"It'll be about thirty, forty minutes," she says. "I'll call for you when your table's ready."

We start to head back outside, to wait on one of the benches. A man opens the door for us, holding it, his gaze meeting mine. I recognize him… the owner… the man Naz spoke to when we were here. I smile politely, stepping by him, as his brow furrows. He rattles off something in Italian, something I don't understand, before he motions for the hostess to come over. He says something to her, something I again don't comprehend, until he reaches the last word. "Vitale."

The hostess looks at me. "He says you're Vitale's special friend, that you were here with him."

I can feel the blush overtaking my face as I nod. "Yes."

The man smiles widely at the confirmation, grabbing my hand and pressing a kiss to the back of it. He rambles for a moment before turning to the hostess, spouting off something else. She nods, and he strides away.

The hostess grabs three menus, motioning for us to follow her. Melody looks at me with surprise, but I just shrug as the three of us are led straight to a table that's just being cleared off. I take a seat across from Melody and Paul as the hostess sets the menus down, smiling at me.

"Mr. Andretti said to send Vitale his regards," she says. "To ensure him he took good care of you."

"Uh, okay," I say. "I will."

Naz isn't here, he's nowhere in the vicinity, and yet his presence can still be felt.

She walks away, and I glance up, catching my friend's eyes. Melody looks dumbfounded. "How did you do that?"

"I didn't," I mumble, shaking my head. "Naz did."

We're catered to all through dinner, waited on fast and showered with extra food. A bottle of wine is brought to the table, despite none of us requesting it, no questions asked about anybody's age. Paul lavishes in the attention, but I can feel Melody's questioning looks cast my way.

When we're finished, Paul asks for a bill as Melody pulls out her wallet. I feel guilty, realizing she's the one paying for all of us. The waiter shakes his head, smiling as he starts clearing our plates. "The bill has already been taken care of."

Melody gapes at him. "By who?"

The waiter says the payer prefers to remain anonymous, but I'm not fooled. A smile tugs my lips as I swirl some of the wine around in my glass, drinking my last few drops. I know exactly who did it.

After we leave, I stall on the sidewalk near the entrance. "You guys go ahead. I have somewhere else to be."

Melody's brow furrows, and she starts to question me, but Paul throws his arm over her shoulder and pulls her away. "Cool. See you later."

Melody looks behind her, shouting she'll see me back at the room, as I pull out my phone and call a cab. It takes it a moment to show up, the ride to Naz's house only a few minutes. It takes every penny in my pocket to afford the fare. I stroll up to the front door, knocking. It's near dusk, his Mercedes parked in the driveway.

The door opens and he appears in front of me, his expression blank. He looks at me, his eyes shifting past me to the street as the cab pulls away, before he meets my eyes again. He's quiet for a moment, just staring at me, before he finally speaks. "You had dinner with another man. I'm hurt."

"Can't be too hurt," I say, "considering you paid the bill."

He smirks, not admitting or denying that, as he steps aside to motion for me to come in.

"I'm going to need a ride back to the city," I mumble, frowning, noting he's already out of his suit, wearing what I'd call pajamas, except I know he doesn't sleep in them… Naz sleeps naked. I hadn't exactly thought this thing out. "You know, whenever you get the chance, if you don't mind… it'll be a long walk otherwise."

"I'll take you in the morning."

"In the morning?"

"Yes," he says, reaching over and cupping my cheek, his voice playful as he adds, "You've got a dinner to pay me back for tonight."

"Disney World."

My footsteps falter on the middle of the sidewalk near Washington Square, about a block from the building housing Santino's classroom. "Seriously?"

Melody stops walking and turns to face me. "Yep."

"You wrote about Disney World?" I ask, needing some clarification.

"Yep," she says. "You know, with Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck and Plato the Dog."

I blink a few times. "Please tell me you didn't call him Plato."

"Of course not." She laughs. "I wrote about the princesses, namely Cinderella, and the whole concept of living happily ever after. I mean, it's kind of your fault, since you quoted Walt Disney last time. It was stuck in my head. And besides, it's the happiest place on earth, right? That's what they say."

"Right," I say, starting to walk again. "That's what they say."

"Why, what did you write about?"

Definitely not Disney World. "I talked about philosophers like Aristotle and their views on happiness."

I can remember exactly how I started it:

Happiness isn't tangible. It's immeasurable, not profitable, often impractical, and some would argue indescribable. You can't see happiness, or smell it, or taste it, or hear it, or feel it… or can you?

I thought it was pretty brilliant, myself, but what do I know?

She blows out an exaggerated breath, making a face. "Where's the fun in that?"