Page 52 of Mafia And Maid
I usher Rosa straight past the bodies waiting in the queue, and it isn’t until we hit the hostess stand that Rosa lifts her gaze to take in the elegance.
We’re immediately seated, much to the chagrin of some other well-to-do nobodies. Rosa slides into the chair across from me. The particular table I requested is tucked in a corner, private and exclusive.
“Do you want wine?” I ask.
Rosa shakes her head.
“Something else? Beer? Or a cocktail? It’s my treat, Rosa. Order whatever you want.”
But she shakes her head again and lifts the menu, hiding her face from me.
I swallow thickly. How is this already going so wrong?
I mimic her and let my gaze roam the list of items. The light airy feeling that bubbled through me at the start of this has slowly sunk into something else.
Though she declined the wine, I get a bottle just in case and a beer for me. Marco and Alessio would be smacking me on the back of the head for the lack of class, but I’m here to enjoy myself with her, not put on a show.
“See anything you like?”
“I’m not sure,” she murmurs.
The quiet, timid response makes my stomach churn. Is it so bad to be seen with me? Did I cross some line I can’t quite see? My hand tightens around the bottle as I bring it to my lips.
Without another word, Rosa and I order when the server arrives at our table. And after ordering, once more, an awkward silence fills the air.
The soft hum of chatter around us fills the space. But I don’t want that. I want to ask her questions. I want to peel the layers of her back, one by one, until whatever spell she has on me breaks and I can move on.
But I can’t seem to find the words. I’m not a small talk guy. I’m not suave like my siblings.
I take a long swig of my beer, letting my gaze fall to the bar on the other side of the room.
“This is…a very nice place,” she says in the faintest voice.
I barely hear her words, but it’s all the encouragement I need. “Although kind of loud. I prefer more relaxed and casual places usually.”
She nods. “Do you come here often?”
“Not really.” I sit back into my chair a little, watching as she tugs my jacket tighter around her, hiding more of her creamy skin.
“You didn’t have to bring me here.”
“You deserve it, Rosa. What you’ve done in such a short time is a miracle.”
“It’s nothing. It’s what you pay me for.” She fidgets with the rim of her glass, eyes darting around quickly before dropping back down to the tablecloth. The dismissiveness of her response bothers me. Did I say something wrong?
“And here we are.” Our waitress smiles, setting out the food before us. “If you need anything else, please let me know.”
“Thank you,” Rosa murmurs.
The waitress looks at me, and I nod, dismissing her. I want to be left alone with Rosa.
I should try to carry on the conversation with her. Say something. Instead, I shove a forkful into my mouth. It’s exactly what I remember. Rich and decadent—but overpriced for the portion size. How anyone can be full after a meal like this, I’m not sure.
I swallow my mouthful and wipe my napkin across my mouth—I can be civilized if need be. “This is nearly as good as your cooking.”
“That’s very kind,” she hums in response.
My head tilts, and I watch as she pushes her pasta around the plate. Has she even taken a bite?