“Of course.” The server ducks his head.
I place a hand over my glass. “Not for me, thank you.” Then I lift my gaze toward Azrael’s, and I’m pained to see his jaw tic. His sinister glare slices through me, and a cold shudder racks down my spine.
Definitely not ready to discuss the baby.
I shake off the ominous feeling mounting inside me and tell myself to embrace the sunshine and freedom of Italy. It’s not lost on me that not once have I considered escaping.I glance around the restaurant, and I can already make out three of Azrael’s men who escorted us on board the private jet and yacht.
You don’t want to leave, anyway, not with the progress you’re making with him, a little voice tells me.
“Signora.” The server places my spaghetti carbonara down in front of me, then serves Azrael his lasagna.
Azrael watches me as I twirl the spaghetti around my fork, and when I place it in my mouth, my taste buds burst to life. “Oh my God, this is the best ever.” I moan.
Azrael chuckles, and the sound is music to my ears. He’s back to being lighthearted.
“I’m pleased you like it,” he remarks while cutting into his own meal.
“You should have Elizabeth cook this for us,” I comment, twirling the spaghetti around my fork. “She’s so good at everything she does, she’d create this too. I’m sure of it.”
“Are you always so positive about others?” he asks, and dabs his mouth with the napkin.
“I mean”—I lift my shoulder—“there’s no point in being negative. There’s too much of it in the world, so why put someone down if you can lift them up?” Our eyes remain locked. “Everyone has the ability to make a difference, Azrael. Sometimes you have to try harder to pursue it, but we’re all capable of change. We’re all capable of making a positive difference in the world.”
“Not everyone.” He says it so low I almost don’t hear, and I reach across the table to stroke his hand.
“Azrael!” A loud, excitable voice cuts through our heavy words, leaving them unresolved and stagnant. Our heads turn to a woman sashaying toward us like a model on a catwalk runway. Her hair is in bold dark curls to her shoulders;her red lipstick is glossy, the way I know Azrael likes it, and then Azrael shifts and pulls his hand away from mine.
“I never would have expected to see you here. I was just in the boutique across the road, and I thought there’s just no way.” She beams at him, and a part of me is envious of the tightly fitted white dress she wears, showcasing her slim build. Then I quickly remind myself that Azrael literally gave me the black shirt off his back. I now wear it with a belt around my middle to give the impression of it being a shirt dress. “And who is this?” She smiles down at me, then her dark eyes deepen, causing a rush of blush to creep over my cheeks. “Is this one of the girls from the whorehouse?” she says in a mocking tone. “A sex slave?” My hand tightens on my fork, and I take the opportunity to look at Azrael.
There’s no denying the fire burning behind his eyes and the warning he shoots in her direction. Every muscle in his body is coiled tight. He’s about to explode across the table and commit an act of violence.
I clear my throat to think of something to say in hopes of breaking the tension she appears to be unaware of, unless she’s taunting him?
“Did you buy anything nice?” I ask, ignoring her questions and gesturing toward the bags on her wrist.
She gawks at me as if dumbfounded that I can actually speak.
“Jesus, Azrael. Don’t you allow the women you fuck to talk?” I tilt my head to the side and pout, hoping the show I put on is enough to throw her off the scent and away from the true reflection of our relationship.
“They were normally gagged,” he clips back while his scowl toward me deepens, and I only hope he’s playing along and isn’t as angry with me as he appears.
“Well, then, the other woman last night must havehelped convert you.” I drill my gaze into his.Come on, you idiot, play along.
“You’re right. We’re going to head back to the villa now, and I’ll untie her and gag you instead. I’ve heard enough of your bullshit today.” Then he pushes back from the table and ignores the woman as he jerks my arm and pulls me out of my chair. “Walk.”
I open my mouth with a retort, but snap it shut at the thunderous expression on his face. “Don’t say another fucking word,” he hisses in my ear, causing me to swallow.
“Shall we meet up for drinks later?” the woman shouts as he marches us out of the restaurant.
“Azrael, you’re going to leave a mark,” I whine, but he ignores me.
“I already fucking left one, didn’t I?” he growls. “Just fucking walk, Hevan.” The disappointment in his tone churns my stomach, and the mark he’s referring to, I’m sure, is our baby.
Chapter Forty-One
Azrael
At least she kept her mouth shut on the drive back to the villa. I leave her in the SUV for Jensen to bring inside while I storm indoors.
