Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 95013 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95013 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
I was happy to see him . . . but never more scared.
He leaned down and kissed me. “Hey, sweetheart.” He sucked my bottom lip into his mouth before he sat down across from me. “How was your day?”
“It was good.” When the tumultuous moment was upon us, I felt all my fiery nerves burning my body. So tense I felt hard as a rock. My defenses were up, my expectations were low. Men had let me down my entire life, and I was afraid Constantine might do the same. “What about you?”
“I took a quick tour of this open spot in town. A little small, think we need something bigger.”
“For what?” I asked.
“The restaurant.”
“Oh, you were serious about that.”
He grinned. “When I say I’m going to do something, I do it.”
I just felt like it was rushed. Maybe not to him, because the restaurant business was in his blood, but for someone like me, it felt like a lot. And maybe my mind was on the baby that he didn’t know about . . . and all the stuff we still had to do.
He pulled out his phone and sent a text. “Told Elio we’re ready for dinner. I’m starving.”
“I get hungry when I drink a lot too.”
He grinned at me again. “You saw I was at Daiquiri.”
I didn’t realize what I’d said until it was over. I’d just shoved my foot into my mouth, and now, I couldn’t pull it out. “Sorry. You’re usually home—”
“Don’t be sorry. I like knowing that you check. I check yours all the time.”
“You do?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I like to know where you go for lunch, like to see your little dot move around the restaurant. Makes me feel like I’m a part of your day. I met with the real estate agent, and then I met Francesco and Aldo for drinks afterward. Didn’t tell them about the restaurant. I’ll tell my mom first. Technically, I have to get her permission first if I want to use the same name. I know she’s been thinking about another location.”
“Yeah.” The second he mentioned his mom, I mentally left the conversation. His mind was in a whole different place from mine. He was thinking about buildings and recipes, and I was thinking about how I could tell him this unbelievable news.
He studied me for a moment, his eyes shifting back and forth between mine like he was reading my mood, but he didn’t ask what troubled me. Just left it alone.
Now I wished he would ask, because I wasn’t sure if I could tell him this on my own.
Elio appeared on the terrace with the cart he brought up on the elevator. It was spread with a white tablecloth with a pitcher of water and a bottle of wine, along with two plates covered in silver lids.
I got more anxious at the sight of him, knowing I would tell Constantine after he left.
Elio greeted us with a smile, served our dinner, and opened the bottle of wine. He left the cart there so we could put everything inside the lockbox when we were done so we wouldn’t attract the birds. He usually cleaned it up sometime in the morning when we were at work or Constantine was in the gym.
Elio said good night and left.
Now it was just the two of us, the summer breeze welcoming, now that the sun was mostly gone. The string of lights over the terrace started to get brighter as the sunlight disappeared.
Constantine removed the lids from our dishes and started to eat, elbows on the table. A large filet of fish in white sauce and capers, along with a side of greens and roasted potatoes. It was an appetizing sight, but I felt no hunger at all. In fact, I felt like I might throw up my lunch.
He ate a couple bites as he glanced at me here and there.
I didn’t even reach for my fork, just watched him eat, feeling sicker and sicker as time ticked by.
He wiped his mouth with the linen, then stopped eating his dinner. He took a drink of his wine, then gave me his full attention, arms on the table, eyes locked with laser focus. A small breeze moved through his hair.
Oh my god, I wasn’t sure if I could do this . . .
He continued his stare, eyes demanding and desperate, like he wanted me to answer the question he never asked out loud.
My heart was like a drum in my chest. The pace compounded every few seconds. I felt like I was on the verge of collapse, I was so anxious.
“Sweetheart.” He extended his hand across the table, palm up, eyes still on me. “Come on, tell me.”
If I didn’t do it within the next few seconds, I thought I might pass out. I couldn’t handle this stress anymore. Needed to be free of this anxiety. My hand moved to his, and I took a deep breath.