“Yeah.”
“Don’t keep me in suspense, angel.”
“You don’t want to talk about your ex.” My amusement withers away at getting caught diverting the attention from me. Her gaze softens in understanding. “I get it. Not everyone shares their woes with strangers. I only hope you have people you can lean on, like I have my friends.”
“What about your family?” I’m aware I’m being a hypocrite by coercing her to divulge personal things about her while keeping my emotions sealed tight.
She knows it as well, yet she keeps satisfying my curiosity. “My parents have been there for me.”
A bald-faced lie.
It’s all in the vanished smile on her face. In the stutter in her tone. In her clenched grip around the glass of water.
My conscience warns me to back off. What’s with the foreign need to make her lay her soul bare to me? However, my mouth has a mind of its own. “And Bianca?”
She tenses from head to toe, a shutter slamming down on her emotions. “I’ll share if you confess why you’re deflecting talking about your ex.”
Ah! I’ve finally hit a wall.
“Off-limits? Understood.” Our waiter chooses this moment to bring our food. “Perfect timing.”
I notice Arya relax from the corner of my eye.
Was there some truth to what Iris told me then? Is little Arya not as sweet and pure as she seems?
When we’re alone once more, I ask, “How’s your ankle?”
“It was a minor sprain,” she replies after finishing a bite of her salad. “It’s healed now.” Dabbing the corner of her mouth with the napkin, she meets my gaze. “Thank you for rescuing me that night. If you hadn’t been there…”
“You’re safe now.” I soothe her distress after a shudder passes through her. “The club should’ve had more bouncers keeping an eye on things.”
“I hope you didn’t get into any trouble with his group afterward.”
I take a sip of my coffee. “I had them kicked out.”
After the security did my bidding in getting rid of them, I met the owner and gave him a piece of my mind about the bouncers being lazy and not doing their job. The night would’ve taken a turn for the worst for Arya, scarring her for life.
“My friend was pretty certain they were underage.”
“She wasn’t wrong,” I confirm. “Their IDs were fake. One of them had the name Rabindranath Tagore.”
“You’re kidding?” she laughs, choking on her drink.
“I wish.”
“Who would name himself after a Nobel Prize laureate?”
“I bet he didn’t know it himself.”
“You may be right.” Her laughter slows down into a breathless giggle. “That’s just too funny.”
We finish the rest of our lunch in amicable silence. After finishing, I guide her out with my hand on the small of her back.
Did she shiver or was it my imagination?
A relieved sigh escapes her when there’s no sign of her ex-fiancé.
He really did a number on her.
