Page 35 of His to Love
I gasped and my fingers pressed against my lips. “I’m so sorry. Malik, truly, I had no idea, and I’m so sorry for bringing her up.”
“Yes.” He nodded, still looking somewhat forlorn—perhaps confused that he said so much. But he quickly shook off whatever he was thinking about and smiled sadly at me. “No one speaks of her, as if she didn’t exist. I’m not angry with you, I was just surprised.”
I licked my suddenly dry lips and took another sip of water. “I’d like to move on from this, if you’d like.”
His smile grew wider, slightly more genuine. “Please. Tell me about Colorado.”
I normally could speak of Colorado all day long. There was so much; from the farm, to the animals, even my online college classes at CU. I knew this because yesterday, the words had flowed so easily with Tyson. But when staring into this man’s eyes, a man who still seemed sad, a little bit angry, and a whole lot intimidating, my memories simply didn’t come as easily. I fumbled through them and began telling him about working on the farm, and then watched as his expression morphed into something that appeared to be disgust.
“Does your father know you were doing this?” he asked abruptly while I was in the middle of telling him about collecting eggs from the chicken coop.
My head jerked back. “Well, he’s never specifically asked what I spent my time doing,” I replied, thrown by the question.
“I can’t believe your father, the man he is, would want his daughter digging in dirt and doing manual labor.”
The words dripped from his lips with disdain. I could only think that I was sure my father didn’t give a damn. But to say that to Malik would certainly not go over well.
I was saved from having to answer at all when a server, an older woman dressed in black slacks, black shirt, and a white apron appeared on the patio. She pushed a silver cart, loaded with a bottle of wine, chilled in ice, and two dome-covered plates.
Everything sparkled and gleamed in the lights and I was suddenly bothered by all of this.
The show.
The formality.
The romance feigned for a stranger.
It was all a seductive dance by Malik to secure his spot as leader by having a Mafia princess on his arm, and I realized I didn’t care if he didn’t like what I spent my time doing. I didn’t care if he found me acceptable. As he thanked the server, a woman whose name I didn’t catch because I wasn’t introduced to her, as if either she—or I—was insignificant, I forced my lip not to curl when he spoke to her in Italian.
Based on his accent, and his fluency with the language, it was clear he had lived there at some point in his life and for quite a while.
Still, it annoyed me. It felt as if he was brushing me off by not even attempting to include me in a conversation. She strolled from the patio and, in an effort to calm myself, I reached for the wine he poured for me.
“It’s delicious,” I said, trying to get away from emotions coursing through me. This whole night was a waste of time.
I no longer cared if this request was from my mother, or my father. I didn’t particularly care that this man could fill my wallet, closet, and jewelry boxes with more riches than I could possibly dream of.
Through Eleanor, I had learned those things in life didn’t matter.
Through my mother, I had learned that love mattered most.
I blinked away the thoughts, unwilling to show my frustration and my anger. It was not a revelation that I was being used. It was simply one that hit home as I took in an elegance that was completely…not me. Not at all. My name may have been Gabriella Galecki, but I’d always been more Blue or Ella than my given name. I fought it for the first twenty-eight years of my life, and I refused to give in now.
Not when I had come so close to being able to live free.
“Is the meal not acceptable to you?” Malik asked, bringing me back to the moment and the company.
He gestured to my untouched plate of lobster and scallops with a knife and arched a brow.
I reached for my silverware. “Sorry. Just distracted tonight.” Flashing him a smile I hoped appeared honest, I said, “My apologies.”
“Forgiven.” His penetrating gaze seemed to evaluate me for several moments before he took a bite of his own meal.
Between bites, he told me about his family’s history and his house. I asked appropriate questions at appropriate times, feigning interest. I became truly interested only when he told me about the gardens at the back of his house that were currently hidden in darkness. While in Colorado, I had learned to love nature and its simple beauty and majesty.
But while Malik spoke, I felt apprehensive and uneasy, stuck in a chair at the most disastrous job interview. He was trying to prove himself worthy of my family and me, while at the same time, I was under interrogation to see if I was a fitting wife. A trophy wife. A sign of his strength.
He was charming and smooth. I couldn’t deny that. I also believed he could have his choice of women. The fact he wanted me spoke volumes. He was raised in a family similar to mine, where impressions and perceptions were more important than what was hidden behind the veil, what was spoken in private rooms. He was willing to do anything to get what he wanted, which was success, money, and more power and more influence.
