Page 26 of Speechless

“Okay, dude, this is getting kind of creepy.” She turns to me and says, “What’s wrong with him?”

I have always been a well-mannered, even-tempered, good little girl. I don’t pick fights and rarely involve myself in even minor confrontations, but the rage building inside me at the moment is palpable.

How fucking dare she.

“Actually, we just overheard that table complaining about how disgusting their food is. He was trying to find a polite way to tell you we’re leaving. I don’t really care about being polite since you’re a huge bitch.” I raise my voice a bit at the end, not caring at all if I’m overheard. “Come on Henry, let’s go. Just like you said, the wine list here is absolute rubbish.”

Shit.

Henry follows me outside the restaurant in utter silence as I debate what to do. He’s gone completely mute, eyes wide, mouth shut like a bear trap. Should we go back to the house? I hate to admit defeat, and he seemed so excited about going out. In the car he said it’s been over ayearsince he had sushi—the horror!

Plus, he spends so much time alone in that studio, he deserves this.

Okay Luce, you’re having a panic attack, your nice dinner just got ruined, what would you want to do? Think . . . think . . . think! Comfort food, definitely.

“Henry, what do you think about Italian?” He gives me a weak nod followed by a thumbs-up. I’ll take that as a win. “Good. I never wanted sushi anyway.”

We get to the car and I pull out my phone to type Fritto Misto into Google Maps. It’s thirty minutes away but it’s the only place in LA that I can vouch for. I remember Sarah took me there on my last visit and they had the most amazing homemade pasta. When I offer to drive, Henry just brushes me off and opens the passenger door for me. I assume if he feels comfortable driving I shouldn’t be too worried, right?

During the ride to Santa Monica, Henry is so focused on the road, he never once turns his head toward me. I can see his anxiety like a physical, tangible thing, the muscle in his jaw popping, the quick blinks of his eyes, the tension throughout his entire body, every muscle taut and rigid. I wish I knew what was going on in his head. My instinct is always to fill the silence, but I’m not sure what the right words are. He seemed okay when I suggested a different restaurant, so I’m hoping we can just start over once we get there.

I know that miracles do exist when we get to Fritto Misto and there’s a parking spot right outside. This is a sign; I made the right call not taking him straight home. I tell him how excited I am for some delicious pasta and he smiles. I’ve always said I could have a sparkling conversation with a brick wall.

Here’s your time to shine, Luce!

This restaurant is much lessgrandthan Nobu. The space is small with minimal artwork. There’s no view but the aroma coming from the kitchen is heavenly. Once we’re seated and perusing the menu, I see his face tighten up again.

“I’m starving, and would love to try a bunch of things,” I say, realizing I need to take charge of ordering. “Would you mind sharing with me? I promise to pick the perfect assortment.”

I see him exhale and the look he gives me makes me want to hug him ferociously. I want him to know this is fine, there’s nothing to be ashamed of, but I can tell it’s not that simple for him. Our waitress comes over and looks directly at Henry. Of course, he’s gorgeous, she probably thinks he’s some big movie star she can’t place.

“Hi!” I force her to acknowledge me. “We’re just going to share a bunch of stuff, so I’ll order.” I realize I have no idea what Henry likes, so I get a little of everything. And by a little, I mean I order more than half the menu. “Oh and wine. How about a bottle of pinot and also one of chardonnay.”

The waitress gives me a puzzled look but writes everything down and walks away.

“Did any of that sound good to you?”

He smiles and gives me a nod. I watch him take a big gulp of water before staring back at me in a way I can only describe as lovingly.

“Thank you. You’re . . . thank you.”

* * *

“Oh my God,I’ve never been so stuffed in my life. Why did you let me order all that food?” I’ve barely made it inside the house before collapsing onto the couch.

“Let you? I definitely remember saying we donotneed dessert, but you insisted that it’s not a real Italian dinner if you don’t end it with Tiramisu.”

“I stand by that.”

I really do. Dinner without dessert is like saying goodnight without a kiss.

It’s after eleven and there’s no sign of HAAAM hanging around so I ask Henry if he needs to go do some work or if he has time to watch a movie. Once the food came, he was back to his confident self, and we had so much fun together. I don’t want this night to end.

“Work can wait.” Henry grabs a piece of paper from the kitchen island. “Oh, Graham left a note here for you. It says, ‘Took out Rowan since Mum forgot about him, sleeping in bed with me tonight, need a good cuddle,’ Interesting. Well, I guess you’re dog-free tonight. How does it feel?”

Honestly, not great. What if I need a cuddle? I know I’ll be safe without him considering there’s five other people in this house, but I hate sleeping alone. The only thing that made Jack’s disappearance bearable at first was having Rowan in bed every night. Not cool, Graham.

“You look upset. Want me to go and wrangle the dog thief?”

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