We parked outside the restaurant, and I climbed off first, my legs feeling like jelly and making me wobble slightly on my heels. Santino removed my helmet, then his own, smiling at me as I fixed my hair.
“So? Fun?”
“Oh, my God. I loved it,” I answered, returning his beaming smile. “The adrenaline, the rush. I get it. I think I want one.”
He laughed as he climbed off the bike, then held his arm out to the side with the two helmets in hand. A man stepped forward from the shadows, took them from him, and walked away. I frowned, realising his men had somehow followed us here and were appearing silently whenever he needed them.
“Slow down,Ribelle. Let’s get you a Vespa first.”
“That’s probably a sensible idea. Who knew you had those?”
He wrapped his arm possessively around my waist and hauled me against his body, groaning. “Trouble. See?”
My next breath caught as he bent down as if he were about to kiss me, then smirked and took my hand, lacing our fingers together. He led us into the restaurant’s extravagant entrance hall, with black marble walls and a low-hanging gold chandelier. I tried to ignore how good it felt to have my hand nestled in his much larger one.
“Santino Buccini. Dinner with Mayor Caruso,” Sani said to theIl maître.I watched as the waiter’s eyes widened with recognition.
“SignorBuccini. Delighted to have you dining with us this evening. Your tableis ready, and the mayor is already seated. May I take your coat,Signorina?” He glanced past Santino and looked at me. I realised I was still wearing the oversized leather biker jacket. Sani took it off my shoulders and handed it to him.
“It’sSignoraBuccini. My wife. Not a date.”
The waiter’s cheeks burned with embarrassment, and he quickly stammered an apology. He led us through the packed restaurant, and I felt everyone’s eyes on us. Or, more precisely, on Santino. He didn’t acknowledge the awe or shock that followed his every move. Nor did he react to the women who stopped what they were doing to gawk at him. But I noticed a subtle change in his demeanour since we were alone. He seemed harsher, exuding a sense of superiority, and a mask of sharp indifference was firmly set on his face.
It was a little jarring to see how others reacted in his presence, as if he were a living god they worshipped yet feared getting too close to. I was seeing him as the man he portrayed to the outside world. It probably should have scared me, but I felt strangely comforted by it. He was softer with me. Playful. Not this man.
Or was the version he was around me the act? Which was the real him?
When the new thought occurred to me, I stumbled on my heels, nearly twisting my ankle. He caught me by the waist before I made a fool of myself and fell to the polished floor. My hand slammed against his chest, and I stared into his cold, dark gaze, watching it soften instantly.
“You okay?” he asked, real concern sparking in his features.He couldn’t be that good of an actor, could he?
Someone cleared their throat before us, and our gazes snapped to my father, standing at the table. His disapproving gaze drifted from Santino’s arm around my lower back to my hand on his chest, then to my face. I straightened, nodding for Santino to release me, and stepped towards my father, feeling like a naughty teenager caught with a boy for the first time.
“Papi,”I greeted, kissing him on both cheeks as he stood frozen, still glaring at Santino behind me. “How are you?”
“Fine,” he replied curtly, his gaze snapping back to me. He didn’t look fine. He looked awful. Dark circles and puffiness curved beneath his eyes, and he looked less put-together than usual. His tie was crooked, and his usually well-styled hair was out of place. “Actually, I’m lying. I’m not fine, Aria. I’m worried sick about you.”
So much guilt coiled in my stomach. I stepped back and sat in the chair Santino had pulled out for me. Then he lifted his hand towards my father, and I held my breath.
“Good to see you, Piero,” he said calmly, waiting for him to take it. I glanced around the restaurant and saw we were already attracting a lot of attention. No one seemed able to find anything more interesting.
Cautiously, my father shook it. I exhaled as they both sat down. Santino glanced at me and gave me a small, reassuring smile, as if he thought I needed it. I did. The fact he’d noticed was another surprise. It was as if my brain was taking stock of all the little things he did that a man who didn’t truly care, who was only using me to hurt my father, wouldn’t. But as soon as one came, another voice would tell me not to be naïve. It was exhausting. Why was I even searching for signs that he cared? I wanted out of this marriage, didn’t I? And if what Callum said was true, I would be by the end of tonight.
I grabbed the napkin from the table and twisted it in my lap. We all sat in silence as the server poured the wine, the tension mounting. Fortunately, with nothing eventful happening, most people had returned to their own conversations and weren’t looking our way.
“Good choice, Piero. This is one of my favourite restaurants in the city. The scallops are exquisite,” Santino said, tapping his fingers on the table. My eyes darted to my father, who was glaring with such hatred that I had no idea how Santino could be smiling.
“It was one of the few you don’t seem to own,”Papisnapped back, lifting his wine. “And it has an impressive wine list.”
“It does.”
“I ordered theVermentino.”
Santino lifted the glass to his lips and tasted it. He nodded, appreciating the flavour with a lick of his lips. “Very nice. A subtle blend of apricot and citrus. It will go well with the scallops.”
My eyes flicked between them, lips parted. Were they seriously discussing wine? This felt surreal. But I couldn’t think of a safe topic to bring up, so I guess wine it was.
“Aria told me it was your idea for her to move to Italy,” Santino began. “I should thank you for that, or I’d still be searching for her.”
