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“All that Italian gibberish going back and forth between you and Carmelita when we first got here. I don’t understand why she doesn’t use English when she talks to you.”
“She was simply telling me that she was glad to see you and me; that she thinks you’re beautiful. I agreed with her that you're by far the most beautiful woman on earth and that you're mine,” he said sweetly, taking my hand in his and raising it to his lips.
Not a totally accurate translation, Sinclair. Nice touch with the charm.
I gazed sweetly at Trey, squeezing his hand. Carmelita arrived back at the table, smiling.
“Quale vino sara bere questa, Signore Trey?”
What wine will you be drinking this evening Mr. Trey?
“A Tuscano merlot will be fine, Carmelita. Just a glass for me please, Tylar is abstaining,” Trey said, not answering her in Italian this time. He was evidently tired of me asking him to interpret their conversations. She nodded and was off.
I took a sip of my water, noticing how handsome Trey looked in his suit. It was a dark grey flannel; the front-pleated trousers hung low on his narrow hips. He'd worn a white dress shirt and a scarlet silk tie. I was wearing a curve-hugging Nicole Miller maternity dress that made me feel like a model, with my new black ‘fuck me’ heels, against Trey’s advice.
Surprise, surprise!
They were high black spikes with chrome metal heels, ankle wraps, and a metal toe plate in chrome to match the heels. When Trey saw me putting them on he did a double take.
“You aren’t seriously wearing those shoes outside are you?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Those shoes are not meant to go beyond the bedroom!” He held the shoe I’d yet to put on in his hand, examining the metal heel.
“What?” I asked, feeling mocked.
“Baby, these shoes were made to dig into somebody’s back while he’s fucking you; these shoes weren't made for walking.”
“Give me that!” I said, snatching my shoe from him. I blushed at his assessment, but filed it away for future reference.
Trey silently studied me from across the table. I took another sip of water, trying to figure out what was on his mind this evening. It was quite warm in the restaurant this evening. Carmelita returned with a glass of merlot for Trey. Trey ordered for both of us, knowing that I wasn't picky when it came to Italian cuisine. He raised his wineglass for a toast.
“To the most beautiful woman I've ever met, being here with me tonight in our special restaurant.”
I wonder if he made that same toast to Charlotte.
“Per la salute, Tylar,” he finished, clinking his wine glass against my raised water goblet. I waited until he took a long, leisurely swallow of his wine.
“Trey, vorrei sapere se questa e la tabella con le prostitute Charlotte? A proposito, hai fuck lei?”
Trey, I would like to know if this is your table with your whore Charlotte as well? By the way, did you fuck her?
Trey choked, as I expected, desperately holding his napkin up to his mouth to stifle his involuntary coughing. Carmelita rushed to his aid, patting his back.
“E il vino non a tuo piacimento, Signor Trey?” she asked, her voice filled with concern.
Is the wine not to your liking, Mr. Trey?
Trey was still hacking, unable to respond. I took the liberty of answering for him.
“Il vino va bene, Carmelita. Era qualcosa che no andava bene.”
The wine is fine, Carmelita. It was something else that did not sit well.
I saw the flicker of amusement cross her face; Trey was still busy composing himself and did not notice the look that passed between Carmelita and me. She left the table seeing that Trey was regaining his composure. He took several gulps of water, eyeing me suspiciously.
“So,” I said, “are you going to answer my questions?”
