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“Of course.”
I smile at her retreating back, feeling Gavino’s gaze heavy on my profile. His eyes are narrowly margined when I meet them.
“You’re not drinking? I thought you loved wine.” It’s not said rudely, but the way he shifts in his seat and adjusts the napkin over his lap has me fidgeting in my own.
“I do and I really love Château Lafite, I’m just—” I pause, my brain scrambling to come up with a good reason for me not to be drinking. “I don’t want to get too drunk. You know how I can be a bit of a lightweight.”
He chuckles, leaning forward so that his elbow rests on the tabletop, opening his menu. “I don’t think one glass is going to push the limits, Beverly.”
I just force a laugh in response, deciding to change the subject as I pick up my menu. “I don’t know what I’m in the mood for.” My eyes flick up to him. “Do you have any idea what you’re getting?”
“Maybe the crab cakes? They sound good.” His dark blue eyes rise to mine. “They have beef wellington, I know how much you love that.”
“Ha, ha, ha.” He smirks at my response. “Would it be lame if I just got the mac and cheese? It sounds so good right now.”
Shutting his menu, he shakes his head. “No, I’m sure it’s a lot fancier than what we get from a box.”
I shut the menu. “Okay, then mac and cheese it is.”
There’s a genuine smile on my face for the first time since we left my apartment. When Gavino is beingjustGavino, the one I’ve always known, I enjoy our time together as I used to. These kinds of moments are the ones I thought of when I needed to remind myself of how much I enjoy Gavino—that being his wife might not be the complete worst.
After ordering, I feel more relaxed, sipping my water as Gavino tells me about his day.
“You know,” he says after he finishes, reaching over the table to grab my hand. The diamond glitters in the low light of the chandeliers, beautiful and unsettling. “I thought about this a lot over the years.”
I swallow, fighting the urge to pull my hand back. “About what?”
“About us.” His thumb brushes over my fingers while he speaks, making my palms feel clammy. “I guess I was always a little jealous of Remy. Not because he’s the future Capo Famiglia, but because he got you.”
I don’t know what to say, so I just sit there for a moment, my eyes flicking to the passing waitstaff and back. My mind scrambles to think of something to say that won’t offend him. Instead, I get distracted when the waitress comes with our food and end up saying, “You’re so sweet.”
When my hand pulls from his so that our plates can be set down, I try to pretend I don’t notice the way his face twists. And when the waitress leaves us, my heart thumps as I try and reach for Gavino’s hand again, only to have him pull it back.
“When will I be good enough for you, Beverly?” My mouth gapes at the question, taken aback by the amount of anger in the quiet tone of his voice.
“Gavino, I wasn’t trying to offend you. I—”
He cuts me off, his shoulders straightening as he fidgets with his suit jacket. “I’ve always been there for you, haven’t I? I go out of my way to do things that you want to do.”
“You don’t have to do those things, I never asked—”
“Exactly,” he interrupts again, speaking louder than before. I feel the eyes of others around us and I shift uncomfortably in my seat. “You never ask and I still do them because I love you, Beverly. And you can’t even bother to pretend you like me.”
“What?” My head shakes with the question, one of my hands rising to swipe some hair away from my face. “You’re being ridiculous, Gavino! I do like you. You’ve always been a friend to me.”
“I’m going to be your husband, Beverly. Not just your friend,” he snaps, his eyes shifting to the other tables before his voice lowers. “At some point, you’re going to need to accept that.”
I don’t understand how this dinner went so far south so drastically, but it’s making me sick. Reaching for my water, I sip it, closing my eyes on Gavino for a moment. I open them when he speaks.
“I’ll just see myself out.” He stands, his chair obnoxiously loud as it scratches against the floor, money thrown onto the top of the tablecloth as I sit there staring up at him. “I’m not hungry anymore and I think it’s safe to say the date is over.”
My cheeks heat, my skin flushing with embarrassment as I look down at my untouched plate of food instead of Gavino’s retreating back. After a moment of indecision, I rise, my heels clicking on the floor as I toss my napkin into my chair and follow after him. It’s not until we’re both outside that I dare call his name, watching him turn sharply to go toward the adjacent park and gardens.
“Gavino, wait!” He slows but doesn’t stop and I have to jog to catch up to him, my hand landing on his arm. “Gavino, please stop.”
He pauses, eyes flicked up with annoyance before landing on my face. “What, Beverly? Are you going to stand here and say that everything that was said back there wasn’t the truth?”
My lips rub together, fingers scrunching in the fabric of my dress as a couple walks past us. “I’m not pretending anything, Gavino.”
