Page 192 of The Black Trilogy

“It’s his day off. Where do you want to eat?”

“How should I know? Do I look like the type of girl who dines in fancy restaurants? For me, eating out is a choice between McDonald’s or Burger King, and you don’t come across as a person who frequents either of those.”

“I’m not, but if you want to go there….”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake. If you insist we have to go out for dinner, just pick somewhere, will you?”

Black started the engine and put the car in gear then peeled out of the parking lot. He wasn’t hanging around, and with a bit of speeding and some dubious calls at traffic lights, we soon pulled up outside a small Italian restaurant.

Once he’d abandoned the car at the kerb, he turned and raised one of his dark eyebrows again. “I’m surprised. Most women would have told me to slow down at least half a dozen times during that trip.”

“If you want to lose your licence, it’s up to you. But it’s nice that you’re aware you drive like an idiot.”

“I don’t, normally. I was just trying to get a reaction out of you.”

“Well, you’ll be trying for a long time. I’ve been in cars with people who drive far worse than that.”

“I’m not sure I want to know.”

“Well, that suits me because I have no intention of telling you.”

Some people who nicked cars drove them like idiots, not caring if they wrecked someone else’s pride and joy. I hated being a passenger on those trips. When I stole a vehicle, it was either for the technical challenge or simply because I needed to get from A to B, and I drove mighty carefully. I didn’t fancy explaining to the police why I was driving a borrowed car with no licence and no insurance, and I always left the car neatly parked once I’d finished with it.

Ever the considerate one, that was me.

Black walked around the car and swung my door wide open. I ignored his outstretched hand and levered myself out of the seat. He shrugged, a tiny movement, then guided me into the restaurant with a hand on the small of my back.

“I’m not going to get lost, you know. We’re only twenty yards from the door.”

He smiled faintly. “Politeness is wasted on you.”

Well, I didn’t want to be here, did I?

Inside, a tiny Italian man who introduced himself as Giovanni greeted Black warmly and showed us to what he professed to be the best table in the house, hidden in a quiet corner and softly lit by candles.

“You’ve got the wrong idea about this,” I told the guy.

He ignored me and pulled a chair out.

“Sit,” Black said.

“I’m not a freaking dog.”

He sighed. “Sit, please.”

I huffed and gave in. The sooner I sat, the sooner I could eat. And the sooner I ate, the sooner I could go home.

Black took over and ordered for both of us, asking for water and a decent bottle of wine, plus a plate of antipasti to start and a variety of pizza and pasta dishes to follow.

“I thought I’d order what I know is good, seeing as you apparently don’t have a clue about restaurants, and the menu’s in Italian,” he said.

“Yeah, thanks. I’m sure someone as loaded as you seem to be wouldn’t come somewhere the food’s rubbish, though, so I don’t suppose it would have mattered what I’d asked for.”

“Are you going to be deliberately antagonistic all evening?”

“Probably. It’s not like I asked to come, is it?”

Black inhaled deeply, the sign of someone hanging onto control by his fingertips. “I’m not accustomed to going out to dinner with a female who’s so clearly unwilling to be here, so do you think you could try to be a tiny bit accommodating? To make the evening more pleasant for both of us?”

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