Chapter 9 - THE DINNER LORENZO HAD TO ASK FOR
I did not see Lorenzo for almost three months.
That was intentional.
He rehabilitated.
I studied.
Mia attended preschool.
Our lives became ordinary.
Wonderful, exhausting ordinary.
Then my phone rang.
“Clara.”
His voice sounded stronger.
“Lorenzo.”
“I'm walking.”
I smiled.
“I heard.”
“Who told you?”
“Isabella.”
“Traitor.”
“She likes me better.”
“That is increasingly obvious.”
Silence.
Then:
“I would like to ask you something.”
I waited.
“Dinner.”
I looked at the pharmacology textbook in front of me.
“As friends?”
“No.”
Direct.
Of course.
I appreciated it.
“That's a problem.”
“I suspected.”
“You employed me.”
“Past tense.”
“You compensated my family through a process tied to your company.”
“Independent process.”
“Yes.”
“You were unconscious when we met.”
“Technically.”
“Very romantic.”
He laughed.
Then became serious.
“If the answer is no, it is no.”
No consequences.
No pressure.
No Moretti machine rearranging itself around his desire.
I thought about the man upstairs.
Then the man on the estate steps.
Then the man who called prosecutors instead of ordering revenge.
“Coffee.”
“What?”
“Start with coffee.”
A pause.
“Is this negotiation?”
“Yes.”
“I accept.”
Our first coffee lasted forty minutes.
No security at the table.
No discussion of Dominic.
No Mateo.
We talked about books.
Mia's inability to accept that rabbits did not eat pancakes.
Lorenzo's hatred of physical therapy.
My hatred of pharmacology.
The second coffee became dinner.
Months passed.
Slowly.
May you like
Ordinarily.
That was exactly what both of us needed.
