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He presses his fist to his head, knocking on it a few times. “I’d have my fucking sanity.”
I do a circle motion toward his face. “Is there any sanity lingering in there, though?”
He chuckles. And it’s not one of those cruel ones he gave Tommaso. It’s somewhat genuine.
“Another thing I want to make clear.”
“We’re doing a lot of clearing here.”
His eyes are sharp as they focus on me. “I’ll never love you, Neomi. I am not made for love.”
There is no humor or malice in his voice.
It’s sincere honesty.
A warning.
Don’t come looking for what I don’t have to give.
“I don’t want you to love me,” I answer.
“I’m glad we’re on the same page.”
“No love. No feelings. All business.”
He raises his glass, and I cheers, tapping mine against his.
But what about sex?is at the tip of my tongue.
But I leave it there, wash it down with my water, and let it sink with dread into my stomach.
We’ll cross that bridge when we reach it.
Because there’s only one thing scarier than marrying Benny Marchetti.
And that’swantingBenny Marchetti.
* * *
Our meal isto die for.
The lobster is fresh. The pasta is made in house and cooked to perfection. No one makes food that reaches your soul like Argentino. Just the aroma of the shallots, onions, and garlic relaxes me.
The talk Benny and I shared about not expecting love loosened some tension between us. Don’t get me wrong. It’s not like I’m having brunch while sipping mimosas with my sisters, but we’re making decent conversation.
I suck in a noodle in a not-very-ladylike slurp and then explain my reasoning behind the endless puppy videos. When I was growing up, my father refused to allow us to have a family dog. Every year for Christmas, it was at the top of my wish list. But he always refused.
They bark too much.
Piss in the house.
When I was in high school, a homeless shelter ran an auction there. Bria and I adopted the cutest puppy. Our plan of hiding him in my room failed, and poor Bruiser was sent to live with my aunt Malina and her three evil cats.
Benny tells me they’ve never had a pet, either. Although he doesn’t seem as bothered as me about it.
He refuses to answer when I ask him what he did with Alden’s body.
“The less you know, the better,” he says before taking another bite of his pasta.
