By Virtue I Fall (Sins of the Fathers #3)(40)

Santino slanted me a weary look. “But we aren’t.”

Apparently, his lowered guards were no longer in effect. He was back to being the distanced bodyguard.

I motioned at a small corner café ahead of us. I’d seen a recommendation for it in a Time Out article about breakfast places in Paris. When we stepped in, a waiter gave us a curt nod and greeted us in French then proceeded to ask if we had a reservation. His words were directed at Santino who stared back blankly.

I replied, before Santino could ask him to speak English and cost us any chance at a table. The waiter’s face brightened when I spoke to him in fluent French, which was probably why we were lucky enough to get a table. Someone had canceled their reservation and we got a small round table near the window overlooking the street.

I settled on the chair. Santino with his larger frame bumped his knees against the underside of the table. “Are these places made for kids?”

“Not everyone’s as tall as you. If you don’t manspread, you’ll be fine.”

Santino gave me an annoyed look, then turned the menu card over, probably looking for the English version, which wasn’t there. He sighed.

Santino was trying to find fault in all kinds of things because he simply didn’t want to be in Paris. If he’d just enjoy it, he’d find joy in the differences.

“You should consider learning French. It broadens the horizon, which is never a bad thing if you ask me.”

“I didn’t,” Santino growled. “And unlike you, I don’t have any spare time.”

“French people don’t like to talk in English. They’ll be nicer if you at least try to speak their language.”

A waitress sauntered over to us and gave us a tight-lipped smile. I ordered an Americano and an egg-white omelet and was about to ask Santino what he wanted when she turned to him, ignoring me. He was leaning back in his chair, manspreading in all his muscled glory and giving her a smile that suggested he had a secret to share with her. The expression made me want to stab someone with a fork, mostly the stupidly smiling waitress. “You American?”

“Italian American,” Santino said, still smiling, and making me feel even stabbier. “What can you recommend from your menu?”

She oohed and ahhhed for too long before she read the entire menu to Santino, despite other customers waiting to be served, and then proceeded to take Santino’s order in English without batting an eye. She whirled around without another look in my direction.

“You ordered half the menu. Have you invited anyone over I’m not aware of?”

“I’m starving.”

“Just because the waitress was making the moves on you and thus making an effort to talk in English doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try to learn at least some basic French. It’s disrespectful to live in a country and not learn the language.”

“It wasn’t my choice to live in France, was it?”

“That doesn’t change the fact that you’re here now.”

“I’m being nice to the locals as the waitress can attest, while you gave her the evil eye.”

I pressed my lips together to stop myself from saying something very petty. I needed a coffee before I could embark on a verbal battle with Santino.

The waitress came back soon after with our drinks and part of Santino’s order, not my omelet though.

I took a deep sip from my coffee then glanced back toward the kitchen, hoping for my food to arrive soon. My belly was already grumbling angrily. I was always starving after I drank too much alcohol, one of the reasons why I tried to limit my intake.

Santino held out the basket with croissants: plain and chocolate. “Take one. They’re really good.” He emphasized his words by taking a bite from a plain croissant after he’d dipped it in raspberry jam.

“I have a figure to maintain.” The girls in Paris were slim and very aware of their bodies, and I knew the girls who studied fashion design would be even worse.

Santino rolled his eyes. “Your figure is fine. Eat a croissant.”

I rolled my eyes in turn. “I’m sure my omelet will be here any moment.”

Santino ripped a piece off his croissant and held it out before my face. “Come on, be a good girl for once and take a bite.”

Had he really just said be a good girl? I was equally annoyed and thrilled. Instead of a snappy comeback, I leaned forward and snatched up the piece, my lips brushing his fingers. Santino’s eyes locked on mine. He was probably as surprised by my actions as me. The buttery taste of the croissant filled my mouth. I sat back, licking a few crumbs off my lips. Santino never took his eyes off me.

The intensity of his gaze had a new quality. In the past, he only ever reached this level with pure fury, but it wasn’t fury that I saw in his eyes.





My fingers tingled. Strike that. My entire body tingled because my boss’s daughter had touched my skin with her daringly smiling lips.

Last night, I’d dreamed of her. It wasn’t the first time, but it had definitely been the most vivid and dirtiest dream. I really hoped that was a one-time slip, and the result of too much Pernod, but the way my pulse sped up as I watched Anna now, I harbored little hope for myself.

I took a sip from my coffee. I needed to shift my focus to other things, other women preferably. Anna was a job, not a woman. I needed to internalize it until even the last fiber in my body got the message.