Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 98321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
I was thrilled for them both. So in spite of the fact that my own heart was still in a million unhappy little pieces, I put on a new dress, swapped my glasses for contacts, strapped on some heels, and painted my lips a cheerful shade of poppy red.
What I wasn’t thrilled about was that Cheyenne had chosen DiFiore’s as the restaurant for tonight’s celebration. I’d been there several times with Enzo since our engagement dinner, and it felt like our place. I was trying so hard to move on instead of look back, and I worried that being there would be a painful reminder of what I’d lost, of the terrible mistake I’d made. But tonight wasn’t about me, so I would go and smile and celebrate Cheyenne like a good friend should. She deserved that.
Tomorrow, I could cry if I needed to, maybe take out those diamond earrings he’d left at my place and put them on, along with his big gray CIAO T-shirt, curl up in a ball and bemoan the fact that I hadn’t had the nerve to start divorce proceedings yet, but knew it was something I had to do. He wasn’t coming back.
“You look great,” Blair chirped after I got in her car. “Is that a new dress?”
I glanced down at the floral minidress with flowy sleeves and low-cut neckline. “Yeah. I felt like I needed to get out of my all-black rut.”
Blair sighed. “It was a long winter, wasn’t it? But this summer will be great. We have lots to look forward to.”
I nodded but said nothing.
Blair pulled up in front of the restaurant and looked around. “Shoot. I don’t see any parking spaces.”
“There’s one over there,” I said, pointing up the street.
“But you’re wearing heels, and that’s a long walk. Why don’t you jump out and grab our table?”
“Blair, don’t be silly. They’re not that high.” I glanced down at the nude, block-heeled sandals I had on. “I’ll walk with you.”
“No!” she said vehemently. Then she looked alarmed. “I mean, no.” Her tone was softer. “You go in. We’re a little late already, and I bet Cheyenne is in there waiting for us.”
I shrugged. “Okay. I’ll see you inside.”
She smiled like she was relieved. “Yes, good. See you inside.”
Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I shut the passenger door of Blair’s little green MGB and head into the restaurant. Inside, it was dark and warm and smelled delicious—like garlic bread right from the oven and fresh herbs like rosemary and oregano. Taking a deep breath, I approached the hostess stand, fighting tears as I recalled Enzo’s hand on my lower back the night we walked into our engagement dinner. Then I remembered the way he called me his little meatball, and it nearly made me laugh.
The hostess, a young, dark-haired girl named Victoria, recognized me. “Hi, Mrs. Moretti. Your table is all set.”
I sniffed and blinked, trying to compose myself. “Uh, thanks. Is my friend here?”
“Yes,” she said, smiling widely. “Right this way.”
I followed her through the restaurant, doing my best not to glance at the back room where the DeRossis and Morettis had gathered just a few months ago to celebrate the joining of our families. I’d hoped that Cheyenne would be waiting for us at one of the tables near the front windows or maybe one of the high-tops over in the bar, but to my dismay, Victoria was leading me toward the booths along the back wall—which was where I’d sat across from Enzo and offered to marry him. In fact, she seemed to be leading me toward the exact booth where I’d stupidly, blindly put everything in motion.
As soon as we reached it, I stopped and gasped. Someone was sitting there, but it wasn’t Cheyenne.
Enzo slid out and stood up, looking so gorgeous in his suit and tie, my heart stopped. His sensual mouth curved into a smile. “Hi.”
“What is this?” I glanced at the table, which was set for two. Candlelight flickered and glowed. A bottle of Barolo was open, two glasses poured.
Instead of answering my question, he looked at the hostess. “Thanks, Victoria.”
“You’re welcome, Mr. Moretti.” She gave him a longing, wistful smile.
When she’d left us, Enzo gestured across the table from where he’d been sitting. “Will you sit down?”
I glanced at the booth and saw myself so blithely sliding in—uninvited—across from him last February. “I don’t know. What’s going on? Where is Cheyenne?”
Enzo looked a little guilty. “They’re not here.”
“They’re not?”
“No, I just needed their help getting you here. I didn’t think you’d come if I asked you myself, and I wanted to surprise you.”
“Well, it worked. I’m surprised.” I shook my head, feeling unsteady on my feet. “But I’m also upset. I feel tricked.”
Enzo put a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t—it’s not like that, I promise. Just please sit. Give me five minutes, and if you still want to leave, I won’t fight you.” He gestured again at the booth.