Page 114 of His Wicked Revenge

The money Slater sends me sits in my account, almost untouched. I mean, what the hell would I spend it on? Besides the bed in my apartment, which I don’t sleep in anymore, I feel no need to throw the money on pointless things.

“Has a guy never brought you somewhere like this before?” he questions, peering up at me from the menu.

Before.

It could be a general word or have a singular meaning.

Before, when I was younger and supposed to be dating, or before I was in the asylum?

“I was young and didn’t go out much to begin with. Any dates I went on with a guy consisted of a chain restaurant and a movie.” I divert my eyes back to the menu. “There was that one guy who thought it would be a smart idea to have a first date in his mother’s basement.”

“How did that go?” Leo asks, although he probably already knows the answer.

“With him being silenced.” I grin to myself and quietly add, “Forever.”

“Hopefully, this date won’t end the same.”

My eyes snap up. “It won’t.”

He smiles. “I know, Vee. I’m just messing with you.”

Nodding, I bite my lip. “Is this where you brought Rachel?

A laugh leaves him at how I enunciated her name with disgust. “No. I took her to a far less fancy place. I wasn’t interested in her.”

My chest warms at his confession. I knew he wasn’t into her, but that doesn’t mean it hurt any less knowing he went out with her. But the fact that he brought me here implies that he is interested in me.

That I am worth it.

The waiter drops off the bottle of wine and asks if we are ready to order. I choose the Pink Sauce Pasta, which is one of the only things I can pronounce.

When I hand over the menu, I offer the waiter a tight smile. As he leaves, I can sense Leo’s eyes on me.

“Are you nervous?” The candle in the middle of the table flickers, casting a soft glow over his face. It makes parts of his green eyes appear darker, as if they were two colors.

That thought alone makes me think about Eliza. I wonder if she is still locked away. They must have figured out a medicine to quiet down the voices by now, and with the voices gone, she could be in the public. Well, at least, I think she would be.

Dismissing the thought of her, I focus on Leo. “Of course I am. This”—I wave my hand in the air, gesturing to our surroundings—“is all new to me.”

“The restaurant?” He sips from his glass, and my eyes drop to where his mouth touches the rim. Why is it that everything he does turns me on? He makes me wish I was the glass right now. “Didn’t your parents ever take you to these types of places? They did have money.”

I blink twice, clearing my throat and my mind before answering. “When we were younger, yes, but I always acted like a brat. I didn’t like my parents and hated going and doing things with them, so I did whatever I could to get out of it.”

“I see nothing has changed.” His voice drops, and a smug smile plays on his lips.

“What? That I don’t like my parents?” I bring the glass of wine to my mouth, taking a generous sip.

The topic of my parents makes me think about my run-in with Stephanie. I haven’t told Leo about the encounter, and I know I should, but not tonight.

I don’t want to ruin this.

“That you're a brat.” Almost instantly, my thighs press together under the table when he uses that word. “Some lessons can never be learned, I guess.”

“They can when you are taught well,” I flirt back because it is so natural with him.

His eyes remain on me as the waiter sets our food before us, and he doesn’t remove them when asking the waiter for another bottle of wine.

Since being out of the asylum, I have grown to love wine. I used to hate it because it would remind me of my mother. She always had a glass with dinner, sometimes lunch, and I thought of her every time I saw a glass. But then I got over it. I tried beer and liquor, but nothing made me feel the way wine did.