Page 25 of His to Hold

“It’ll take more than a single lunch to persuade your men I’m worthy of being your wife.”

Isabella’s tone is flat. She knows she won’t have an easy time of it as she returns to my side. She sucks in a deep breath.

“So how did I do with ordering for you?”

I wonder if her reason for selecting my meal was to show she’s capable of taking care of me. Does she think I need her to prove herself worthy to stand with me?

“Apart from the wine, pretty good.”

“Yes, I knew you wouldn’t approve of that choice.”

“So why pick it?”

“You need to expand your horizons.”

I rub my thumb over my bottom lip as I consider her words. “You think I’m lacking in imagination?”

Because if that’s what she thinks, I’ve got a million ways to prove her wrong.

“Only when it comes to food. You don’t stray far from our heritage with culinary options.”

“True, but what beats a good plate of pasta?”

Isabella looks at me as if I’m incorrigible. I guess I am. I like nothing more than the flavors of my grandfather’s homeland.

A smile spreads across my wife’s face and for a moment I get a warm feeling inside, thinking that it’s for me, but her attention is on the server, returning with our appetizers. With her hands full, the girl has our already uncorked bottle of wine tucked under her arm. I must look as if I’m about to erupt, because Isabella reaches beneath the table to stroke my leg soothingly.

“Would you like me to pour the wine?” the server asks as she lays everything down on the table.

What I’d like is for her to take the bottle of wine back to wherever she got it and bring me one that hasn’t been opened yet. There’s no way of knowing how long it’s been open or if someone slipped something into it. I want to grab the server and point that out to her, but Isabella sends me a silent plea with those big green eyes of hers and I tamp down the urge.

“We’ll manage,” I say tightly. The young woman gets the message to make herself scarce and scurries off to tend to her other tables.

I lift the bottle of wine to my nose and sniff. There’s a fruity smell but nothing suspicious, not that I’d be able to detect poison, anyway. Something like arsenic might be obvious but there are odorless chemicals out there that can kill a man.

“I doubt anyone here is trying to assassinate you,” Isabella says.

She’s probably right. I pour a glass of wine for her and then one for myself. Tentatively taking a sip, I’m surprised by the pleasant taste of the rich red wine. I have to admit to preferring Tuscan wines but this Argentinian Malbec is passable.

“Well?” Isabella arches an eyebrow.

“It’s not bad,” I concede.

“You’re such a snob with wine, food, clothes,” she chides. “It’s exhausting trying to live up to your standards.”

There’s a genuine weariness in her tone. I wonder how big of an issue it was for her to keep up appearances. Did she think I expected her to dress formally all the time? Now that I think about it, her wardrobe did change after we got married. I assumed it was because she suddenly had access to a bigger bank account. Perhaps that wasn’t the reason she bought so many new clothes at all.

“I never expected you to dress to please me, Bella. You can wear whatever you like.”

“Really? So I can swap this…” She plucks at the thin strap of the chic beige dress she’s wearing. “For ripped jeans, a band t-shirt, and biker boots?”

She’s clearly trying to get a reaction out of me because that’s not the sort of outfit she would ever wear. Even before she was mine, she favored pretty dresses or slim-fitting pants with flimsy little blouses.

“I don’t mind what you wear.”

Isabella shoots me a skeptical look but doesn’t probe any farther. She picks up one of the chicken wings and takes a bite out of it. She gets sauce all over her mouth. A second after tasting it, her eyes widen and she blows out quick breaths.

“Spicy?” I can’t help grinning as she flaps her hand in front of her mouth.

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