“Well, have a nice night, Katy.”
“Thank you. You too, Mr. Santa Maria. Bye, Em.” She gives an awkward wave. Emilia looks straight ahead.
When Vincent pulls away, I notice the girl is still standing there, watching.
“She seems quite anxious.”
“That was unnecessary. You can’t just show up at my work and…bully me into having dinner with you.”
“I didn’t exactly bully you. I invited you. I’m offended, Emilia.”
“My name is Em.”
“No, it’s not. It only became Em a few years ago. After your father’s death, if I understand correctly.” Her lips draw into a tight line. She’s obviously taken aback by my knowledge.
“How do you know that?”
“I make it my business to know about the people I do business with.”
“We don’t do business together.”
I shrug a shoulder. “I assume you like Italian, since you were attempting to cook it last night.” She shifts her attention to the window, and I can’t see her face.
“Where are we going?”
“A little place I know just outside the city. Beautiful views and delicious food.” She looks at me, opens her mouth to speak. “Don’t worry. I’ll take you back to get your car after dinner.”
“Why do you want to have dinner with me?”
“Because you make me curious.”
She doesn’t reply to this but watches the view outside her window as Vincent drives us to Trattoria Giacomo, one of the few remaining places near the city that tourists haven’t discovered.
Vincent parks the car. The lot is full, but there’s always a table for me. I climb out and walk around to her side to open the door.
“I hope you’re hungry.”
She reaches back inside for her jacket.
“Leave it,” I say. “I like you better without it.”
She gives me a glare and makes a point of putting the jacket back on even in the stifling heat.
“Suit yourself.” With a hand at her low back, I guide her to the entrance where we’re greeted by the owner. He takes us to a table on the deck outside, where we can see the view of the city but still have privacy.
“Thank you, Giacomo,” I say as I pull out a chair for my guest.
She sits, and I order a bottle of white wine. Emilia picks up her menu right away.
“I suggest the Spaghetti Vongole to start and any of the fish for dinner.”
She doesn’t reply. When Giacomo comes back with the wine, he pours for both of us. We order, and I’m happy to see she orders what I suggested.
“Good choice,” I say as I pick up my glass.
She picks up hers as well and takes a sip without touching it to mine first.
“You’re being quite rude.”
“You broke into my house with five of your men and threatened to hurt me if I don’t help you find my brother to do God knows what to him, and you think I’m being rude? We’re not friends. We’re not even acquaintances.”
“Okay, you make a point. How about we call a truce, then? Just for dinner.”
“I don’t understand why we have to have dinner at all.”
I shrug a shoulder. I want to seem casual. But looking at her in this light, when she’s squinting into the waning sun and I can see the flecks of gold in her eyes, it makes me remember so many things. “Like I said, you make me curious. And for the record, I don’t want to hurt you.”
“But for the record, you will if you have to.”
I take a moment to study her before speaking. “The keyword there is “if.” Who are you hiding from, Emilia?”
“I’m not,” she answers too quickly, then clears her throat. “I’m not in hiding.”
“They why did you legally change your name to your grandmother’s maiden name.”
“How do you know that?”
“I mean, finding you wasn’t easy, but it wasn’t that hard either. You should have used an anonymous name. Like Jones or Smith. That would have made it much harder, although not impossible.”
“I’m not hiding from anyone. I changed my name because I don’t want to be associated with the cartel. I want a simple life. I don’t want anything to do with my brother or his business. So you can understand why I’m not that nice to you.”
The food comes, and I wait until the waiter is gone before speaking.
“You know, family isn’t something you just decide you’re no longer part of. The farther you try to run, the tighter you’re tethered.”
She’s good at masking her thoughts, but this makes her pause. I see it, at least momentarily. I wonder, though, if it’s something in her own life or how the comment relates to me that’s made her stop. That’s turned the tables, making her study me now. A moment later, she picks up her glass and drinks more of her wine.
“You’re making assumptions about me when you don’t know me.”
“Isn’t running what you’re doing, though? You claim you’re not in hiding, but you disappeared after your father’s death. Never returned to school. No one saw or heard from you again. You’ve since legally changed your last name. The company you work for has no idea who you really are. I get the feeling you keep everyone at a distance.”