Page 36 of Lorenzo

“No, thank you.”

I settle into one of the white leather sofas facing the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Forty-something stories below, yellow cabs jostle through the gridlock of Fifth Avenue. And Central Park beyond it stretches out a luxuriant green between tall, skinny skyscrapers.

The toy-like view makes me think of Teddy, and how much my kid brother would marvel over it.

But with the golden sun setting over the city, it’s a romantic view more than anything else. One that demands a viewing partner.

Hearing Ciro put dinner together in the open kitchen behind me makes me feel guilty for not offering to help.

Or at least, sitting down and starting a conversation to keep him company.

Something Gina would do.

But I’m not Gina.

More to the point, I can’t trust myself. Once Ciro and I drop our guard, and chat, I’m only too likely to ask questions about Lorenzo that he’d deem too personal.

Already, I predict his answer would be: “ask Mr. Ricci.”

So the only recourse is to take a gander into the library. I hesitate before rising.

When Ciro showed me the room, he specifically called it Lorenzo’s library. Implying that I’d be invading my husband’s private property if I entered.

But I’m married to the man. It’s my library too.

Once inside, I close the door behind me and lean against it for a moment. Then I call Anna. I’m relieved when she answers in two rings.

“Look at me,” I say, holding my phone away from my body so she can take in my new dress.

“Wow, that’s gorgeous,” Anna says. “Very sophisticated. Discreet. But it shows off that hot body you keep buttoned up tight. I bet even your late aunt would approve.”

“I thought the same thing when Antoine bought it for me.”

“Who’s Antoine?”

“Lorenzo’s ‘image consultant,’” I say, drawing the word out.

“It’s definitely a great image for you! Is Lorenzo taking you out tonight?”

“We’re just having dinner at home tonight. But Antoine practically bought out the store so I’d have a wardrobe at the ready. One dress to wear for a French restaurant. One dress for an Italian restaurant. Totally crazy.”

“Where are you calling from?”

“I’m in Lorenzo’s private home library,” I say, lowering my voice. “I’m surprised. He has all these books with leather binding and gold lettering.”

“Your new husband reads?” Anna says.

“Appears that way,” I say. “I just hope he didn’t buy them by the pound.”

That would be just like him.

“What kind of books are they?”

“I’ll take a closer look.”

I let my fingers trail over the fancy book spines once I arrive at his bookcase.