I look at him. Rowan studies my expression for a moment.
“But it doesn’t matter. I mean, these are your routines. I wouldn’t want you to change them just because I can’t make up my mind.”
I look at the menu again. The heat from the embarrassment of trying to bribe my upstanding lawyer spreads over my neck and face.
“What did you have in mind?” Rowan asks in surprise. His deep, penetrating voice almost sets me on fire.
It may be fiction, but the effect it has on me is more than real.
“Well, there’s this bruschetta with calamari, and this salmon with burrata di bufala, which I don’t know what it is, but it sounds like something ecstatic—then the panzerotti with porcini mushrooms, not to mention these strozzapreti, which I have no idea what they are, but I’ve got to try them.” I look up from the menu.
Rowan smiles.
“What is it?”
“Order anything you want.”
“Oh no, you don’t have to, really…”
“It’s good to indulge in a sin now and then.”
Don’t talk about sins, for God’s sake! Or they’ll have to clear the whole restaurant for fire.
“Don’t feel obliged.”
“I don’t feel like it. I want to do it.”
A naïve and childish hope makes its way through me, fast and dangerous.
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.” Then he turns to the others. “Are we all ready to order?”
I know they’ve all witnessed our exchange, and even if I haven’t, I can tell from their expressions, all concerned and all for me.
“I think we are all ready,” I say, trying to shift the attention elsewhere.
Ready to order, maybe. Ready for what’s coming?
Not for me. And not the kids. And neither is he, I’m afraid.
HALFWAY THROUGH DINNER, the anxiety that had been gripping me all day became stronger and more pressing, so much so that I have to leave the table for a few minutes.
Let’s just say that Rowan’s proximity didn’t help, and that he wanted to share plates with me, and that he touched my arm twice to ask if I wanted more wine, and most of all, the way he looks at me when I talk to him, and the way I feel myself shiver when he does, didn’t help.
He is a handsome man. Charming. Very. Average. Maybe a bit more than average. Much more. And he keeps himself in shape, you can tell. His arms are so hard that you’re afraid he’ll break you if you try to hug him. As if someone like me could ever hug someone like him! And shall we talk about his ass? I looked at it. Of course I did! When he excused himself to wash his hands, wrapped in those trousers that seemed tailored to fit his muscles.
Fuck! Ross was right. He’s got an ass like marble. I don’t know what I would give to get my hands on it and... Well, forget about my dirty and inappropriate thoughts about my too-sexy-to-be-true lawyer.
Didn’t they have a less attractive one in the firm?
God, I’m in trouble! And not because of the flood of lies I will have to learn to tell. That is the least of my worries now.
I have to learn to pretend that I don’t like my lawyer, and I have to do it now. As if I had no other pressures at the moment.
I take out a cigarette I had hidden in my shirt pocket and get the lighter from the back pocket of my trousers. I light it and slowly inhale the smoke as it mixes with the fresh evening air.
“I didn’t know you were a smoker.”
