Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 69102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 346(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 346(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
“What’s your point?”
I keep my attention on her while draining the last of my wine.
“Or do you just want to try and get under my skin? You won’t. I’ve dealt with your kind before.”
“My kind?”
“Arrogant egomaniacs.”
“Wow. And how do you come to that conclusion about me?”
“I knew it the instant I saw you. You’re a bully. You expect everyone to cower at your feet. You use whatever means necessary to get what you want. Me, for example. This whole thing.” She gestures to the table.
“My patience is wearing thin, Emilia.”
That checks her, and she turns her attention to her plate and rolls spaghetti onto her fork, only glancing at me from beneath thick lashes.
But she’s too stubborn to drop it. “Isn’t it true, though?”
“Where did you go last night?”
I can see she’s surprised by the question.
“Are you having me followed?”
“I wouldn’t want you to disappear like before. You seem to be pretty good at it. Did you see your brother?”
“No. I went for a run. I already told you I don’t know where he is.”
I lean in close. “If it turns out you do—”
“I don’t—”
“He won’t be the only one I punish,” I finish as if she hasn’t spoken.
Her eyes search mine, perhaps weighing my words, trying to figure out if I mean them. I do. She can be sure of that.
“How about that truce?” I ask.
Reluctantly, she nods.
There’s something strange about her. Something different than I expect. She’s afraid of me. She’s trying to be brave, to put on a show, but she’s scared, which is normal, considering. But there’s more—there’s almost an acceptance, for all her fight. A submission. A sadness just beneath the surface, quiet but deep. For some reason, I want to touch that darkness.
“Let your hair down.” I don’t know why I want this. No, that’s a lie. I do.
“What?”
“Your hair.”
She touches it, then, she again surprises me by pulling the jeweled clip out and letting it fall down over her shoulders. She combs the long, thick waves back with her fingers, and there’s a softness to her when I see her like this. The dark hair with her olive skin and those green eyes, not to mention the red lips, swollen and like a heart.
A broken heart.
“Why don’t you have a boyfriend?”
She’s pushing food around her plate, and the only sign I have that she’s surprised by my question is the momentary pause in the twirling of spaghetti onto her fork. She tilts her head so she’s looking at me.
“If you think I’m going to fuck you after dinner, think again.”
Rebellion and submission are warring inside her, each one equal. She’s cautious, because she knows she’ll lose any fight with me. She’s choosing her words and her battles.
I grin.
“Well, I would like to fuck you after dinner, but I wasn’t assuming it was a given.” Long minutes of silence pass as we eat. “Aren’t you curious what Alessandro did?”
She puts the last forkful of pasta into her mouth and sits back, chewing thoughtfully as she picks up her wine and drains her glass. “This was good,” she says. “I’m glad I ordered it. Thank you for recommending it.”
“You’re a strange girl, Emilia Estrella.”
“Larrea. It’s officially Larrea now. Emilia…Em Larrea.”
“Then you’re a strange girl, Emilia Larrea.”
“Sorry to disappoint you.”
“I’m not disappointed.”
She studies me as a waiter clears our plates and brings a different wine for the main course.
“So why don’t you have a boyfriend? You’re a very pretty girl.”
“Maybe I have a girlfriend.”
“You don’t.”
“Why don’t you have a girlfriend, Giovanni? Or do you, and does she know you’re here with me?”
“No girlfriend. I don’t cheat.” I finish my last bite and set my utensils down before wiping my mouth.
I think she’s surprised by my comment. “Well, good for you,” she says, finishing her food. She checks her watch. “I have an early day…”
“Don’t worry, I’ll get you home before you turn into a pumpkin.”
My cell phone rings just then, the interruption annoying me. I check the display. It’s Janet. That doesn’t usually mean a good thing.
“Excuse me,” I say, standing as I swipe the screen to answer and walk around the deck to the back of the restaurant for privacy.
“Giovanni, it’s Janet. I’m sorry to bother you. I know—”
“What is it, Janet?” Janet is my father’s live-in nurse.
“I just wanted you to know he’s been having those dreams again. The nightmares. He’s been calling out your name.”
“And what do you want me to do about it?”
“He wakes up in an awful sweat, Giovanni.” There’s a pause, but I don’t fill it. “He’s an old man, and I worry you’ll regret this someday. I know he can forgive you if you can forgive him.”
“Tell the doctor to up his meds. That should take care of the nightmares.”
“Giovanni—”
“I have to go. Good-bye, Janet.”
I hang up before she can say anything more. When I return to our table at the restaurant, Emilia is gone. I think she may be in the bathroom, but then Giacomo comes to me holding a handful of bills.