Chapter 2

By the time I came out, they had gone. A thin crack crossed my phone screen. It had likely caught the corner of the bedside table when Matteo set it down. The display still worked when I touched it.

The closet held rows of clothes on both sides. My dresses and coats hung neatly, though many had been chosen for Moretti family dinners. I had worn them to greet Matteo’s guests, soothe his sisters, and welcome people who came only because of my family.

Today, I chose a navy dress for myself and put on lipstick.

I was about to leave when Matteo returned carrying a pastry box.

“I forgot yesterday,” he said. “This is for you.”

I recognized the bakery’s name. Sofia had praised its almond tarts online on the day she came back.

“I’m allergic to nuts.”

Matteo looked down at the box, his brow tightening. “I didn’t know what was in it. My secretary bought it.”

“We’ve been married fifteen years.”

He fell silent, then put the box on the table.

“My older sister’s having people over tonight. I need you there, especially with your uncle’s family. They’ve had concerns about me lately.”

I remembered the dinner held when Sofia returned. I had asked about her dietary restrictions and planned the menu with the chef so she would feel welcome. Seated near the head of the table, she had complained that the beef was overcooked and the potatoes were wrong.

After the guests left, Matteo asked why I had embarrassed her.

I picked up my handbag.

“I have plans tonight. You can host them.”

“Where are you going?”

“Out.”

As I passed him, he said, “Your uncle only agrees to speak with you. I can stay there all night and get nowhere.”

I paused, then continued toward the door.

“Then someone else will have to speak with him tonight.”

As the car left the estate, the driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror.

“Where to, ma’am?”

For a moment, I had no answer. For years, every trip had a purpose: Nico’s school, a dinner Matteo had arranged, my mother’s house, or a relative who needed me to smooth something over.

“Downtown,” I said.

The car stopped outside a department store. I told the driver he could leave and that I would arrange a ride later.

He hesitated. “Mr. Moretti usually likes to know where everyone is.”

“If he asks, tell him I’m shopping for clothes.”

The driver nodded and pulled away.

I stood on the sidewalk before going in. The store was quiet. I tried on two dresses and chose a black one with a clean cut. In the mirror, I looked tired, and the lines at the corners of my eyes were still there. The dress fit.

I turned to see it from the side and tried to remember the last time I had chosen something simply because I wanted to wear it.

A sales associate asked whether I wanted it wrapped.

“I’ll wear it,” I said. “Could you remove the tag?”

I bought a pair of shoes too.

My phone had been vibrating in my handbag. When I checked it, I found missed calls from Matteo and a message from the house manager asking whether the dinner preparations should continue.

I replied, Ask Matteo to decide, then silenced my phone.

Someone called my name as I left the store.

“Elena?”

I turned. It took me a few seconds to recognize the man walking toward me.

“Mike?”

He smiled. “It really is you.”

Years ago, I had worked for an international business consulting firm. Mike had been a vice president there. I coordinated multilingual meetings and communications for cross-border projects, a job that took me abroad often. I had been good at it.

For a while after marrying Matteo, I still took projects. The work tapered off after Nico was born. Once Matteo took charge of the family and demands at home grew, I left the firm.

“I almost walked past you,” Mike said. “Do you have time for coffee?”

We sat in a café beside the store. He told me he now ran an import-export consultancy. Business was going well, and he needed someone fluent in Italian and English who could handle complex negotiations.

“When you took on a project, you could usually tell what both sides were actually fighting about before the rest of us caught up,” he said. “If you’re interested in coming back, you could start with consulting work. You’d choose which projects to take.”

I held my coffee cup and considered it.

Over the years, Matteo had occasionally let me listen in on business conversations. He often used my suggestions. The next day, he would present the idea as his own.

Mike was offering me a seat at the table.

“I’ve been away a long time,” I said.

“Start by reading a project brief and see if the work still interests you.” He handed me his card. “Take your time deciding.”

I kept the card, and we exchanged numbers before parting.