Page 50 of Red Velvet

I give her a light frown. "Do you not trust me? What do you think I'm hiding from you?"

"Nothing," she replies, a little too fast for my taste. But whatever is going through her head, she's not willing to share it with me.

I don't like that, but I also don't feel like probing for something I may not want to hear the answer to. It doesn't concern me, nor should it.

"The bruschetta was great, by the way," she says, still chewing on the last piece as she points to the empty plate. "I could eat that forever. There's nothing I love more than good bread-based dishes."

"Do you want more?" I ask, already about to call the waiter.

She looks at me as if I'd just made the most outrageous suggestion. "Um, no, it's fine."

"We can order as much as you like."

"But then I'll get too full for dinner."

"So? There's no law against eating mountains of bruschetta for dinner, if that's what you feel like."

Her eyes are still wide, looking like she doesn't quite understand what I'm trying to tell her. "But… wouldn't that be a waste?"

I can't help but chuckle at her confusion, shaking my head as I call the waiter over to our table. I order another serving of bruschetta and some olives, as well as a cured meats selection.

"We'll just have an antipasti dinner," I tell her after the waiter takes our order and scurries away.

She's still looking at me with that puzzled expression. "Do you always eat like that?"

"Whatever I feel like? Yes, of course. Why wouldn't I?"

She moves her lips as if tasting the idea, chewing on it until it reveals its true flavor so she knows what to think of it.

"Are you about to call me a rebel again?" I tease her.

Her lips curve into a smile while she shakes her head. "I wouldn't dare. I know you don't like that."

"I didn't say that. I'm just not sure if the title fits."

"Well, do you always do whatever you feel like? No matter if it's right or wrong? No matter what people think of it?"

"Is eating a selection of antipasti wrong to you, little girl?"

This time she laughs out loud, holding her little belly while I revel in the sight of her. Watching her break, causing cries and tears of pain to adorn her presence, is a beautiful thing to witness. But I underestimated how mesmerizing, how charming her cute laughter could be.

"It's definitely out of the ordinary," she assesses eventually. "I thought we’d established that that's halfway rebellious. But that's not what I meant, really. I was just thinking in general."

"Have I ever done anything that didn't sit well with other people?" I summarize.

She nods. "Yes, let's put it that way."

"All the time. Most of my life, actually," I answer in full honesty.

"Like what?"

"Like using my generous trust fund to travel through Europe after I graduated high school, partying and gambling, instead of using the money for anything sensible, like school. And then, to make it even worse, coming back to the States with my bank account filled to the brim, because I'm not the idiot my father thought me to be."

"Where did the money come from? Gambling?"

"No!" I reply, offended by the assumption. "I'm sorry if that doesn't match your expectations of me, Lila, but while I may have been an unruly son, I'm not the kind of bad boy you want to see in me. I have ideas that no one else has, ideas that improve the way companies can operate their online marketing, and I have a good business sense. I know how to turn those ideas into profit, even without my family's connections or their help."

Fuck, did I really just say that? Good business sense? It's a good thing my brother can't hear me right now. I’d hate to admit how right he was about me.

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