OLIVIA
I tasted the lobster bisque and nodded. The flavor was rich, buttery, and enough to make me close my eyes for a second.
It was one of Dante’s favorites. I remembered the first time he’d ordered it for me, insisting it was the kind of dish he could eat everyday.
Carefully, I adjusted the bottle of aged Barolo wine sitting in the center of the table. Then wiped my hands on my apron and took a step back, scanning the table.
Everything looked perfect. Or at least, I hoped it was enough.
I exhaled. Maybe this would soften him. Maybe tonight, he’d talk to me instead of sending me away.
The security personnel I’d asked to alert me when Dante arrived stepped into the living area.
“He just arrived, ma’am.”
“Thank you,” I responded, untying the apron and laying it gently across a
