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“You speak Italian?”
Leaning back in his seat, Oliver now studies me, a faint smirk on his lips. “I speak a number of languages.”
“Why?” I find myself asking, unable to contain my curiosity.
“Why not?” he counters easily.
Feeling a little stupid, I backtrack, trying to rephrase my question. “Sorry, I meant to ask you how many languages you speak?”
“Seven.”
He’s clearly not going to expand. I struggle with the urge to kick him under the table. “Which are?”
?
??German, Italian, Spanish, English, Mandarin, Portuguese, and Russian. That’s it.”
A weak laugh bubbles out of me. “Oh, is that all?”
He leans forward now, raising a brow. “Is that not satisfactory to you?”
Suddenly feeling crowded, I lean back in my seat, away from him. “What? No. That’s not what I mean.” I adjust my glasses, suddenly desperate to solidify the barrier between us.
There is a playfulness in his tone that makes my heart beat faster. I can’t get it to calm down.
“What about French?”
He arches a brow. “What about French?”
“You don’t speak French?”
“Not yet,” he says airily.
I feel a little smug, as if knowing something he doesn’t pleases me. “I speak French.”
The corners of his lips twitch, and he murmurs, “You don’t say?”
Overlooking his laughing eyes, I ask, “Why did you bother to learn all those languages?”
He shrugs. “Knowledge is never wasted. Besides…” His shoulders move in an elegant shrug. “It gives me something to do when I have nothing on my hands.”
“Oh,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Normal people relax, maybe watch a movie, but what do I know?”
“What, indeed?” His eyes are on my face. There’s this look in his eyes that makes me feel like I might be walking into trouble. “You’ve asked me a few personal questions. Now it’s my turn.”
I splutter, but it seems fair, so I wait.
He reaches forward. Before I realize what he’s doing, he takes off my glasses and studies them. “These are not prescription.”
Suddenly feeling naked, I growl, “Give those back.”
“In a moment,” Oliver replies, his eyes lit with curiosity. “Why do you wear them if you don’t need them?”
“It’s none of your business,” I snap defensively, this feeling of being exposed making me act rude.
He doesn’t seem perturbed, clearly waiting for me to respond, and I contain the urge to jump up and snatch the glasses that are just out of my reach. “It’s a fashion statement.”
“Your nose twitches when you lie,” he says, a small smile on his lips.
