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Silver Eyes scares me.
“Apparently, our marriage wasn’t legally binding.”
“But you thought it was.”
I wince. The more times I hear that out loud, the dumber I feel. “For the last six years, yeah.”
His irises glisten in the candlelight. “Let me guess,” he says. “He cleared out your bank accounts before he disappeared on you, so now, you don’t have any money of your own.”
I thought when we sat down that I’d appreciate the refreshing change of pace. No pity from this guy, noI’m so sorry that happened to you; hang in there, champ.But when he says it like that—cold, apathetic, condescending—I find myself bristling instead. I’m about ready to throw my drink in his face and storm out, free Coke be damned.
But then the waiter returns with pizza.
That’s what my pride is worth, it seems: a slice of pizza. There’s no way I’m leaving this table now.
I grab a piece of pizza as soon as he sets it down, ignoring the brick-oven heat searing at my fingertips, and take a bite.
“Oh, sweet mother of God,” I breathe as the savory, salty tang of cheese and sauce fills my mouth.
Silver Eyes watches me take down the entire slice without a shred of self-consciousness. I don’t even care that there’s cheese plastered on the side of my mouth. I don’t care that there might be basil leaves stuck between my teeth. I bartered the last scraps of my dignity for pizza, and the sad part is…
It was so fucking worth it.
“You might think I’m stupid, but I’m not,” I blurt once I chew and swallow the last bite. Silver Eyes hasn’t looked away for even a moment. “I trusted Anthony. He was my husband, and I trusted him. I won’t be ashamed of that.”
He toys with the hinge on his diamond cufflinks as he watches me dab pizza grease from my lips. “Trust is an assumption. Assumptions get people hurt.”
“Everyone makes assumptions.”
“Not me.” He says it so deadly serious that, as bizarre of a statement as that is, I actually kinda believe him.
“No? You didn’t assume anything about me when you saw me getting ready to fist-fight your maître d’?”
“Not an assumption,” he corrects. “An observation.”
“Tomato, tomahto. Please, tell me, oh Wise One: what did you observe?”
For the second time, the corner of his mouth twitches up in something akin to a smile. It makes me shudder. “That you’re not as timid as you seem.”
I frown. “Hm. I’m pretty sure there’s a compliment in there somewhere.”
His lips do that twitch again, and again, I feel a snaking sense of excitement surge down my spine.It’s just the sugar rush,I tell myself.It doesn’t mean anything.
“I have a hotel room at the Four Seasons tonight,” he tells me abruptly. “You should come see the view.”
Goosebumps spread down my arms, but I control my expression, hiding my panic deep inside. I wonder how many times he has heard the word “no” in his life. I’d be shocked if the answer had two digits.
“Should I?”
“You should. Unless you have someplace you’d rather be…?”
His eyes glow. I’m pretty sure he’s making fun of me.
He opens his wallet and puts five hundred dollars in cash on the table. It’s four times the cost of the meal, easily. I get the sense he is trying to make a point: that even if I did turn him down, it wouldn’t matter to him. He’s bored. Or maybe just horny. Whatever the case, if I say no, he’ll just find another woman. With his face and that roiling confidence, it wouldn’t be a hard ask. He could just stick his head out of the door and have every female on the block fawning and ovulating in an instant.
For reasons I’m not entirely clear on, I don’t like that idea one bit.
“I’m not sure I should.”
