The Trophy Wife

SIX: Deadly Dinner

"Wine. Check. Caviar. Check. Pas- no! No! No! What are you doing? The piano doesn't go there, I specifically said next to the window!"

For reasons I could not explain, Enzo left me in charge when it came to planning all of his fancy dinner parties. It was an incredibly stressful job, probably one of the worst, and that's saying something because he had me do some truly terrible things.

Everything had to be perfect. The lighting, the silverware, the china, the tablecloth, the music, the food, the wine. The list went on and on.

I remember the first one we threw together... well, the first one I threw. I was only nineteen and he was absolutely furious once he realized that a young, inexperienced, American girl wasn't able to host a flawless Italian dinner for all of his associates. I didn't know what an antipasto was. I had no idea what dulce meant, or what kind of wine he liked.

However, over the years he groomed me into being the perfect hostess. I can recite practically every wine out there and give a brief description of its history. I know where to find the best caviar. I know which soups go with which dishes. I could probably cook half of them if he wasn't so adamant about giving the help no help.

But as big of an expert as I was, this dinner was different. There was so much more riding on it, meaning that it had to be perfect.

Alberto Santoro, Matteo Bianchi, Joseph Romano, and the poor souls who came as their dates were our guests of honor. It was a nice mixture of both friends and enemies. Aside from making sure that the wine did not clash with the main course, I was also responsible for the lives of my husband and his partners. It's never a good idea to mix alcohol with the unstable and ill tempered, but I didn't have much of a choice, meaning that I had to make sure all of our guests left in one piece. There was no need to repeat The Dinner of 2013.

Although he wanted to host the dinner on a Thursday evening, Enzo had promised to be home by six o'clock because the festivities were scheduled to begin at eight, but he didn't make it until seven thirty.

"You're late." I accused.

"Yes, Evelyn. I'm not an imbecile, I know how to read a clock."

"Are you sure, because clearly you don't know how to follow a schedule."

"Don't start with me." He threw his coat onto the bed and walked into the bathroom.

I decided to follow him. "You have some nerve, you know that. If I am even a fraction of a second late to anything at all, even if it's something as ridiculous as breakfast, you throw a hissy fit, but here you are a whole hour and a half late to this dinner that's been planned for two weeks now, and I'm not allowed to say anything!"

"Evelyn." His voice was hard, his jaw clenched.

"Enzo." I mimicked

"I had a long day and I would appreciate it if-"

"Oh, you had a long day! How do you think mine went? I was in hell, Enzo. You're so God damn picky and particular about everything. I know how important tonight is and I spent this entire day trying to make things perfect for you."

"Are you done?"

"Are you done blowing me off?"

He started laughing. Enzo laughed and laughed and laughed. "You're funny."

I wasn't laughing. "And you're immature."

"I got stuck at the hotel." He explained. "Anthony-"

"The Rat?" I hated that man.

"The owner of the Five Star Hotel, yes," He gave me a warning look. "He was talking to me about the Di Stefano's."

"What about them...?"