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“What?”
“Elsa Dove’s obviously a woman who gets what she wants.”
I smile. “A flirt?”
“Massive.”
“It’s a good job you’re not married then, eh?”
“Tell that to Allison,” he mutters. “She and Elsa haven’t exactly hit it off.”
I laugh, hanging up, and slip my phone into my pocket, taking a deep breath and bracing myself. Rose’s eyes follow me the entire way to the table and down when I lower to the seat. I take the bottle of wine and top us both up, smiling when the waiter arrives at the table. “Mr. Black, wonderful to have you again.”
Rose chuckles as she picks up her menu, undoubtedly thinking about the time I made a mess of a table with Gordon Blinks’s brain. I give her a wry smile. “Good to see you, Francesco.”
“Mrs. Black.” He nods to Rose.
“Francesco,” she says, smiling down at her menu. “Can you give us five minutes?”
“Sure, sure.” Hands up, he backs away, and I sink back in my chair, scissoring my fingers around the stem of my wine glass, watching my wife. Waiting for the questions. But while I wait, I don’t mind just sitting here and admiring her. She reaches back and pulls her hair over one shoulder, running her fingers through the ends while she reads the menu, lips pouting in contemplation. I smile to myself. She’s pretending she’s not curious about me leaving the table to take Brad’s call. Pretending she’s not worried. My eyes drop down her front to the black silk blouse that’s tucked into black leather pants. Black to disguise any leakage. Pants to hold her tummy in. She has no tummy, she’s just being self-conscious. She’s a walking sex bomb. I just can’t have sex with her right now and, can’t lie, it’s killing me. I won’t pretend I was hopeful tonight would be the night to break the drought. Not when I’m breaking bad news. The last thing I’m expecting after ruining date night is sex.
“Is everything okay?” she asks her menu, sounding blasé.
I take some liquid courage. “Not really, baby.”
She looks up sharply, her blue eyes anxious. “What’s happened?” she asks with a wobbly voice.
I glance around the busy restaurant, counting the number of spectators we’ll have when Rose flies off the handle. Too many. Reaching up, I rub into the corner of my eye. Here we go. “Before I tell you, I want you to remember something.”
She stares at me, quiet, but I can see her mind spinning, running over all the things I could throw at her. I bet she doesn’t for a moment consider what I actually have to confess.
“Talk, Danny,” she says, as she rests back in her chair, setting her menu back down.
“Remember I love you.”
Her head tilts, her lips straight. “I said, talk.”
“And I’ll do whatever it takes to make it right.” Like find the fucker and really kill him this time.
“Oh my God,” she breathes, taking her wine and throwing it back. “You fucking bastard.” She slams her empty down, raging. “How could you?”
I recoil, completely confused, running back over my words. Did I tell her and miss it?
She shoots up from her chair and slams her hands down on the table, making the silverware jump and clang. I feel all eyes on us. “I fucking hate you.”
“I love you too, baby,” I murmur, frowning at her fuming form.
“My body has been ravaged from carrying your daughter, I’m in fucking agony most the time, I have stretchmarks and a battered fucking pussy, and you thank me by sticking your cock in another woman?”
What the fuck?
“Who was it?” she yells. “What dirty little whore did you fuck, you betraying, selfish fuck head? One of the girls from the club?” She pours herself more wine, but she doesn’t drink it. Oh no. She throws it in my face. I still, closing my eyes. My fucking God. Where the fuck has she got that from?
I reach for the napkin and slowly wipe it down my face, my blood simmering. She actually thinks I’d do that? I look up at her, my jaw about to snap, and she withdraws at the sight of the beast rising.
“Sit the fuck down,” I order, my voice brittle.
Her mouth drops open. She’s shocked? Join the fucking club, baby. “Fuck you, Black.” She swipes up her clutch bag and marches to the door, and I’m up fast going after her, slamming a palm into the wood over her shoulder, forcing the door shut again. “This is weirdly reminiscent,” I whisper in her ear, seeing her shoulders rise, fighting off the tingles.
