Page 48 of When Sinners Hate
“Okay, so this is the Gaslamp District. I presume you’re hungry?”
I nod and watch her get out, so I follow until we’re both on the sidewalk in a crowded area full of tourists and late afternoon street life. “You chose around here to eat?” She starts leading the way along a road, dodging incomers with that arrogant attitude of hers. Not that she needs to. They move for her. “It’s your turn to surprise me.”
“Well, you asked for what I want to do. And this is what your Lexi probably would choose. Alexia would go someplace where she could eat half a romaine salad and be seen with the right people. I’m guessing you don’t want that side of me?”
“No. Never again.” She looks along the road and then back to me, a new smile emerging on her face. I’d almost consider it shy if she wasn’t so good at being far from that. “Take your hair down.” She pats the side of the sleek bun and frowns. “Just do it, Lexi.” Her fingers take the clip out, and she slides them through the mass of blonde locks that tumble free. “Better.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
She coughs and looks along the road again. “So … what kind of food do you want?” My brow arches. “Okay, alright. My choice on that as well?” I nod and follow as she starts weaving again until we end up at a small bistro. She cuts through it and signals over the mass of people, somehow managing to get the waiters attention. He points upstairs and winks at her. For some goddamn reason, I’m not one bit fucking happy about the last section of that unspoken conversation.
“I’m not sure bringing me somewhere that houses a man you’ve fucked is useful to our marriage.”
She laughs and looks back at me as we’re climbing the stairs and rounding a corner. “I haven’t, but considering the Carmen thing, you’ve no right to be pissed at me for that anyway.” She waves us out onto a small terrace area, having opened a door, and lets me get a good view of a private area with a small table and two chairs. “How’s this?”
“Faultless.”
Another smile beams out of her, as she takes a seat and leans over the balcony to look down below us. The guy – the waiter – arrives immediately. He looks at me and smiles, then leans towards my wife to kiss her on the cheek. Whatever the fucking conversation is between them regarding the fact that he hasn’t seen her for a while gets tuned out. I’m just looking at her behaving differently as he lays the table with glasses and cutlery, and wondering why the hell she hasn’t shown me any of this before.
“Abel?” I start listening again, shaking myself clear of wherever my head was. “What would you like to drink?” I shrug, because, once again, this is all her choice for the day. “Okay then. A bottle of Chablis, please. And we’ll have the Carne asada fries, some burritos, and maybe the fish tacos. Enough for two.”
The waiter leaves after that, and I’m still watching her and thinking about why she’d choose to keep this side of her away from me.
“What? You don’t like fish?” she asks. “If you don’t, I’ll eat them, and you can have—”
“All good,” I cut in, as I take my jacket off and drape it on the back of the chair. “Talk to me about why you like it around here.”
“It’s good food.”
“No, that’s not it. A woman like you can get good food anywhere, yet you’ve chosen a small, inexpensive place tucked in the bowels of a tourist trap. It’s nothing to do with food.”
A bottle of wine lands on the table as she’s thinking about her answer. It’s not poured, and the waiters gone before I’ve barely noticed he was here. I pick it up and pour, twisting the end of the bottle to stop it dripping down the neck.
She picks her glass up and wraps her arms over herself, leaning back away from me. “You really want to know? The truth?”
“That’s what we’re here for.”
“Okay. It’s the noise. The sound of people, the laughter. Can you hear it?” I nod and keep looking at her for more. “I used to come here sometimes. I don’t even know how I found myself here that first day, but it was busy and there wasn’t a table available. Thomas, the owner, that’s the guy you just met, let me come up here because someone hadn’t turned up for their reserved lunch.” She takes a sip of her wine and sighs, closing her eyes at the sounds around us. “It’s nice, that sound.” Her eyes open. “I never got to hear any real laughter at my father’s house, and I didn’t have a place to call my own around here. So, I guess I just used this as a refuge in some ways.”
“From your father?”
“Maybe. I don’t know the answer to that one. And I’d rather not talk about it.”
“Fine. Maybe we should discuss the length of your skirt then.”
“We should?”
“Yes. It’s too long.”
“Really.”
“Hmm. Although, I suppose you could come over here and slide yourself onto my dick and no one would ever know.” Her face brightens from the seriousness of a moment ago. “I’ve changed my mind. It’s a good length. Wear it as much as you like.”
She smirks. “This flirting is very unlike you.”
“How would you know? You don’t know me.”