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JEWEL
Nicu took me to a café off Queens Boulevard. It was a hangout for Romanians, which told me he was boldly announcing to his world that we were a couple. The frat party last night had stripped him of any tolerance for keeping me in the shadows. No more, is what he was declaring. No more. Which meant I had to tell Cat right away, before she found out on her own. She deserved to hear from me. It had to be done, but I was anxious about it. Honestly, in the years we’d known each other, Cat and I had never had a fight. Not one. She was happy with Luca; I knew that. And as more time passed, the sting of what I’d done lessened. Yet my shame felt as fresh as ever, since I only seemed to be falling deeper into Nicu, and I couldn’t stand the idea that Cat might think less of me.
I might be able to pass for Romanian in the looks department, but it quickly became evident to the patrons of the restaurant that I was a stranger. By the time we were seated at a table, facing the street no less, people were whispering. I had to stifle a groan when Nicu took my hand and dropped a kiss on my knuckles.
“Don’t look so pained,” he said, followed by one of his devilish laughs.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” I groaned. “You enjoy putting me on the spot.”
“I enjoy treating you like you’re my woman,” he rejoined. Leaning forward, he pressed his lips to mine. “And you are my woman. So I will treat you accordingly.”
“Ugh,” I reproved.
He chuckled and took the menu from the waitress who had suddenly materialized, her big brown eyes wide as she blinked at me.
I snapped the menu open and ducked my head, pretending to focus intently on it, although the words were blurry. At heart, I was an introvert. I wasn’t shy per se, but I’d learned the hard way that attention was rarely a good thing. After the media circus around my family when my father was arrested and put on trial, I instinctually shied away from the limelight. Last night was more proof that I was better off in the shadows.
“Wine,” Nicu commanded, nodding to the waitress to give us time to look over our menus. Once alone, he murmured, “I can order for us, if you like.”
I gave him a scathing look over the top of my menu. “I’m perfectly capable of ordering for myself. I’ve been at Cat’s house more than enough times to know what’s on this menu.”
Nicu’s lip twitched, but thankfully he stayed silent. Unfortunately, someone gasped behind me. I cringed. Someone had overheard me and now knew I was Cat’s friend. Furtively glancing over my shoulder, I locked eyes with the girl Nicu had flirted with at Cat’s wedding tasting. I was so screwed. There was no way a young girl like her would hold back on juicy gossip like this. Cat had complained more than once about how gossipy the mafie girls were.
The woman beside her, who looked closer to Nicu’s age, slitted her eyes at me. Pure hatred poured out of them. Uh-oh. She looked like a woman scorned, and I knew the saying about that. Whipping my head back around, I scrunched down in my seat.
“Sit up,” came an order from across the table.
I peeked around the side of my menu. Nicu gave me a stern, reprimanding look that made me squirm in my seat. God, he was so hot when he glowered.
I shrugged him off. “What?”
“Don’t crouch down. Sit up in your chair. You have nothing to be ashamed about.”
Our gazes clashed and warred.
“Sure about that? I could think of a few things that make me look bad. Like, really bad,” I replied.
He shook out his cloth napkin and carefully placed it over his lap before returning his gaze to me. “Never shirk away from anyone here. Ever. It demonstrates weakness, and they will never let you forget it. God knows you have no problems acting strong with me, and I’m the only person who counts. Remember that.”
Okay, he had a point. If I’d learned anything from my family’s debacle, it was that the paparazzi would eat you alive if you showed weakness. If I was going to be with him, even for a limited time because, hello, he was a criminal, I didn’t need my first impression to be that of a cowed, pathetic little girl.
Straightening my spine, I threw my shoulders back and resumed looking over the menu.
“Better,” he praised me.
I picked out a few dishes I recognized and took my time looking around the café as the waitress came over with a bottle of wine, which she uncorked and served. The place was dominated by a black and white color scheme, starting with the floor, which was a checkered design. The tasteful pale-green walls displayed vintage travel posters of Romania interspersed with framed photographs of what I assumed were Romanian cities and monasteries. The tables were large, and a long wooden bar dominated one side of the café. Overall, it was classy, but cozy.
Nicu ordered from the waitress in Romanian, who seemed more comfortable speaking in her native tongue. She said something that made him laugh. For once, my jealousy was not roused. She was businesslike and respectful, unlike the flirty cocktail waitress at his club.
“To us.” He raised his wineglass. “Noroc.”
I knew that was the traditional toast, so I returned his with one of my own. We were sipping out of our glasses, eye-fucking each other over the rims, when we were interrupted by a woman who suddenly materialized out of nowhere.
Glancing up, I groaned inwardly. This was the woman who’d hate-stared at me earlier. I couldn’t deny she was gorgeous, dressed in a slinky black dress with heels for Saturday brunch, while I wore his twin’s cast-off pants and an enormous T-shirt that hung shapelessly on me.
Bending down so she could give Nicu a nice view of her cleavage, she took her time kissing him on both cheeks. Pulling back just slightly, she purred, “Nicu, baby. Cum te descurci astazi?”
My blood pressure went from zero to sixty in a hot second. She said a bunch of other stuff in Romanian, but thankfully, Nicu cut her off. “Speak English, Ioana. I’m with a guest.”
