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I should be concerned. Instead, I find myself strangely content.
The dinner is easier than I expect. She likes the ravioli, ribeye, and grilled vegetables, which pleases me more than it should. And when she asks how I learned to cook, I tell her about growing up with my grandfather after losing my parents when I was twelve.
He believed I needed to know how to cook in case there was no one around to take care of me. I don’t give her the ugly details because some things belong to the past, and I have no intention of dragging them into this beautiful evening. She listens quietly.
“I’ve heard you speaking Italian with Aldo,” she says eventually. “Do you have family in Italy?”
“I do.”
“So, you’re Italian?”
“Born and raised.”
“I thought you were American.”
“I’ve lived here for years, but America hasn’t managed to erase me yet.”
She smiles. “Apparently not.”
I lean back in my chair. “My grandfather still lives in Italy. He runs the family business.”
“What kind of business?”
I take a drink before answering. “Several companies. My family has interests in entertainment, among other things.”
It is vague enough to be true and harmless enough to satisfy her. She doesn’t push. Instead, her gaze drifts around the room before returning to me. “Then why horses?”
That question earns a genuine smile. “Because I loved them before I understood business. My grandfather believed I needed to learn everything necessary to eventually manage the family interests, including how to interact with important associates. Horses became part of that education. Somewhere along the way, I stopped seeing it as an obligation.”
“And started seeing it as a hobby.”
“A serious one.”
She laughs. “I noticed. You don’t exactly do anything halfway.”
I hold her gaze. She has no idea how accurate that statement is. “Tell me about you,” I say.
Her smile fades slightly. I remember what she said earlier about horses being her escape, and I want to know what she was escaping from, but I won’t force the answer from her. Not yet, anyway.
“There isn’t much to tell.”
“That’s a lie.”
Her eyebrows rise.
“You walked into my house ready to fight me over a horse,” I continue. “You don’t strike me as a woman who has lived an uneventful life.”
She looks down at her plate before speaking. “I grew up in New York. My childhood wasn’t exactly perfect. Horses were my escape, like I told you before. I started riding when I was young and spent as much time around them as I could. That’s all I can say,” she finishes, her pleading gaze holding mine.
There is pain underneath her words. I recognize pain. “It’s alright, Bella.”
Something softens in her expression. “Well, I can tell you that I have a sister and two stepbrothers. I went to UCLA when I was eighteen and joined the equestrian team because horses had always been my greatest interest. After graduation, I stayed in California because I prefer the life here.”
I know she’s not saying everything. But I don’t call her on it. I can ask for a deep background check on her and have all the information I need. But I want her to tell me. To trust me enough to let me in.
“So you were quiet?” I ask when she admits she was an introverted child. I look at the woman sitting across from me and struggle to reconcile that with the woman who marched into my house and challenged me the day we met. “You?”
She smiles. “Don’t judge a book by its cover.”
