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"I didn't say I felt sorry for you."
I turned away, but I could still feel him watching me. "It is what it is. Mostly I see it as a means to an end. Otherwise, I just try not to think about it. The money's decent—at least I've been able to take care of my mom."
"That's good," Lucas said, and I heard no judgment in his voice.
I hoped he was done with questioning me. Most awkward conversation ever.
We pulled up outside a beautiful brick building. Soft lights illuminated the name, Mio Fratello. I turn to Lucas and grinned. "This is my favorite restaurant. They have the best olive-and-pasta appetizer thingy. I love it."
"That appetizer thingy is my favorite, too." He was cute when he teased me, not at all like a zombie who guzzled the brains of unassuming technology companies.
"You're gonna have to order your own," I warned. "I'm not sharing."
He agreed. "I doubt you'll ever see me share food. And I would never share that. It would be a sacrilege."
We climbed a winding staircase to the second floor and went inside. The maître d' bowed slightly at us. "Mr. Lucas. Ms. Maxwell. Right this way." We were definitely getting the Lucas-Ford-billionaire treatment. I'd been there before with a client, but no one had ever called me by name. The host led us over to a private corner table overlooking the street. Candles lit up the room as the sky darkened.
"I'd like the wine that I had set aside," Lucas told the maître d'.
He bowed slightly. "Of course."
"You had wine set aside?" I asked. Who does that?
Lucas arranged his napkin on his lap. "I don't leave the office much. When I do finally have time to go out, I like things to be as nice as possible. As soon as possible."
"Do you call ahead to Mimi's in Southie to reserve your hash?" I laughed. "I can't really picture Mimi catering to that."
A sparkle lit Lucas's green eyes. "Mimi likes me. She might even tolerate that sort of entitled behavior from the likes of me."
I was going to give him a smart-aleck response, but I became too engrossed in the menu. I was definitely going to have that appetizer, as well as pasta Bolognese, and quite possibly an heirloom tomato and mozzarella salad. Lucas might have to roll me out of there, but it would be worth it.
The sommelier came over with the wine, brandishing the label to Lucas, who barely paid attention. He was so wrapped up in the menu, he didn’t look up. "It's perfect," he snapped. "Just pour it."
The wine was poured, and the server beat a hasty retreat.
"You know, you were just sort of rude to that man." I wrinkled my nose. I didn't want to cross a line with my client, but at the moment, he seemed largely unaware of himself and his surroundings. The former restaurant worker in me felt it necessary to speak up.
Lucas calmly looked up from his menu. "I wasn't rude. I was just to the point."
"You're the boss," I said, but I made sure my tone conveyed my displeasure.
Lucas raised his glass in a toast. "To my beautiful, smart, and caring fiancée, defender of sommeliers. Feel free to do all the ordering for me for the next year. I can't stand it."
"Fine." I took a sip of wine, which was of course exquisite.
Lucas regarded me over his glass. "I didn't mean to be rude to that man. But that's the problem—people think I'm being brusque, but really, I'm just trying to get shit done."
"I forgive you on his behalf."
Lucas raised an eyebrow. "I didn't say I was sorry."
"I forgive you on his behalf even though you didn't say you were sorry." I raised my glass and clinked it against his.
"Fine."
I smiled at him, hoping I hadn't crossed a line. "Fine."
"So… please tell me what your Internet research yielded today. Where are we celebrating our nuptials?" Lucas smiled at me now, that one perfect dimple making its appearance, and relief flooded through me. I wasn't on emotional probation. Yet. I needed to watch my mouth.
