Page 49 of Wicked Sinner
We eat in silence for a few moments—honestly, I’m so focused on my food that I don’t think I could answer anything if I wanted to. Finally, Caesar looks over at me, reaching for his glass of wine.
“How long have you worked at the garage?”
I almost drop my spoon. The question is startling. I hadn’t expected him to ask something so personal, and I take my time swallowing before I set my spoon down and look at him.
“Maybe that’s none of your business.”
Caesar’s nostrils flare as he draws in a slow breath, and I can tell that I’m testing his patience.Good. Maybe he’ll start to find me so irritating that he’ll question why he wanted me in the first place. Maybe he’ll give me and the baby up because he just simply can’t handle having me around any longer.
“I’m trying to get to know you better, Bridget.”
“The time for that has passed, I think.” I take another bite of my soup, but some of the pleasure in it has faded, which makes me resent Caesar a little more. “The time for that was before you kidnapped me. Actually, it was before you insulted me by suggesting that I should agree to being your mistress while you married someone else.”
“But you don’t want to marry me.”
“That’s because of thekidnapping.”
We stare at each other over the place settings, Caesar’s pulse visible in the hollow of his throat, and my hand curls in my lap to resist the urge to reach out and touch it. I’m still drawn to him, despite myself, and I can feel myself fighting the sparks between us that haven’t ceased, regardless of how I now feel about him.
Our food comes, and Caesar is quiet again as he begins to eat. The salmon is incredible, soft and flaky with a lemony cream sauce, and I’m fine with eating in silence until he speaks again.
“You still didn’t answer me.”
I huff out a breath and look up at him. The expression on his face tells me that he’s not going to let this go. “Technically, I guess I’ve worked there since I was old enough for my father to teach me the difference between wrenches and get me to hand him tools.” My eyes burn suddenly, and I drop my gaze to myplate, swallowing hard. “I don’t want to talk about this right now.”
I expect Caesar to push, to demand more. But to my surprise, he just nods. “Alright.”
We continue to eat in silence until I can’t take it any longer. I swallow a bite of my salmon, drop my napkin on the table, and stand up. “Excuse me.” I try to sound as calm as I can. “I’m going to go find the ladies’ room.”
I’d half expected him to suggest that he show me the way, or follow me there, but Caesar just nods. My stomach flips—he can’t possiblynotexpect that I’ll try to escape while I’m not under his watchful eye, can he?
Maybe he really is just that arrogant. Maybe he’s that sure that no one in this city will help him. But he was gone for a long time. Can everyone who might help really be in his pocket?
I force myself to walk at a normal pace—just another diner heading to the ladies’ room. I don’t know if Caesar is watching me, but I don’t want to give him any reason to suspect, any reason to think that I’m doing anything I shouldn’t.
Heading down the hallway, I slip into the nearly-empty ladies’ room. I go into one of the stalls long enough to calm my breathing down, but I can’t stay in here for long. Every second that ticks by is one less before Caesar starts to wonder.
I step out after a moment, glancing at my reflection in the mirror, grateful that I’m wearing flats instead of heels. I’ll be able to move faster.I’ll try going to a hospital,I tell myself, slipping out of the bathroom and turning down the hall toward a side exit. Surely they can’t be in Caesar’s pocket, even if the police are?—
I'm almost to the end of the hallway when a hand closes around my arm.
"Going somewhere, Miss Lewis?"
I recognize Marco’s voice before I turn around and see him. He’s just behind me, his hand firm on my arm—hard enough to keep me in place, but not enough to hurt. His expression is impassive.
“I—” I swallow hard. “I got lost. I was looking for the ladies' room."
“Of course you were.” He doesn’t so much as blink. "Let's get you back to your table."
His hand doesn’t tighten—he’s careful with me—but it’s clear that just like that, my options for running tonight have ended. Marco walks with me back to the table, measured and casual, his hand on my arm in a way that wouldn’t alert anyone else that anything is wrong. When we reach the dining room, I see Caesar watching us with an expression that's hard to read.
"Everything all right?" he asks as I sit back down. Marco walks away without a word, and I know that even if I were to try to go to the ladies’ room again, he’s probably watching it.
"Fine," I say tightly. "Just got turned around."
“The layout of this place can be confusing,” Caesar says it as smoothly as if he’s agreeing with me, but there's something in his eyes that tells me he knows exactly what I was trying to do.
The rest of the dinner passes in silence. Caesar tries to start up small talk a few times, but I’m in no mood. I order another spritz, desperately wishing I could have something with alcohol in it, and pick at the dessert that he orders to finish off the meal. All I can think about is how thoroughly trapped I am—how even in a restaurant full of people, I'm still completely under his control.
