Beautifully Cruel (Beautifully Cruel #1)(59)

Liam sees me glancing around in confusion. “I own it.” He flicks open a white linen napkin and drapes it across his lap.

“Oh. It’s not open to the public?”

A hint of a smile crosses his face. “Not tonight, it isn’t.”

I take it that means he closed the place down so we could dine in private. I can’t decide if that’s romantic or controlling. Then I recall all the glass containers of food in his refrigerator and another thought crosses my mind: maybe he did it for safety.

Maybe the mafia pope can’t eat in public because it’s too dangerous for him.

Or for me.

Or he thinks I’d scream for help in a crowd.

I’m busy mulling it over, toying with a gleaming salad spoon, when Liam says, “Considering you’re so shy and awkward around strangers, I thought you’d feel more comfortable if we were alone.”

My fingers fall still. I glance up at him. He’s trying to suppress a smile.

“So you remember that conversation.”

“I remember everything.”

He conveniently forgot the part where I said I wouldn’t move in with him.

I place my napkin in my lap and take a sip from my water glass to buy time, thinking of that kiss he gave me before we came here. It was gentle and quick, nothing like his usual ravenous plundering. It seemed like he was deliberately restraining himself. Like he didn’t want to spook me.

I really hate it that he can be so considerate and gentlemanly one moment, but then, when it suits him, he can turn around and throw all his manners out the door.

He demands, “What?”

I also hate it that he can read my damn mind.

“I was just thinking you’re a very complicated person.”

“I hate to disappoint you, but I’m the least complicated person you’ll ever meet.”

When I look at him with a wry twist to my lips, he adds softly, “You just don’t know me well enough.”

Something in his tone makes my blood quicken. “Will I get to know you? Will I ever find out all your secrets?”

His gaze on mine is steady, revealing nothing. “If you do, something will have gone very wrong.”

I blurt, “I wish I knew everything there is to know about you.”

I’ve surprised us both. A muscle slides in his jaw. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. I see him debate with himself whether or not to pursue this line of conversation, until curiosity gets the better of him.

“Why?”

I don’t have the guts to answer him while looking into his guarded eyes, so I look down at the tablecloth instead. I chew the inside of my lip, then take a breath and admit it.

“Because you fascinate me. You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever met. You have all these sharp edges that scratch, and you’re obviously accustomed to violence, but you’re also…tender. Under that intimidating surface, you’re sensitive. And, I think, very sad. It’s a compelling combination.”

The following silence is blistering. I don’t dare look at him.

“I thought you were angry with me.”

Flustered, I exhale in a gust. “I am. Very. But I’m also giving myself whiplash with all the back and forth I’m going through.” My voice drops. “I still want you.”

There’s another crackling silence, then Liam murmurs, “Look at me.”

I glance up at him, my heart pounding. He’s looking back at me with shining eyes and an expression of unspeakable pain.

He says, “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Being honest. Being you.”

“You’re welcome.” We stare at each other. I feel like my heart is beating outside my chest.

The waiter arrives at our tableside. “Buonasera signore.” He bows to Liam. To me, he sends a respectful nod of his head. “Signorina.”

“Buonasera,” replies Liam. “La lista dei vini, per favore.”

When I laugh in disbelief, the waiter sends me a quizzical look.

“Sorry. Ignore me, I’ve got low blood sugar. Haven’t eaten anything since lunch.”

Liam says something else in Italian to the waiter, who smiles. He retreats, whistling, and disappears around a corner.

“So you speak Italian, too.”

Liam shrugs.

“Along with Gaelic, Spanish, and French. Any others?”

“A few.”

“Did you study languages in school?”

“It was more like on the job training.”

I sit back in my chair and gaze at the Mona Lisa smile on his face. “Oh, look, we’re being vague and inscrutable again. Was that part of your training, too?”

“As a matter of fact, it was. Have some bread.”

He passes me the bread basket from the middle of the table. It’s covered in a white linen cloth. I pull the cloth back to reveal a beautiful selection of fresh ciabatta rolls baked with olive oil, salt, and rosemary. They smell like heaven.

I take one, put it on my bread plate, hand the basket back to Liam, then slather the roll with butter from a small round butter dish near my water glass. Then I tear off a hunk and pop it into my mouth, moaning when the taste explodes on my tongue.

“I’m glad to see you’re not on the low carb bandwagon.”