Page 35 of Vicious Redemption

“Signor Moretti. Signora, welcome to the Sky Lounge. Your table is ready for you if you’ll follow me.” He gestures in the direction we’re heading, his demeanor as slick and put-together as his glossy black hair.

I would expect nothing less from the finest dining establishment in Piovosa.

The host pulls out a chair for Tia, and we settle in at the table that sits next to the window.

“What’s good here?” Tia asks, lifting the heavy menu with its classy leatherbound leaf.

“Everything,” I admit. “But if you like lamb, their medallions are the best.”

“I’m tempted to try it… since my morning sickness seems to be clearing up.”

I give her a cheeky smile and nod toward the high ponytail she’s pulled her hair into for tonight. “And if you do get sick, you won’t even need me to hold your hair back this time,” I tease.

Tia’s light laughter warms my chest. “Well, I suppose that means I have to get the lamb,” she jokes right back.

“Good. Are you ready, then?”

“I suppose I am.”

She sets down her menu as I signal the server nearest us.

“We’re ready to order,” I state as soon as the server arrives.

“Of course, Signor Moretti. What can I get you this evening? We’ll start with an appetizer of olive tapenade and the salmon croquettes. Then my wife would like the lamb medallions. I’ll take the Maine lobster along with sides of the grilled vegetables, potatoes au gratin, and beetroot salad. A glass of your sauvignon blanc for me as well. Anything to drink, Tia?”

“Water’s fine,” she says, and though I can’t see it with the table standing between us, I know she shifts her hand to cover her belly.

It’s an affectionate gesture, one I don’t think she even notices she’s doing half the time, and it makes me smile. When she first refused a drink I offered her, at the time, I’d thought she was doing it to be dramatic—to call attention to the condition she’s in. And maybe, at the time, that was her point. But now, when our eyes meet, her smile is warm, almost shy even, like our child is a secret we share together.

“Anything else for you?” the server asks.

“That’ll be all,” I say and barely notice as she takes her leave. Then I extend my hand across the table, offering it palm up.

Tia takes it, resting her palm in mine and brushing her fingers across my wrist.

“You know, you can drink something besides water—tea, juice; I’m sure they could whip up some kind of fruity virgin cocktail,” I point out.

“But I’m not a virgin anymore,” she stage-whispers with mock incredulity.

And though the joke is terrible, I can’t help but laugh.

“So, how was your visit with your sister yesterday?” I ask.

Tia’s shoulders tense visibly, her hand twitching subtly against my palm. She’s uncomfortable with the topic I picked—either because she thinks it’s a touchy subject or they spoke about something she thinks I won’t want her to have discussed. Fighting my suspicion, I keep my face passive. Because I want to get past the tension between us, not relive it.

“Honestly, not what I expected at all,” she admits, her teeth worrying her lower lip.

“How so?” Curiosity piqued, I try to keep a tight rein on the questions that burn inside me. This dinner isn’t meant to be an interrogation.

Tia shrugs. “Well, everyone was on guard. The gates were closed, the men armed. I don’t know. It was just… tense and different. But Maria and my sisters seem good.” She smiles, her eyes shifting down to our hands as her nails lightly graze my wrist. “I feel lucky that my little sister is also my best friend. She was ready to blow off her studies for the afternoon to hang out.”

“What did you two do?”

“Just talked.” Tia rushes through her next words as if to explain herself. “You know, just about sister stuff and how weird things were around the house after the ball. My parents hadn’t told her anything, so she was just as baffled by it all as I was.”

I study the blush that colors her cheeks, and rather than press her for details, I lift her fingers and brush their tips with my lips. “You know, I still haven’t heard you play,” I state, my eyes shifting to the baby grand piano in the corner.

“And you’re not about to,” she assures me, blushing even further.

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