“Can’t I have both?” he asked her, leaning closer, and he could smell her, that pleasant scent of Kira just being herself. His forehead pressed against hers, and Santi closed his eyes, loving the feel of having her so close, his heart aching for her. “You. Your chocolate. I want both. I’m selfish like that.”
“You’re not selfish,” Kira scoffed, but didn’t pull away. “You were probably told that wanting things for yourself is selfish. That’s different.”
“Boss Santi?” a voice asked through the doorway, and they broke apart, Kira suddenly very preoccupied by the half-eaten tartufo. Santi chuckled at her before he looked up at Danny, one of the waiters for La Spezia. “Table six would like to ask if you’ve taken their daughter hostage.”
“Hala,” Santi said to Kira like this was totally her fault.
“Ka dram-ah.” Kira rolled her eyes. Her years in Manila might have softened her language, but the sharp, crisp edges of her Batangueño couldn’t be denied.
“What course are they having?” Santi asked, as Danny’s eyes darted between Santi and Kira. He made a mental note to personally speak to Danny about keeping secrets after this.
“We’re about to serve dessert, sir.”
“Alright.” He nodded. Anton Santillan was a businessman’s grandson, and if there was anything a businessman knew how to do, it was to smooth over little slights, to make the people they were talking to feel like they could trust him. He knew what was polite, what was galante, and he was not ashamed in doing it. “Can you ask Lauren to make palista the meal for table six?”
Beside him, Kira suddenly choked, and he fought to hide his smile. He remembered when they were kids, and they’d discovered the power of the palista, thinking that they had to write down which food they got from the sari-sari store because they were free, only to find out Aling Pusay sent bills to both their parents every week.
“Comping a five-star meal for nine people isnotmaking palista,” Kira hissed at him under her breath, and he grinned. “And you don’t have to do this.”
“So you admit my food is five-star,” he said, and yes, he was being mayabang now, but he didn’t care. He was sure she found it amusing. “And I know I don’t have to, I want to. It’s an apology to your family, at least, for interrupting your dinner. Danny, could you wrap up this tartufo, and anything Kira didn’t get to eat, have wrapped for takeout. The fried seafood is a specialty, I don’t think you got to try it.”
Then, because he really wanted to impress her, he added, “Wrap up a second tartufo, too. For further study purposes.”
Santi honestly didn’t know who looked more perplexed. Danny, who knew full well that La Spezia never did takeout, or Kira, who was looking at him like he had three heads.
“It’s an exception, Danny,” Santi told him, knowing his concern. “You can get take-out boxes from the lobby lounge.”
With a nod, the waiter turned and left with the half-eaten tartufo. Santi nodded in satisfaction.
“Weirdest night of my life,” he thought he heard Kira mutter beside him. He was about to ask her to repeat it, just for clarity, but she shook her head. “You know, everyone will know about your little exception by the time I go back into the restaurant. Are you sure you want to—”
“As much as you want me to taste your chocolate, I want you to taste my food,” Santi explained. “And besides, I owe you a Christmas gift.”
“Your Christmas gift is pasta, risotto, fried seafood and a chocolate bomb. I feel loved.”
“As you should,” Santi said in a tone that brokered no argument, no witty comeback. Because she really did. She deserved everything good in life, everything she wanted. She always had, he thought.
“I should head back,” Kira said, standing from the bench, taking her rose and smoothing her skirt. Santi quite liked the way it showed off just enough of her legs. “You know, I had all of these reasons to come to La Spezia. But I think I just really, really wanted to eat your food.”
“And? What’s the verdict?”
“Oh, I’m not going to say. Your head might actually explode.”
“I’m looking forward to working with you on this.” Santi grinned. He realized then that he wasn’t all that different from his little brother. Where Miro could slide in and out of his masks easily, Santi could open and close himself up, depending on what the situation needed. Defense mechanisms vary, apparently.
“Look at that,” Kira said softly. “You’re actually smiling.”
Santi felt his cheeks heat, and he cleared this throat, shook his head as she giggled. “That was an accident. Good night, Kimberly.”
“Good night, Santi.” She smiled, using the rose to wave goodnight. “For the record, I like it when you smile.”
Then she exited the garden, leaving him outside, by himself. Smiling.
Chapter Seven
December 29
Somewhere along Ayala Avenue
