Beautifully Cruel

Chapter 22

JENNIE

After I change into a dress and the pumps I threw at him, Taehyung takes me to dinner.

It's a charming Italian place, designed like an old Tuscan villa, with two floors surrounding a central courtyard. The structure is made of terracotta bricks draped with hanging ivy. A thousand white lights twinkle in the olive trees on the patios and courtyard and around the edge of the roof.

It's magical, romantic, and completely unexpected.

It's also empty. Aside from the waiter who seated us, there isn't another soul in sight.

Taehyung 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 Taehyung 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."

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.

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

"Buonasera," replies Taehyung. "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."

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

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 Taehyung, 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."

"If carbs are good enough for Sophia Loren, they're good enough for me."

That earns me a laugh. "She's a little before your time, isn't she?"

"I saw a picture of her in a bikini once along with a quote about how she owed her figure to spaghetti. I thought it was cute. I feel sorry for women who don't love food. It's almost better than sex."