Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 116471 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116471 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
I pushed Emma’s wheelchair close to the table, then took my seat across from her. A hush had fallen over the restaurant, but I knew people were whispering about what happened and throwing us discreet looks.
“I’m very sorry,” Renato’s grandfather said as he handed us the menus. “I tried to warn you through Renato.”
“Don’t worry. I can handle it,” I said firmly. I wouldn’t show how much the encounter had shaken me. Fuck. I doubted it wouldn’t ever not kill me inside to see Domenico’s mother and her heartbreak. But today, she attacked Emma as well, and I couldn’t allow that. He nodded, gave Emma another warm smile, then left.
I looked down at the menu even though I knew it by heart. I lifted my gaze when I felt Emma’s eyes on me.
“We could leave if you want, you know?”
I kept my face neutral. “No, it would look like weakness. But we can just have two courses if you prefer to leave quickly.”
Emma slowly shook her head. “It’s okay. I can handle it. I’m used to people’s attention, and their judgment. Not quite this aggressive but still.”
“She shouldn’t have attacked you. It’s my fault her son’s dead. You are innocent. You didn’t even have a choice to marry me.”
Emma moved her hand across the table, then froze, uncertainty filling her eyes. Public displays of affection weren’t something I or anyone from my family were known for, but I put my hand on hers and left it there. People could know that she was mine and that I had no trouble showing it. Emma’s eyes softened. “If you ever want to talk…”
I cleared my throat and looked back down at the menu. “The gnocchi al tartufo and the spaghetti al nero de seppie are particularly good, but everything is delicious.”
“I’ll have the spaghetti then and the scaloppine afterward. I’d really love a dessert too.”
“Take whatever you like.”
I ordered two glasses of prosecco to start and a bottle of white wine to go with the primi. Emma and I clinked glasses. Emma took two small sips while I emptied half the glass. “I’m not used to drinking much so I don’t know how much of the wine I’ll actually drink.”
“Don’t worry. I can hold my liquor.”
I was still a bit shaken over the confrontation, but after I’d drank my prosecco, I felt more relaxed. Of course, I still noticed the curious glances being cast our way. I had been prepared for those, but I hadn’t expected an incident from Samuel’s past to be the reason for it. I had been a child when Samuel had tried to save his sister. Domenico must have been with him and had lost his life cruelly. If he’d died because of torture at the hands of the Falcones, it must have been horrible. Had Samuel witnessed his death? Had he been tortured too?
I could tell from Samuel’s closed-off face and from the polite dinner conversation about food and the sights of Minneapolis that he upheld that he wasn’t willing to share anything. Definitely not here under the watchful eyes of so many people.
When we headed back to Samuel’s car after dinner, I felt unease at the idea of Samuel driving us home. He’d drunk a lot. But I couldn’t drive myself. “We could ask Leo to pick us up,” I said carefully.
Samuel shook his head. “I didn’t drink that much. I don’t feel intoxicated.”
He opened the passenger door for me. For him, the topic was obviously over. I knew Made Men drank and drove, but since my accident, I definitely was very aware when someone did it. I didn’t remember anything from the accident, or maybe my reaction would have been even stronger. Still, my heart rate picked up as I slid into the car and waited for Samuel to put my wheelchair in the trunk before he slid in beside me.
My pulse didn’t stop racing during the ride home, but I remained silent, not wanting to get into a fight with Samuel at this early stage of our marriage. I could tell this topic would make him angry if I confronted him more insistently. Nothing happened, but I was still relieved when we arrived at our mansion.
“I told you I’m not drunk,” Samuel said with a hint of annoyance before he got out of the car. He must have sensed my tension throughout the ride.
When he opened my door for me, I quickly gripped the handle of my wheelchair before Samuel could lift me and hoisted myself into it. I was too agitated. We walked up the ramp side by side, and I was trying to choose my words carefully, which proved very difficult. “I’m not sure it’s a good thing that you’re not drunk, considering how much you drank.” A glass of prosecco, a bottle of white wine, a glass of red, and a digestif.