Page 85 of Keeping Kaitlyn

“No.” That muscle in his jaw twitches again. Looking at his sister, Went sighs. “Do you have anything available thatisn’tin the direct line of fire?”

Silver frowns up at him like she wants to keep arguing. Instead, she gives him a stiff head nod. “I have a private dining booth available but fair warning, you’re going to have to pick your poison—Astrid’s in the main dining room.”

When Silver says Went’s mother’s name, it takes everything I have to keep myself from bolting for the door.

“Of course she is,” Went says on a heavy sigh while he seems to weigh his options. Finally, he shakes his head. “I’ll take my chances with Astrid.” Looking down, he offers me a pained smile. “Appearances are everything to my mother, she’d rather die than cause a scene.”

“Okay.” Even though it’s anything but, I can’t object without having to explain why. Unbuttoning my coat, I pull it off so I can hand it over to Went’s sister. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” She gives me a smile before handing my coat off to an attendant that seems to materialize out of nowhere. “Now, if you’ll follow me,” she says before turning away to lead us down a long hallway that opens up into the kind of restaurant you see on TV. Gorgeous, crystal chandeliers suspended fromsoaring ceilings. Shimmering wallpaper that catches the light and gives the entire room a beautiful, golden glow. Impeccably dressed waitstaff that move with precision and grace. Doing my best to keep my gaze focused on the woman in front of us, I have to fight the urge to run again. The only thing that’s stopping me is the press of Went’s enormous hand against the small of my back and the fact that if I try to do anything other than put one foot in front of the other in these stupid heels, I’ll fall flat on my face.

“You look beautiful,” Went murmurs softly while we weave our way through the dining room, more than a few sets of eyes trailing after us as we go. “I meant to tell you earlier but…”

But you read my bucket list again and know that I’m still in love with you.

“Thank you.” Giving him a small smile, I do my best to avoid eye contact. “So do you.”

Stopping in front of a wide mahogany pocket door, Silver opens it to reveal a small, wood paneled room that houses a large, circular leather booth. “Micah will be your dedicated waitstaff. He’ll be with you shortly,” she says before moving out of the way so Went and I can slide into our seats. As soon as we’re seated, she closes the door and we’re alone.

“Silver’s his favorite,” he tells me, dark gaze trained on the beautifully set table between us. “She’s never understood…” Grimacing slightly, Went shakes his head. “Never mind. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t?—”

Reaching for him on impulse, I brush my fingers against the compass tattooed on the back of his hand, its needle pointing north. “She never understood what?”

When I ask, that muscle tics in his jaw again and for a second, I’m sure he’s not going to answer me or maybe tell me to mind my own business. That I gave up the right to ask him questions like that a long time ago. Instead he looks up at me with a smilethat looks like it might hurt. “What it’s like to look at him and see disappointment.” The smile turns into a grimace. “The sons he left behind in Italy when he came to America were loyal to their mother and so was Damien. None of them wanted anything to do with him because of the way he treated them. Parker is the youngest of us. Only sixteen, so that leaves me.” The hand beneath my fingers twitches. “I disappoint them both, but for different reasons.”

“I don’t believe that.” Tracing the tip of my finger around the face of the compass, I shake my head on a frown. “There’s nothing about you that’s even remotely disappointing.”

Turning his hand over, Went laces his fingers through mine on a sigh. “Then why did you leave?”

His question, completely out of nowhere, yanks my gaze up from where our hands are joined to find him looking at me with the same expression he wore when I walked into my living room and found him in front of the drawing he did of me and Two-tone. My notebook, full of things I’ll never be brave enough to do, open between us.

“I told you,” I say, my voice surprisingly steady considering I’m practically vibrating with the urge to run. “I realized that it was never going to work.”

“Maybe I missed something, Sunshine…” The corner of his mouth kicks up in a humorless smirk. “Butitseemed to be working just fine before you left.”

“You don’t marry someone because you feel sorry for them,” I tell him, trying to pull my hand away from his. “And you sure as hell don’t marry them just because you like to fuck them, either.”

When I try to pull my hand away from his again, Went tightens his grip on a barely there head shake. “Come again?”

“Respect. Honor. Support.” I practically spit the words that have been chasing themselves around my head for the last six years in his face and when I do, his grip finally slackens. Ratherthan take my hand and run, I stand my ground. “Thoseare the vows you made to me—Love was never mentioned.” Looking away, I remind myself that I’ve run long enough. “I know you saw it,” I tell him, pulling my hand from his. “I know you read my bucket list—again.” Shaking my head, I look away from him. The look he’s giving me because if I have to look at it for one more second, I really will run. “Iamsorry I left without saying goodbye and I’m sorry I didn’t have the courage to stand up to my father on my own. I’m sorry that I was selfish enough to let you make my mess your problem. I’m sorry I nearly cost you everything and I’m sorry I fell in love with you, Went. It was something I never meant to do.”

FORTY-SEVEN

WENTWORTH

I’msorry I fell in love with you, Went. it was something I never meant to do.

Before either of us can do or say anything else, there’s a discrete knock on the door like whoever it is was waiting for a break in conversation to interrupt. After the knock, the doors slide open to reveal a tuxedoed waiter with perfectly trimmed hair and fingernails that practically gleam under the golden glow of the wall sconces on either side of the booth. Looking down at my own tattooed hands and graphite-stained fingers, I almost laugh. The only thing stopping me is that I’m pretty sure that a scream will come out instead.

“Pardon the interruption, sir—” he says, dividing an apologetic smile between the two of us. “But Chef sent me to relay his disappointment that you and your…friendwon’t be dining at the chef’s table this evening and to extend?—”

When he mentions my father, I feel my face fold into a scowl. “Tell my father?—”

Reaching across the table, Kait finds my hand again and gives it a gentle squeeze. “Please give Mr. Fiorella my apologiesand tell him that the refusal was mine. I’d hoped that his son and I would be dining privately this evening and he was gracious enough to accommodate me.”

“Of course, Madam.” Beaming at her, the waiter inclines his head in deference. “Chef has prepared a special menu for you and Mr. Fiorella this evening. It is his hope that you’ll accept and enjoy his selections.”

Kait gives him another smile while the hand wrapped around mine gives my fingers another squeeze. “That sounds lovely.”

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