All Chapters of Too Late To Love Me : Chapter 101 - Chapter 110

"Play it."Mira said it at the kitchen table at half past ten, with the kettle forgotten and two cups of tea going cold beside the laptop. Rosa's finger hovered over the key. She pressed it.The screen went gray. A grainy picture came up in black and white. The gate of the villa from above. Gravel. Two stone posts. A little red clock in the corner.The date was their anniversary. 9:51 p.m.Mira stopped breathing.Headlights swept across the screen. A car crunched across the gravel and stopped just short of the gate. The engine cut. For a moment nothing moved.Then the driver's door opened and Dante got out.He was in his dark suit, the one he had worn to dinner. No coat. He walked to the gate with his arms stiff at his sides, and he took hold of the iron bars with both hands.The camera had a microphone in the post, for the intercom. It caught the rasp of his breathing. Ragged. Uneven. Like a man who had been running."He was out of the house two minutes," Rosa murmured. "I was at my

"Before he comes in," Mira said. "Tell me why."Rosa sat at the kitchen table with both hands wrapped around a mug she wasn't drinking. The laptop was closed. In twelve minutes, headlights would turn into the drive."I gave it to Theo in January," Mira said. "Nadia opened it by the end of February. You've had it back since the first of March. And you waited. Why?"Rosa looked into her tea."Three reasons," she said. "I'll say them fast, because I'm ashamed of all of them."Mira pulled out the chair across from her and sat."The first is the Cup." Rosa kept her eyes on her mug. "A girl cannot cook with that in her head. I wanted you to win something that belonged to you, before you saw what he did to you.""And the second?""My nephew. Mateo." Rosa twisted the mug. "He works at the port. He has two children and a wife who is not well. His manager signs for Mr. Vittorio. In January, Mr. Vittorio's driver stopped Mateo in the car park and said, Your aunt has a long memory. Be sure it sta

"Mama says we live in a castle now."Pia, six, was under the kitchen table with a stuffed rabbit tucked under her chin. Mira stood at the stove with a pan of eggs. It was ten to seven on Monday morning, and she had slept two hours in her clothes."It's not a castle," she said. "It's my mama's house.""Mama says a castle is a house where nobody makes you leave." Pia wriggled out on her stomach. "Are you the lady with the burnt cake?""I'm the lady with the burnt cake.""Tía Rosa says you won a medal.""I did.""Can I see?"Mira dug the gold medal out of her cardigan pocket and hung it over the girl's head. It came down to her knees. Pia studied it with a straight face and bit it."It's not chocolate," she reported."No. It's just heavy."At the table, Mateo laughed once. It was the first sound he had made since he came in at five. He was thirty and thin, in a gray port jacket with a broken zipper. On the chair beside him sat a cardboard box. A chipped mug. A stapler. A photograph of hi

"I'm playing all of it."The elevator climbed through the Russo tower. Dante kept his eyes on the floor numbers. It was five to nine on Wednesday, and Mira stood beside him in the dark blue suit her mother had pressed twice."The gate too," Dante said. "I'm telling you first.""You don't have to.""He calls me unstable." The numbers climbed. Twenty-two. Twenty-three. "I'd rather they see exactly what I was. And exactly who I said sorry to.""Me.""The woman I said it to." He finally looked at her. "If you tell me no, I'll cut it."His tie had slipped. She reached up and straightened it without thinking, and felt his throat move under her knuckles.She thought of a man on his knees on the gravel, a photograph pressed to his mouth. She thought of what it would cost him to let nine strangers watch it."Play it," she said."Are you sure you want to sit beside me? It isn't a good seat.""I've sat in worse."The elevator opened on thirty.The boardroom ran the length of the building, window

"He told me not to tell you the number."Theo held a mug of coffee in both hands, his duffel bag still under the counter. Mira stood at the long steel table in the dark bakery, pulling a tray of burnt-edged tarts from the oven. It was six on Thursday morning. The room smelled of sugar and smoke."I know the number.""I know you know." He put the mug down. "He's my best friend. He's also the biggest idiot I've ever met. He'd rather lose the company, the house, and his own name than have you stand up in a room and say the thing you're thinking about saying.""I haven't decided.""Mira." He scrubbed a hand over his face. "I've known him since we were nine. He stood in my mother's kitchen and told me he'd marry the girl his father picked, because that was the price of the company. And he came out of it more bruised than I'd ever seen him. Then he met you." He swallowed. "I'm not telling you to do it. I'm telling you he'd never, ever ask. And that's exactly why I'm worried.""You're worrie