Alessandro's eyes suddenly flashed with a sense of recognition. “And where is Gianni?”
Tommaso flung him a baffled look. “Gianni passed away three years ago. Don't you remember? You attended the funeral.”
My jaw dropped and I wasn't quick enough to hide my shock.
Alessandro exhaled as though the news hurt him to an extent. “Mi dispiace,” he said to Tommaso. “Some things are a bit hazy since the accident.”
He didn't admit he had amnesia because that would be a sign of weakness. Alessandro was always cautious around people and trusted very few individuals. Even though he trivialized what had just happened, his behavior had finally erased any doubt he was pretending. Alessandro really did lose his memory...but for how long?
“Of course,” Tommaso said awkwardly. “I haven't thought of that. Don't worry. It will come back.” Then he flashed that genuine smile at us again. “Come, let me show you to your table.”
As Tommaso showed us the way, Alessandro gently placed his hand on my back for the second time that evening, and I released a sigh of surprise. Once we were at the table, my husband was even courteous enough to pull out a chair for me. Tommaso commented I had married a true gentleman, and—once again—I replied in fluent Italian, telling him I wouldn't have married him if he wasn't. Tommaso laughed, calling me witty, and Alessandro just stared at me with an undecipherable expression. When the old man told us the waiter would be with us in a moment and then left us alone, Alessandro smiled and shook his head. “I'm impressed,” he said softly. “I had no idea you were so fluent in my language.”
“I’ve been learning for a few years now,” I uncovered.
He smirked. “You truly are an enigma, Olivia. Are there any other surprises I should know about?”
My entire body stilled for a nanosecond, then I shook my head. “No, that’s about it.”
Alessandro sneered in wonder and parted his lips as if to say something, but then the waiter appeared with our menus and asked what we wanted to drink. Alessandro ordered a glass of red wine, and I went for a simple fresh orange juice.
“Aren't you going to have some wine, cara?” he asked when the waiter left. “I would really like to toast.”
I couldn't drink and I had the strangest feeling Alessandro was well aware of that.
“I prefer the juice,” I said simply. “I avoid drinking alcohol.”
“But certainly this calls for an exception.”
“Alessandro, I'm sorry, but the wine gives me terrible headaches.”
He lifted his hands and smiled. “Fine. I won't insist. Although, I can't help but point out that having a headache would be a wonderful excuse you could use later in the evening.”
I swallowed, feeling another underlined comment about intimacy. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing, cara,” he retorted, pressing his lips together in an obvious attempt not to laugh. “It's just a joke. Don't be so serious.”
Suddenly, the atmosphere turned sour and we remained quiet for a few minutes, skimming through the menu without exchanging a single word. Deciding to order a seafood risotto, I closed my menu and glanced around the big hall; admiring the beautiful, warm atmosphere created by the stone walls, massive hanging chandeliers, torches and live piano music.
“This place is a lot different than the restaurant where you used to work,” Alessandro commented on my visible awe of the place.
“It most certainly is,” I agreed. “What made you come to Mangiare in the first place?”
He smiled as though reliving a distant memory. “Giuseppe kept talking about the killer lasagna, so we went to shut him up.”
I gave him an incredulous look. “Killer lasagna?”
Alessandro burst out laughing. “Slip of the tongue, cara.”
“Was it really that good?” I asked curiously. “I don't remember you ordering lasagna that much.”
“Lasagna was okay, but I kept coming back for something else.”
To my absolute dismay, Alessandro's comment made me blush. He grinned, shaking his head at me. At that moment, the waiter brought our drinks and took our order. Even after he left, I fiddled with the napkin on the table as a means of distraction from the awkward and flustered feeling that overtook me in Alessandro's presence.
“It's remarkable you’ve stayed the same after all these years,” he said thoughtfully. “I don't remember much, but I do know you were incredibly clumsy. Lorenzo was losing his patience and hated me for requesting your service. He had the hots for the blonde waitress.”
“I thought Lorenzo had a girlfriend,” I said, remembering