Page 6 of Dark Promise

“Perfect?” she repeats, her tone laced with skepticism.

The bristle returns, but I force myself to stay composed. “He’s handsome, tall. He has a good job.”

“Handsome and tall. Both good, no question about it. What does he do again?”

“He’s in banking,” I remind her. But she already knows this. She’d asked him what he did when they’d first met. His reply had been short, even curt.

Banking. I’m in banking.

A short answer to a short question. And the conversation had moved on from there.

Banking might not be exciting, but that’s what I like about it.

Banking is stable. Banking is safe. Banking doesn’t get you double-tapped, shot in the head and the heart while having dinner with your family. It doesn’t get a gun held to your head on the deck of your yacht while your family watches, horrified. It doesn’t put you on life support after you take a bullet to save the man you love.

My eyes start to burn at the thought of what my family has endured over the last year, and I swallow down a large mouthful of wine before a tear has a chance to escape.

“You don’t like him, do you?” I ask, and it comes out a bit more sharply than I intend.

“We’ve hung out like…six times in three years. I barely know him,” Nadia replies with a shrug. Then she straightens her shoulders and looks me right in the eyes. “And neither do you, Sabina.”

For fuck’s sake. Here we go.

“I know him very well,” I tell her, my voice tight. “I’ve known him for three years.”

She nods. “On-again, off-again for three years. And in those three years, you’ve met his parents once…at your engagement party. In three years, you’ve never been to his childhood home. In three years, you’ve mentioned hanging out with his friends exactly twice, and they were more work colleagues than friends.”

I can’t argue with her. She’s not wrong. Roberto says he prefers it when it’s just the two of us.

“For three years he’s spoken over you. Dismissed your opinions,” Nadia continues. “And on five of the six occasions we’ve gone out together, he’s behaved like an ass. He was rude to the barista that time we went for coffee and he refused to tip the waiter because of some imagined slight when we went out for dinner at that Japanese place. He changes the subject if he isn’t the center of the conversation, and…”

“And?”

“And you never talk about how he is in bed.”

I open my mouth. Close it. Finally, I say, “Things like that are private.”

“Are they? How come they weren’t private when you lost your virginity to that guy in Daytona? Or private when you shared pretty much everything, in glow-in-the-dark detail, about Dick-for-brains?”

That was the nickname Nadia had given my high-school boyfriend after we’d broken up in senior year. Fucker hadn’t even taken me to prom.

I sigh. She’s not wrong. I’ve never been shy about sharing details with Nadia. And she’s never been shy about sharing them with me. Oh, notprivateprivate details. But a little squee of joy with a few juicy nuggets has never been off the table.

But there’s one detail I’ve never shared with her, one detail I’ve only ever shared with my therapist. Sometimes, my fantasies take…a dark turn.

Like,dark.

That’s something I’d never share with Roberto either. It’s one more way that he’ssafe.

“Wait.” Nadia stares at me, then her eyes widen before they narrow. She leans closer. “You’re not sleeping with him, are you? Oh my god. Don’t tell me you’re a born-again virgin.”

“Shh,” I hiss, then look up as the waiter arrives. “Oh, good, our dessert is here. Forget the calories and enjoy every bit of this, Nads.”

I take a forkful of the tiramisu and put it in my mouth. It sits heavily on my tongue, like a tasteless piece of lead. I know it’s delicious. I sense it’s delicious. But now I’m too damn distracted by this conversation to enjoy it.

Damn it.

I don’t know why talking about Roberto is getting to me. I feel like I’m being grilled, and I can see the skepticism in her eyes.

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