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“Have you had Scalini Fedeli before?”
I shake my head gently, glass still in hand. “I haven’t.”
There’s that hum again, that satisfied hum coming just before he balls up the paper bags. Rising from his seat, he tells me I’m going to love it.
As he plates the food, capellini with prosecco, porcini ravioli and arugula and buffalo mozzarella salad, my mouth waters. I do however notice that the conversation from the kitchen has stopped altogether.
Maybe he’s not going to tell me. It’s obviously a painful subject if he’s just going to move on from it. Curiosity flares again, but I don’t want to ask the question. I’d rather sit with him, enjoy this meal and wait for more of those deep rumbles from him.
“She never loved me,” Adrian says, breaking the silence after the food is plated. “She never even wanted to be with me. She was with someone else the entire time.”
“Oh my God.” My heart breaks for him. I know this feeling so well. I wish I didn’t, because it means my ex was a horrible person who wasted my time, but I know the betrayal that’s coursing through his veins. It makes you feel so sick and stupid. Like you should have known all along what was happening, but you didn’t.
“He told her to sleep with me because he wanted her to persuade me into certain deals.”
“That is …” Horrible. Worse than horrible. Devastating. It would make it hard to continue trusting people in business after that. Almost impossible. No wonder Adrian rearranges companies to such an extent. He doesn’t truly trust anyone to be what they say they are.
“We were together for nearly six months before I realized.”
“I’m sorry.” I set the tumbler into my lap, both hands cradled around it. His focus is on his plate. His fork twirls the pasta around but he doesn’t eat.
His eyes find mine and he offers me a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes when he says, “Maybe it’s not polite dinner conversation.”
“It’s fine. I want to know more about you.”
He gestures at the food on the coffee table. “You must be hungry,” he says, and I know this part of the conversation is over.
My appetite has vanished, though, apart from small bites, which are delicious. We eat in relative silence. I’m sick on his behalf, and on mine. I never thought Adrian Bradford and I would have something like this in common—such complete betrayal by an ex. I guess betrayal doesn’t care if you’re rich. It can find you anywhere.
“What do you think?” he questions.
“About what?”
He huffs a small laugh, taking another bite before glancing at my half-eaten plate.
“Oh, it’s delicious. I—You were right. It’s delicious.”
He’s barely touched his plate as well. “I’m not as hungry for dinner as I thought I’d be.”
“Me either.”
A moment passes as he leans back, the sofa groaning under his weight. The plates stay where they are on the table, the empty tumblers of whiskey next to them.
“I’ll never do that to you,” he murmurs, his gaze drifting to my lips.
I turn onto my side, lifting my knees up and letting my heels fall to the floor so I can rest my legs on the edge of the sofa. “I won’t either. Cheating and lying are—”
“For assholes who can live with their misery,” he says, finishing the statement for me.
I rest my cheek on the back of the sofa, and my hand slips into his. “Yeah.”
As if he senses my thoughts, he says, “I want to get lost in you.”
I don’t have a chance to respond, only to part my lips as he crashes against them.
As soon as he touches me it’s like we’re back in the office, frantic for each other. He strips off my clothes with brutal efficiency. A gasp leaves me as he lifts me, forcing my legs to wrap around his hips.
I think he might take the floor, but instead he takes me to the windows looking out over the city. He’s still fully clothed, save for the top buttons undone from my efforts a moment ago.
