bringing any of the women I hooked up with to this restaurant. Antonio had absolutely no filter. The last girl I had brought, he had asked her why she only ate a few bites of her eggplant parmesan. She had said she was watching her weight, and Antonio had replied that she looked like a thirteen-year-old boy. She had forbidden me from ever going to the restaurant. I promptly dumped her. The restaurant was my home away from home. I hoped Grace could take Antonio in stride. But instead of flipping out, she just smiled.
“Best thing about life is food!” she quipped.
“Really,” I said, “the best thing?”
Antonio let out a belly laugh and slapped Grace on the shoulder.
“Ha! She got you! She’s exactly the type of woman we need to take this big lug down a peg!” Antonio said.
“Sorry, Chris.” Grace winked at me. She picked up another of the tiny little mozzarella balls from the antipasto platter. “This is the best mozzarella I have ever eaten.”
“I make it myself!” Antonio boasted, giving her another hug. “Wait until you try the lasagna! In fact”—he grabbed the menus off the table—“I’m just going to cook you a little of everything.”
“Oh,” I said excitedly. “Grace actually has a fantastic lasagna recipe.”
45
Grace
I am literally going to kill Chris.
“It’s not that good,” I demurred, starting to sweat. I took another gulp of wine. Antonio peered at me. My scalp itched.
“You have a lasagna recipe? You’ve been feeding him lasagna?” Antonio asked loudly. All the restaurant patrons were openly gawking at us.
“It’s pretty tasty too,” Chris added.
“I need to see your recipe,” Antonio demanded.
“Oh,” I said, thinking fast. “It’s a family recipe. My great-aunt’s ghost would rise up and strangle me.”
Chris cocked his head. “I thought you all were German?”
“She was adopted.” I blinked.
Before Chris could prod further, Antonio gave another hearty laugh.
“I like this one!” He slapped Chris on the back. “I like her much better than that other one you brought the last time. You should marry her!”
“Actually,” Chris said, looking guilty, “I already did.”
Antonio sank down on the floor, sprawling out. “You married her?”
He sat back up. “You got married, and I wasn’t there. I didn’t cater!”
“It was unexpected,” Chris continued.
“You’re married! Married!” Antonio slapped his forehead.
“That’s great! You kids these days! I’m going to make you tiramisu,” he said, kissing Chris on both cheeks then me.
“Married!”
“Sorry,” Chris said to me once Antonio had returned to the kitchen, still exclaiming about Chris’s surprise marriage.
“Are you kidding?” I told him. “It’s adorable how much he cares about you.” Also, I was just thankful that the lasagna subject was once again buried.
Thank God you actually aren’t staying married to Chris, I thought. Otherwise the stress of keeping the lie would give you an ulcer.
“This place is fantastic!” I told him, spearing a roasted red pepper with my fork. “There aren’t all that many old-school Italian places left in the city. This place is a gem.”
Chris’s face went dark. “You’re the first woman I’ve dated that liked this place.” He stared at his wineglass. “Addison hated it. The first time Antonio met her, he told me right in front of her that Addison was no good and I should dump her.”
I huffed out a laugh. “I bet that didn’t go over well.”
Chris ran a hand through his hair. “I should have listened to him. It would have saved me a year of trouble.”
He took a sip of his wine. “She would always demand to know if I had been over here. She tried to shut the restaurant down.”
“No!” I said in horror.
Chris nodded.
“No wonder you dumped her.”
He gave me a bitter smile. “That’s not what caused me to dump her. I was tangled too deeply in her web. She had me convinced I was in love with her, that she would make me happy.”
Bet it was the sex, I decided, remembering what Addison had said. I wondered if Chris still craved it, if he wished I could perform like she had.
What does it matter? You’re not building a life together or even trying to be his girlfriend. You’re just trying to get out of this marriage with your dignity and business intact.
“What finally convinced you to leave?” I asked quietly.
“I—” He grimaced. “Never mind. I don’t want you to think less of me.” He gave me a wan smile.
I took his hand.
“There’s no way I’d think less of you,” I assured him. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but I