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If only he’d stop being a dumbass and quit dealing. I grab my white cloth napkin and shake it out, laying it on my lap. It pisses me off.
I don’t understand why he’d settle on something like dealing when he has legitimate businesses like this. I wish he’d just stop. I would cave to him the moment he did. I’d be his in a fucking heartbeat.
“Tell me why,” I say once the waiter is out of earshot.
“Why what?” he asks, grabbing a small slice of bread from the basket the waiter left on the table. He rips it off rather than cutting it all the way through.
Before I can answer him, Peter returns with our wine, setting the wine glasses down gently and pouring the dark red liquid into the glasses easily. Derek has him pour some wine in each of our glasses, the rich aroma filling the private space between us.
“Your meals will be out shortly, sir,” Peter says before heading back down the row of tables.
I turn to face Derek with my shoulders squared. My knee hits his by accident, but that gets his attention. “Tell me why you do it.”
He puts his glass down after taking a long sip, and sighs, looking away from me. I can tell he’s not happy I’m asking, but I need to know. His brow is pinched, and he taps his knuckles on the table a few times before looking back at me.
“Emma, you need to stop,” he says forcefully. The stern look he gives me would have scared me if it were anyone else. I’m not going to give up though. He should know me better than that.
"Just answer me first, please. I need to understand," I plead softly. I hold his piercing gaze, ignoring the chill in his eyes.
He sighs again, tossing his white cloth napkin on the table in front of him and setting his elbows on the table. He steeples his fingers and leans his forehead against them. My heart thuds in my chest. I don’t want to lose him. I don’t. But I can’t say yes.
Finally, he looks at me. “I don’t know what you want me to tell you, Emma. I made a choice when I was a kid.” He leans back, his lips set in a firm line. “I got involved with men who held it over me. They threatened me, so I stayed in line," he answers, exasperated.
"D-do they still?" I ask, afraid to hear the answer. My blood heats with anxiety.
“They’re dead.” His words are soft, but they fall hard. “Where they belong," he adds and waits for my reaction. His eyes have never looked so cold. So empty. Devoid of the other side of him that I know so well.
My body turns to ice as it did in the car. It scares the shit out of me.
Before I can find my voice to respond to him, he adds quietly, "I’m not in that business anymore."
That business? What isthatbusiness? I grit my teeth. I fucking hate these secrets. I don’t like not knowing and turning a blind eye. "What do you mean?" I ask uncertainly. I feel meek. Only because I don’t know what he’s talking about, and I’m on the cusp of letting myself fall for a man who has another life I know nothing about. A life I don’t want to be a part of.
Seeing the anxiety clearly present on my face, Derek answers, “Sweetheart, please stop asking questions. I’ll tell you everything you need to know."
He reaches out and takes my hand, but the second he does the scampi comes, interrupting us and keeping his touch from calming me.
Need to know.I repeat the words in my head as the waiter sets the plate on the table.
It smells delicious, with lots of butter, and I’m starving; I haven’t eaten all day. I’ve been too nervous knowing I was going to see Derek again. But I’m not hungry at the thought of him doing whatever the hell it is that he does. My mind is going wild with speculations of what that “business” is.
“You know why I was drawn to you?” Derek breaks my thoughts as the waiter leaves us alone again.
“You had this sweetness about you. You didn’t let others ruin it.” His words take me back. My heart seemingly beating slower, and my body heating in the best of ways.
“I remember seeing that chick. She was a bitch.” He makes a face like he’s trying to remember her name, but it doesn’t come to him. “Some preppy bitch at school made fun of you because you had a knockoff purse.” I instantly know who he’s talking about. Scarlett Dubet, and it was a fake Dooney and Bourke my aunt had given me. And yeah, she was a bitch with a capital “B”.
“You just ignored her, but I knew it hurt you. Then a few weeks later, she dropped her purse in the parking lot as she was getting out of her car. All her shit went everywhere,” Derek says and gestures with his hands. “You didn't even hesitate to go over and help her pick her things up. All I could think was I need to meet that girl, because who wouldn't want someone that sweet in their life?" he tells me as he grabs my hand softly, moving it to the bit of space between us on the bench and staring into my eyes.
The air between us is so intense, I have to look away.
I can't believe he remembers that. I haven't thought about her in years, but yeah, I remember helping that bitch pick her books up. I hated how mean she always was. I know her clique talked about me behind my back too. I didn’t run in their circle, and I was okay with that, but all her stuff was getting soaked. There were still puddles all over from the morning rain. So yeah, I helped. I think anyone would have.
I swallow the lump growing in my throat. That was a few weeks before we first talked.
I also remember turning around to see him staring at my ass. Needing to lighten the mood, I call him on it.
"Oh really, is that what you were thinking? As I recall,” I pause to pull my hand away from his and grab my glass of wine, playing with the stem a bit before picking it up. “You were staring at my ass as I was bent over helping her," I say confidently before taking a sip of the sweet wine.
