Taste of Italy

C H A P T E R t w e l v e

                                                                        . . .

 As the butler took away her empty plate, she thanked him. With a napkin, she dabbed her face with it, hoping to get any stains or tiny pieces of food off her face.

"You okay?" Dante sipped a glass of water.

Iris nodded. "I'm fine," she said, bowing her head down.

"Fine?" he repeated. "Why do women say that?" He wasn't looking at her now. Instead, his eyes glared over to the walls of his home. "Fine." The word came out like some sort of cuss word, like a curse to those who said it.

With a small, innocent chuckle, Iris lifted her head. "It's because men don't want to hear women complain."

His eyes stared into hers as he bobbed his head as if he tried to decide something. "True, I suppose. But then you guys just hold in your anger or whatever and then never say anything. It's quite annoying."

"I think so, too." She hated how people did this, but she was one to use it as well. It was hypocritical of her, though she didn't care, and most times, she never caught herself doing it.

"But does this also mean that you have an issue of some sort?" Dante took another sip, not pulling his eyes away from hers.

Iris's eyes gazed into his. She didn't have a so-called "beef" with him. Of course not. But there were thoughts clouding her judgment and made her believe something that she should've already believed in. She also didn't know if she should bring it up. But she did it anyway. "Are you really into me?"

Dante cocked his head to one side in confusion. "Am I what?"

Iris closed her eyes, placing her hands on the table. She didn't want to say, "Are you in love with me?" as that would be too embarrassing. She probably couldn't show her face in the city at all. Instead, she took a deep breath and said, "Are we only meeting each other because you feel bad for me or do you actually like me?" Iris opened her eyes.

By the look on his face, Iris knew that she caught Dante off guard.

"I'm sorry," she said quickly.

"No." He shook his head. "Don't be." He swallowed, taking a moment to compose himself. "I really like you, Iris. I do."

"But?"

"But what? That's it. I don't want to say that I'm in love with you because I hardly know you, but you do interest me and I have grown a liking to you." He smiled.

"Okay," she said, nodding her head. That was all she wanted to hear. Her eyes gazed down to the table once more.

"And?"

"And what?" She snapped her eyes back. Iris felt the sweat coming off her eyebrow. Was she really this nervous? What was causing her to be so anxious? In the back of her mind, she knew the answer to the question but didn't want to admit it to herself. Probably because she didn't want to be let down. As someone whom always had bad luck on her side, being doubtful was the next best thing when it came to relationships.

Dante sat back in his chair, arms crossed. "Do you like me?"

Iris's heart thumped hard against her chest, throbbing. Like it was about to tore right out from her ribcage. She didn't want to give an answer at all. Not because she didn't like him. Obviously, she liked him; his work, his personality, his inner person. His charming looks was just a plus side, added to the mix. But because it had been forever since her last relationship, she felt clueless on the whole idea of love. What could she have said? What could help her case to win this man's heart?