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This was good. This was real talk.
“I didn’t cause it. I was trying to stop it.”
“And you didn’t do a good enough job at that, and they suspected you. Because of that, they watched you closely and found me. I know what happened. No need to sugarcoat things.”
She was clamping her napkin so tightly between her fingers, the napkin no longer in her lap, but now on the tabletop, her silverware having scattered in her frustration. Her eyes shot daggers at him, and he would gladly impale himself if it would make things right.
But he had to say his piece. If he didn’t, she would never know and there wasn’t a hope of this going any further.
“Then since we’re not sugarcoating things, let me tell you I would have killed myself before letting them take you. I tried to get you out, go to the embassy. But we were caught. It was my fault, yes, but I never meant for any of it to happen. If I had known that was what they were doing, it never would have happened.” His voice was low, dangerously so, but he didn’t want the whole restaurant hearing him. He suddenly thought the restaurant was a bad idea. They should have taken a walk or something.
“If you had been watching closer, you mean. You weren’t doing your job. You were distracted. By me,” she said, helpless, defeated.
“I was busy falling in love.”
“Your lasagna.” The waiter, with impeccable timing, set an enormous platter of meats, cheese, crackers, and olives in front of Katie, while she opened and closed her mouth like a fish. Then, with a flourish, he settled a steaming flare-handled casserole dish in front of Antonio. Katie pressed her lips together, tightening her hands into fists at his words.
After the waiter left, she spoke in an angry whisper. “How could you be in love with me? All we had was sex, right?”
