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There must be something to that, seeing as she gave me a bit more than was strictly an answer to my question. But before I can dig further, our server arrives at the table with our wine. Offering me a sample, he checks to make sure I’m satisfied before he pours us each a glass.
When he asks if we’re ready to order, I take over, aware that Anya hasn’t even looked at her menu. “I’ll have the lobster ravioli, and she’ll take the filet mignon,” I state simply, handing over our menus.
The waiter departs, leaving us in silence once more.
“You like children?” I press now that he’s gone.
Anya’s eyes flick to mine for the first time, a hint of worry in their blue depths.
“You said you teach children’s ballet,” I supply, reminding her of our topic before the server came over. I take a sip of my wine. “Try it,” I insist, gesturing to it.
Anya picks up the wine glass and takes a small sip before setting it back on the table. I grind my teeth. She’s doing everything I say and only that. She’s playing with me, pushing back to see how much she can get away with. I suck in a breath of frustration as my lips press together.
“Yes, I like children,” she says simply. She captures her lower lip between her teeth and turns her eyes toward the sunset that’s now a brilliant golden pink.
I let her be as I study her delicate features.Why is this girl so infuriating? How does she know every button to push? Or am I that simple that she knows how to toy with me so easily?No girl has ever been this difficult to understand, let alone win over. Anger starts to boil inside me as I try to make sense of Anya. She doesn’t seem scared of me for the most part. Even though I’ve gone out of my way to introduce her to the luxury I might offer her, she seems entirely disinterested.
When the food arrives, Anya still hasn’t said much beyond the briefest of answers. And she cuts a small piece of steak, chewing it slowly as she continues in her stony silence. All the pictures I’d had in my head about teaching her a lesson for being so stubborn seem to have backfired. Anya doesn’t care about clothes or jewelry or fine dining–despite her poor upbringing. And she’s so impervious to my charms that I find myself growing short with her.
I dig into my lobster ravioli, but it tastes bitter from all the frustration boiling up inside me. Anya pushes her plate further onto the table after only three bites, her eyes hooded as her expression grows uncomfortable.
“What, is it not good enough for you?” I demand, setting my knife and fork down with enough force to make my plate jump.
“No, it’s fine,” she says, her eyes meeting mine.
Something snaps in my head, and suddenly, I see red. “Fine?”
I wave our server over, and he approaches immediately. “You can take her plate. The lady doesn’t like her food.”
Anya visibly pales across the table, her eyes growing wide.
“Is something wrong with it, sir? I’m happy to have the kitchen make something the lady likes,” the server offers, his tone strained. He knows better than to piss me off.
Why is Anya being so fucking aggravating?The way she worries her lip nervously now gives me a sense of satisfaction I’ve been searching for all day. Then it clicks. I’ve been wasting my time lavishing her with gifts today. Anya doesn’t need a carrot to motivate her.
She needs the stick.
19
ANYA
My mouth goes dry as I realize I’ve been so lost in my head missing Clara and worrying about what to do for a dance partner, that I’ve pushed Nicolo too far. I'm sure he was expecting lively conversation and a girl to slobber gratefully over his arm. But that’s not me. I’m grateful for the nice dresses he bought me today, to be sure. But I know it’s his way of turning me into his prostitute, and that makes me sick to my stomach. He’s forced me into this relationship, and now he wants to make it okay by showering me with expensive things. Well, I’m not so easily purchased. All I want is to be at home, spending the weekend with my daughter.
But as Nicolo demands that the server take away my food, I know I’m going to regret not trying harder to appease him. The server scoops up my plate with a tight-lipped smile.
“You can bring us the check as well,” Nicolo commands. “We’re done.”
My stomach twists painfully as I notice the amount of ravioli still sitting in his dish, the nearly full bottle of wine. He’s proving a point to me. He doesn’t care how much money he spends. He has so much, he can take anything or leave it as he damn well pleases. But if he gives me something, I better appreciate it. Because I’m the poor orphan who lives in Uptown with her aunt. I’m nothing, worth nothing, so anything I receive out of his generosity is to be accepted as a priceless gift.
As the server swiftly departs, Nicolo wipes his mouth with his cloth napkin and tosses it over his half-eaten plate of food. Rising abruptly, he pulls out his wallet and throws a stack of cash on the table that will more than cover our bill along with a generous tip–despite the hefty prices that made me want to vomit when I took one peek at the menu.
“If you’re not in the mood for a nice dinner with me, then I have other plans for you,” Nicolo growls, gripping my forearm tightly as he hauls me out of my chair and to my feet.
Fear grips me as I realize he’s pissed off. He drags me through the restaurant by my upper arm, and I can barely stay on my feet as I try to keep up in my new stiletto heels that I have no idea how to walk in. Now that I’ve pushed him too far, I don’t know how to make it right. I’ve never tried appeasing him before. My stomach knots painfully as bile rises to my throat.
We make it to the elevator, and as soon as the doors open, he shoves me inside. I stumble, barely catching myself against the railing on the back wall before I fall. I feel so intensely vulnerable in this fancy outfit and dressy shoes. I never wear these kinds of clothes, and it’s put me completely off balance.
I right myself and press my back against the elevator wall, trying to make myself small and invisible as I await his next move. Nicolo’s jaw works furiously as his eyes study my face intently. He doesn’t say a word, even as the door dings open, and he grabs my arm to haul me through the hotel lobby. Somehow, his silence is more terrifying than when he chose to bully me.
