Page 49 of The Bitter Rival

“Your steak, sir,” the blonde states as she slides my meal in front of me. She places Nick’s steak at his place and grimaces as he returns to the table with Katarina in tow. “Your meals should be out shortly, ladies.” She turns and heads away.

Katarina pulls a shaved carrot slice from Nick’s salad and begins to chew before picking up her water. She’s watching Isabella with a questioning look. No woman as feisty and independent as Isabella is going to put up with Kat’s shenanigans.

The waitress returns a few moments later with the girls’ entrees, and we eat, making polite superficial banter throughout the rest of the meal. It’s starting to feel forced and uncomfortable. It’s an odd dichotomy, wanting to be near her but not knowing what to say to break the tension. We clearly communicate better with our clothes off.

After a quick trip to the restroom, I decide to finish off my drink and head home for the night, letting Isabella off easily when I suddenly feel her soft hand rest atop mine beneath the table. My eyes flick to her instantly.Real smooth, Bas. Did you forget the matchmaker across the table is probably watching your every move?

“I wouldn’t mind that dance now. If you’re still offering,” Isabella says, her dimples now coming back out to play.

“Sure.” I stand, surprised, placing my hand at her lower back as we walk toward the dance floor. I make a concentrated effort not to look at the love birds across the table and focus instead on my good fortune.

A few other couples are swaying to an Ed Sheeran tune once we arrive. I can’t tell you the name of the song, but I’m grateful all the same that I’m able to end this awkward night holding her close for a few moments. Wrapping my arms around her petite frame, I pull her into me and drop my chin to her temple.

“Thank you,” I whisper. Inhaling her sweet scent, I close my eyes and enjoy her warmth. I sense my heart rate has picked up a little with her near.What the hell is this woman doing to me?

“A little birdie told me it’s your birthday.” I hear beneath me.Ah, it’s a pity dance.

“A little Kat, you mean.”

“Well…”

I let my hands drift lower, resting on the small of her back as she sways softly with me in time to the music.

“Why don’t you like to make a big deal about your birthday?”

“Besides the fact, I’m a grown man, and we don’t tend to wear tiaras and declare a whole week is needed to celebrate surviving another year?” I chuckle.

“Yeah, besides that.” She giggles.

“I don’t know. When I grew up, I was jealous of my classmates. Their mothers would bake cakes or cupcakes and deliver them to the school to help them celebrate their big day,” I say, shaking my head at the memory.

Before I can continue, Isabella interrupts. “What, your mom didn’t get you a cake for your birthday?”

“No, I got a cake. It was usually a multi-tiered cake, like something you’d see on a baking contest. At a catered party with a bunch of people I didn’t know. Whatever would impress the Joneses.” It was never about me. I knew that even from a young age. “Those other mothers went out of their way to make their kids feel special. My mother phoned it in,” I continue.Why am I telling her this?“I know, poor little rich kid. It’s stupid.”

“No, it’s not stupid. What kid wouldn’t want to feel special on his birthday?” She answers with more passion than I was expecting, given our earlier flat conversation.

I feel her rest her cheek against my chest, and a familiar warmth spreads through me. “Thank you. I can tell you’re a really good mother to Austin.”

“Thanks. He’s my everything.”

I hold her a little tighter as the song nears the end, much sooner than I’d like. As the music changes to something more upbeat, I woefully pull away as we head back to a vacated table. We both stand transfixed momentarily, trying to make sense of the situation.

“Do you think they went to the restroom?” Isabella asks.

“Knowing those two, they probably went for a quickie.”

“Hi, your friends said to tell you they had to run,” the waitress advises.

“Oh, gosh. I hope little Grace is okay,” Isabella says nervously.

“Um, it’s probably not my place. But they were laughing, so I think there was another reason they left,” the blonde continues, her eyes darting back and forth between us in a silent attempt to share her opinion on the situation.

“Did you and Kat drive separately?” I ask her.

“No.” She laughs, seeming shocked.

“Let me drive you home. Charlie’s around the corner.” Katarina’s meddling knows no bounds. I usher Isabella out, again unable to prevent placing my hand at the small of her back, desperately wanting to keep touching her. We approach the curb, and she gives me a questioning look.”

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