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“We’ll talk about that later,” he said, dismissing my question with a wave of his hand. “I want you to tell me about yourself first.”

“I’m sure my background check told you everything you need to know already,” I said.

“Krystina, the background check I had done on you was very limited. It didn’t tell me personal aspects of your life.”

The seconds ticked by as I scrutinized him, trying to find any sign of a hidden agenda. His face revealed nothing but patience and genuine interest. He didn’t push me but instead ate his antipasti quietly while he waited for me to speak.

I had to admit to myself, I was actually enjoying this very normal back and forth chit-chat we had going on. It was a nice change from all our previous conversations. I supposed it wouldn’t hurt to let go of a few minor irritations and indulge his curiosities a little bit.

“Alright. What do you want to know?”

“Why don’t you start with where you grew up?”

Interesting question.

I wasn’t sure what I expected him to ask, but it certainly wasn’t that.

“I was raised in Albany—the Clifton Park area to be exact, but nobody ever knows where that is. I lived there with my mother and stepfather until moving to New York with Allyson to attend college.”

“Who’s Allyson?”

“Allyson Ramsey, my roommate,” I told him. “My mom didn’t want me to move here, but I fought her tooth and nail. She wanted me to go to school someplace in Albany.”

“What’s wrong with New York?” he prodded.

“Oh, lots of things. Safety, the cost of tuition, New York is expensive—you name it, and she made it an argument. But I don’t think any of those things were the real reason behind her not wanting me to move here. To be honest, I don’t think she wanted to cut the strings,” I said with a shake of my head. “I’m an only child, and I was her whole world for a long time. But that was years ago, and what I think is irrelevant because she would never admit it. My mother has a way of blocking out things she doesn’t want to remember.”

“Mothers can certainly be that way,” he agreed. I sensed a level of irony in his tone, and I wondered what his story was.

“What about your parents?” I asked, hoping to gain a bit of insight.

“They’re dead,” he responded flatly.

“Oh, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m not.”

His lack of emotion was startling, and I was taken aback. My apology for his deceased parents was an automatic reaction—one anyone would have. But his expression was cold. Emotionless. For a brief moment, I thought I saw a flicker of regret in his eyes, but it was quickly masked, and I could only stare in wonder at his complete detachment.

Well, this is awkward. He’s not sorry that his mother and father are dead! Who says things like that?

Matteo arrived with our dinner, breaking the uncomfortable silence that had settled in the room.

“Time for the main course. For you, my dear, Baked Eggplant Parmigiana, one of my specialties,” Matteo bragged, setting a steaming plate before me and turning to Alexander. “And for you, my friend, Stuffed Red Pepper. Delizioso!”

“I’m sure both will be fantastic, Matt. Thanks,” Alexander said coolly.

Matteo eyed him, but didn’t comment on Alexander’s tone. Instead, he simply nodded and left us alone to enjoy our food. Once he was out of the room, the uneasiness between us returned.

I was itching to know more about his dead parents, but I didn’t know what I could say without sounding like I was prying. His blunt statement was perplexing. So rather than risk putting my foot in my mouth, I just ate my food and said nothing. I was probably better off not knowing the specifics anyway.

It’s not my business. Curiosity killed the cat. More detail means an increased risk of attachment—time to change the subject.

I sat there pondering what else we could talk about. The atmosphere had become so uncomfortable after his revelation, and I wasn’t sure where to begin. In fact, the more I thought about it, the more I realized how little I actually knew about Alexander. The only thing I had to go on were a few tidbits I’d read on the internet. He was a mystery, and I grappled with finding a safe topic of discussion.

I could bring up the reason I’m really here. We haven’t talked about that yet.

My brow furrowed in concentration.