Page 11 of Hate On

She gestured at him, indicating he was welcome to do so. She doubted she’d drink much of whatever wine he ordered. She had what her mother referred to as a plebeian’s taste in wine—the sweeter, the better.

But she could suck it up and pretend to enjoy whatever dull vintage he ordered. She could even make all the right comments about the nose and the bouquet.

Several minutes passed as bread was brought out, the wine was served and their glasses filled with sparkling water. She took the glass of wine when he lifted his.

“We should drink to the future,” he said, crooking that amazing grin of his at her. His eyes, the palest of blues, held a warmth that added to the flip-flops going on in her belly.

Instead of saying anything out loud, she just lifted her glass to his.

To her delight, the wine was wonderful, rich and tart, the hint of sweetness making her want to grab the whole bottle and keep it away from him so she could enjoy it all.

“That’s excellent wine,” she said, sighing happily.

“The family who owns the vineyard are friends of mine,” he replied. “I’m glad you like it.”

She reached out and turned the bottle around so she could see the label, tucking it inside her head so she’d remember it.

“I imagine your father was glad when you decided to join the business with him,” Roman commented.

She glanced at him. “Of course. Wasn’t yours?”

They spoke about their respective families for just a few moments and when a brief lull came, Roman leaned back in his chair, eyeing her with an intense, penetrating gaze.

It was so intense, she had to fight the urge to squirm.

“Do you remember when we met in Switzerland?”

She blinked at him, the question surprising her utterly, it was so completely out of the blue. “What? When did we meet in Switzerland?”

“You were young,” he replied, circling the rim of his wineglass with his fingertip. “Five, maybe six. I think it was about eighteen years ago.” His brow furrowed as he contemplated the number, finally nodding. “Yes. It was when I was still playing soccer and that was the last year I played. So, eighteen years ago.”

“When and how did we meet?”

A rueful grin curled his lips and he shook his head. “I can’t believe you don’t remember any of it.” With a lavish sigh, he straightened up in the seat and leaned forward, smiling at her. “You were in the hospital because of your asthma. I had gotten my head hit pretty hard and had a concussion. They wanted me in for observation for a few days because the headaches were so severe. Unfortunately,” he started, and paused, his face softening. Then he added, “Or maybe fortunately for me, there was a bad problem with a strep outbreak. You and I had to share a room for a few days.”

“Why would they put me with you?” She looked confused.

“The strep outbreak,” he said patiently. “Besides, we were kids. I was eleven. You were six. It wasn’t like we were going to tell these adults no. And our parents hadn’t gotten to Europe yet.”

“Man.” She rolled her eyes. “I bet Papa freaked out over that.”

“Not as much as my father did.” He lapsed into silence for a moment and she studied him, wondering about the muscle that jerked in his jaw and the shadows that fell across his eyes.

He stirred finally and shrugged. “Anyway, those first few days, we talked a lot. I read you books, told you stories. You liked my stories.”

Some blurry memory tried to come into focus. “Somebody at the hospital taught me to play solitaire,” she murmured, thinking of the boy she could only vaguely remember. A dark mop of hair and bright, pale blue eyes. “Was that you?”

“Ah, see?” Roman wagged a finger at her. “You do remember me.”

“I don’t know if you can call what I have in my head amemory,” she said lightly. Then she shrugged. “I imagine it hurts your ego thinking a girl might have forgotten you.”

He stared at her for a moment and then to her surprise, he started to laugh.

“Perhaps that’s true,” he said once the laughter faded. “I’ve always thought myself to be rather…unforgettable.”

She imagined so. Those eyes, his hands…her gaze strayed involuntarily toward his mouth just as he went to take a sip of his wine.

He noticed too. He didn’t put the wine back down. Instead, he took a drink and when he lowered the glass, there was a drop of the rich red liquid clinging to his lower lip.