The following Monday evening Delfina found herself facing Ruggero across a romantic table for two in a fancy restaurant, her fingers lightly gripped in his across the table.
“It’s really pretty here.” She looked around at the dim lighting, the chandeliers and all the white table linens. As someone who ran a restaurant with her family, she knew white table linens were extravagant as hell. They used black and red in her restaurant to hide sauce stains and spilled wine.
“You’ve not been here?”
“No.”
He made a face, “he really kept you home a lot, huh.”
“Um,” she tugged her fingers away from him. “Can we not talk about him tonight? I feel like I talked too much about him in therapy this morning and I’m all out of Ercole thoughts.”
“Of course, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring him up.”
“
