Page 59 of Vicious Temptation
“What I’m—” Bella lets out a breath. “Oh. I get it.”
“Jeans and a sweater would be fine here. A little casual, maybe, but plenty of rich people dress casually at a place like this. It would be fine in October,” I add. “It’s July, and just looking at you makes me feel hot.” In a number of ways, my traitorous mind adds, but I bite it back.
“I’m sorry.” Bella bites her lip. “I know it’s weird. I’m weird.”
“You’re not,” I reassure her, fighting the urge to reach across the table and touch her hand. It’s difficult, because with her, every comforting instinct I have would be the wrong one. Everything I think I know has to be rethought, reexamined. I have to be careful with her, and once upon a time, I might have imagined that someone like her would feel like a burden, but now I feel ashamed that that might ever have been the case.
Bella is anything but a burden. And I want to keep reminding her of that, over and over again.
“It’s weird,” she repeats flatly. “Sweaters and jeans and heavy boots in the dead of summer. I get it. I just—” She lets out a breath. “It was weird when I wore that shawl to that first dinner you took me out to. I see how Clara looks at me every time we’re together. I told her I have low iron, and she believed me.” Bella gives me a crooked smile. “I can’t tell her the truth. About any of it. She just knows I had a broken engagement. She doesn’t know any of the rest. I’ve never been able to talk about it out loud. I probably still wouldn’t have at all, except for the fact that you came in that night, and I had to.”
I feel a twinge of guilt at that, for forcing it out of her, but a part of me is glad. “It’s not good to keep something like that bottled up forever,” I say quietly, and Bella nods.
“I have a psychiatrist. But it’s not the same as telling someone who knows you. Someone who cares. And Clara is the only person I’ve ever had who really cared about me. Like—really cares. I don’t know. Maybe I don’t want her to feel sorry for me. Or maybe it’s that she has nothing to do with the mafia, and she can’t possibly understand what the repercussions are, or how things work in this world. She just thinks I should get out of it, and she’d think that even more if she knew. But she doesn’t get how impossible it is to get out. Especially for a woman.”
Something in my chest squeezes at that. I’ve been trying to give her a way out, after all. But deep down, I want her to stay, despite that way out. I want her to keep living in my house. Caring for Cecelia and Danny. Being a bright spot in my life, when I didn’t think I’d find another one.
“I’m glad you told me,” I say quietly. “I understand better now.”
Bella nods, going quiet for a moment as the server approaches our table. She asks for water, and I order a glass of red wine for us both, glancing at her as I do. “It’s not too dry,” I tell her, as the server walks away. “You’ll like it.”
“We’ll see. I don’t have much experience with wine. You saw that the first time.” Her mouth quirks in a small, lopsided smile. “I don’t have experience with much, really. I know too much and not enough about some things, all at the same time. That’s why I wear these clothes,” she adds, her voice dropping a little, quiet enough that no one can hear her other than me. “After what happened—I don’t feel safe unless I’m completely covered. I don’t want anyone to see me. Any—part of me.” Her voice trembles a little, her lips pressing together as the waiter brings us our wine, and I feel another twinge of guilt, because I’ve been looking at her. I can’t pretend otherwise.
But another small murmur of my own intuition says that she doesn’t mean me. Or at least—not with the same vehemence that she thinks of everyone else who might look at her.
I’m quiet for a moment, as we order our appetizers, thinking over what to say. “I can’t imagine how that must feel,” I finally murmur, swirling the wine in my glass. “I can’t begin to fathom it. Nothing like that has ever happened to me, and I don’t have to fear it happening. But—” I hesitate. “If it makes you feel safer, Bella, then it’s what you should do. Regardless of what anyone else thinks. It’s no one’s business but yours, for as long as you need that to make you feel safer.”
Bella nods, a small smile on her lips. “That’s nice to hear,” she says softly. “You’re the first person I’ve ever talked with about this, honestly. Other than my psychiatrist,” she adds. “But the first person not—paid to listen.” There’s that lopsided smile again, widening a little on one half of her mouth. “It means a lot, Gabriel, honestly.”
There it is. My name on her lips again, and my heart twists in my chest, feelings ricocheting through me that I know will only make everything harder, down the line. “I want to do whatever I can to make you feel safe,” I say quietly. “To help you heal from what happened.”
I see Bella tense slightly, as the waiter drops off bruschetta toast for me and a Caesar salad for her. I can see the wheels spinning in her head as we put in the rest of our dinner orders, and she takes her wine glass gingerly, taking a small sip from it.
“You’ve already done so much,” she murmurs, setting it back down, her gaze coming up to meet mine. “I can’t ever repay you for any of it.”
“You don’t need to. In a lot of ways, you already have.”
“How?” Bella’s brow wrinkles in confusion, and I sigh.
“My children are happier. I see it in them every day when I come home. You’ve brought life and happiness back into the house and brightened everything up. I can see them flourishing with you.” I can see her eyes widening as I speak, and I know I’m saying too much, telling her too much of how I feel about all of this, but it’s hard to stop. I want her to know the difference she’s made, why I care for her, why I want to do so much for her. Why I want to make a difference in her life, too.
“You’ve brought back the stability that we needed. It matters, Bella. Everything has been better since you came to help with Cecelia and Danny. I mean that.”
She ducks her head, and I think I see a glimmer of something misty in her eyes that she blinks back so quickly that it’s gone when she looks up again. “Thank you,” she murmurs, her fingers twirling around the stem of her wine glass. “I’m glad.”
My chest feels tight, looking at her from across the booth. The feeling doesn’t let up, not as we enjoy our dinner—filet with red wine sauce for her, and a ribeye with peppercorn sauce for me—and not when we go back out to the car, and Bella slides into her side, her hands tucked between her knees and the memory of our first dinner standing out in my head.
That night felt far too much like a date. So does this one. I haven’t been on a date in four years, but I at least remember what it felt like, and it’s this. If this were a date, it would be the best one I’ve been on in a long time.
But it’s not, I remind myself, as we drive back on the dark, winding roads, and I force myself not to sneak glimpses of Bella as we near the house. It’s not a date.
And that’s how it has to stay.
19
BELLA
When Gabriel pulls the Mercedes up in front of the house, my mind is spinning. I’ve never been on a date before, but the whole night felt like one. It felt exactly like what I would imagine a date to be, so much so that when Gabriel opens my door, and I step out of the car into the courtyard in front of his home, for one brief second, I almost expect him to kiss me. I hesitate, looking at his handsome face, framed by the soft, dark curls of his hair, his green eyes bright in the darkness, and I almost think he’s going to lean down and press his mouth to mine.