I kept grabbing pieces of bread and using them as a spoon to shovel the tender meat into my mouth.
“Like it?” she teased.
Too busy chewing, I just nodded.
She chuckled.
“A lot better than those bacon-wrapped scallops that Bastien wouldn’t shut up about.”
She chuckled again, this time substantially louder.
I wasn’t a funny guy and didn’t make jokes, but I’d somehow made her laugh. And she was cute when she laughed.
“How was your day?” she asked. “Or your night, I should say.”
It was the very reason I was there. “Fine.”
She never pushed for more information. Just accepted what I offered her. “Working on the fall catalogue right now…already. It’s not even spring yet. But we have a lot of great pieces to debut at Milan Fashion Week. I’m excited.”
I was glad I’d gotten her that job because she’d been noticeably happier since she started working there. Made decent money and devoted her time to something she was actually interested in. I hated that she’d lost everything, and now I wanted to give her everything I could.
I finished my food first and wiped my mouth before I watched her. With my arms crossed over my chest and my ankles crossed under the table, I relaxed, enjoying the silent companionship we had. It reminded me of my relationship with Bastien, when the two of us could just smoke together and not say anything for an hour. It wasn’t awkward or tense. Just natural.
She finished her food then drank from her wineglass.
“I spoke to Carvel.”
She swallowed the drink she took, and then she slowly tensed, like she hoped that this subject had long been buried.
“The relationship seemed to mean more to him than it did to you.”
She wouldn’t look at me, her fingers resting on the rim of the wineglass.
My eyes pierced the side of her face.
She remained quiet, physically uncomfortable.
“He doesn’t want me to see you.”
Her head snapped in my direction instantly, a jolt of fear in her eyes so profound it looked like she might cry.
She felt horrible, and I was a horrible man for feeling good about that.
“That fact alone tells me whatever you two had meant something to him.”
She looked away, drawing a slow and pained breath. She stared into her empty wineglass as if there was something to see.
“You weren’t entirely truthful with me.”
“I was fucked either way.” Her hand moved over her mouth, and she fidgeted.
“How so?”
“Because if I shared how Carvel felt, it might have made him look bad, and I didn’t want to do that. His business is his business. He deserves to keep it to himself if he wants. I’m surprised he told you anything.”
“He didn’t. But it’s obvious.”
She sat back in the chair and crossed her arms over her chest. “What now?”
