Undersold(17)

I blushed and hit his shoulder. It felt like a piece of stone. He laughed at me, and the drive flew by as we moved our way through Philly traffic.

At the restaurant, he was quiet. It was upscale Italian, but intimate and the room was mostly empty. It was only a Tuesday night, and it was after the usual dinner rush, so we had the place more or less to ourselves. There were a few other scattered groups, but nobody I recognized. He ordered a bottle of wine I had never heard of and that wasn’t on the menu.

“How’d you know to get that?” I asked.

“Remember, I own this place.”

I laughed. “Seriously? I thought you were kidding.”

“Yes, seriously. I think the only person who recognized me is the manager though, and he knows better than to run around telling everyone. Discreet people keep jobs in my employ.”

I smiled and shook my head with disbelief. I didn’t know he owned any restaurants, but it made sense. He certainly had enough money. He could own half the city for all I knew, and he probably did.

When the wine came, he held his glass up, and looked me in the eyes.

“To you and I. And to all the dirty texts you sent me.”

I laughed. “You mean, to all the dirtier texts you sent me.”

We clinked glasses, and drank. We chatted idly about our lives, but he looked distracted, and kept glancing toward the door. I told him about my brothers, but didn’t mention Derek’s drug problems, or any details about my mother’s death. I stuck mostly to my dad, his cancer, and my brother John’s successes. Shane didn’t say much about his own family, and spent most of the conversation nodding and asking questions about my story. He was evasive whenever I asked him anything directly, and he steered the conversation toward me whenever possible. When our food arrived, I realized I had spent most of the night talking about myself.

“This must be really boring,” I said. I took a bite of my fish and it was delicious.

“This isn’t boring at all,” he said. He ate a bite of his pasta and sipped his wine. He kept looking toward the door.

“I’d love to hear about your family,” I said.

“There’s not much to hear.”

“Come on, what was your dad like?”

He gave me a serious look. It surprised me, the sudden intensity. “Like I said, there’s not much to say.”

We started eating in silence. He picked at his food, and drank another glass of wine. There was a tension sitting over the table that I didn’t understand, and I was struggling. Did I offend him by asking a question about his family? I knew he needed privacy, and he had mentioned something about rules. Had I just broken one?

“Is something wrong?” I asked, finally breaking the tension. “You’ve been distracted all night.”

He let out a deep sigh. “You’re right. I apologize.”

“What’s going on?”

He paused. “I like being near you, I hope you understand that.”

I felt my stomach do flips.

“I like it, too.”

“It’s just that, I don’t think I can do this.” His face was serious but pleading, and his flint colored eyes looked sad in a way I couldn’t understand.

I felt my face drop. Was he breaking up with me? I didn’t even realize we were officially together. The knot of self-doubt twisted itself in my chest and I realized he was sick of me already. Too average, not sexy, not fun. He got his taste and didn’t like it enough to stick around.

“Okay, I get it,” I said quietly, staring down at my food.

“Wait, you misunderstand.”

I looked up, surprised. “What do you mean? You’re done with me. I get it.”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I’m being unclear. What I mean is, I can’t do this.” He gestured to the restaurant.

“You mean, Italian food?” I didn’t know what he meant, and tried a lame joke instead.

He laughed a little. “No, I mean, being out in public. I know this is going to sound horrible, but I can’t do a public romance. I’m sitting here imagining paparazzi getting a picture of the two of us, and what that might do to your life. I can’t get that image out of my head. You, hounded by cameras, the strain it would put on your life.”

I could feel the hope coming back inside of me. That made sense, given everything. But more than that, he was talking about us as if we were an item, as if we were together.

He kept talking. “I have rules which keep me out of the spotlight. This is the life that I chose, for a lot of reasons. But the public life isn’t one you chose, and I won’t ask you to do that.”