still twelve parties ahead of us.

Down to nine.

It was brutally hot outside.

Stay out of the sun, I wrote.

He replied with a sticker of a small gray cat giving a solemn nod.

Milo.

Luca had brought him to my apartment during our first month together.

“We can't live together,” he'd said, stroking the kitten's head, “so I've found you a little bodyguard.”

He'd bought the food, booked the vet appointments, and called himself Dad with a straight face.

Milo had slipped through an open door a year later. A car had hit him before I could get outside.

Afterward, I'd turned my favorite photographs into stickers because I couldn't bear to stop seeing his face.

Luca used them whenever we fought. Milo looking sorry. Milo begging forgiveness. Milo sprawled on his back in defeat.

They used to make me soften before he'd even apologized.

I touched the little gray face on the screen.

There had been love. Real tenderness, too. I didn't have to pretend otherwise to know I was finished.

At five thirty, Luca said there were ten people still waiting ahead of us. I left early so he wouldn't have to wait alone.

From across the street, I saw him through the restaurant window.

He was already seated.

Isabella sat beside him, eating from a slice of cake between them.

Luca spotted me and came outside at once. His hand reached for mine.

I stepped out of reach.

He glanced at his empty hand, then back at me.

“I thought you coming meant we'd worked this out.”

“No. I came to end it in person. And to collect my bracelet.”

His jaw tightened.

“Elena, don't do this on the sidewalk.”

He caught my sleeve and guided me toward the private dining room. When I resisted, his grip tightened.

“Luca. Let go.”

“Just come inside.”