Page 56 of When Sinners Fall
I grind down against his lap just for good measure.
“Wren Bird, stop fucking with me.”
“You said my stuff would be here, but it’s not yet. What do you expect me to do in the meantime?”
“Fine.”
Another half hour sitting there, making up of sorts, or trying to find ourselves again, maybe, and we leave. We call in on the way, and I change into something that doesn’t look like I’m off to work. He says that my things will be moved out, so I grab a bag and take a few essentials with me until they’re in my new place. I close the door feeling a little sad I won’t have my own home, but thereisa romantic side to all of this. It’s just a little tarnished.
The restaurant - Bellini’s – is on the other side of the city, and I can’t help but smile when we walk in. Although, how he would know about this type of place is an unwelcome thought. It’s not somewhere I can picture Dante visiting for a quick bite. It’s pretty exclusive – as exclusive as you get in San Antonio - and somewhere I’ve looked at for wedding venues.
We’re shown to our seats, but I can’t escape the slight glances and restlessness of the maître d’. He’s practically shaking as he pulls my chair out.
“Thank you,” I say as I tuck myself comfortably into the table.
The man’s eyes flick to Dante, but he keeps his head lowered.
I lean in and whisper over the table. “Have you been here before?”
“Yes. I wouldn’t bring you somewhere I didn’t know.”
I sit back and open the menu. As I glance up again, I notice a beautiful woman sitting at a table across the room, staring at us. Or, more accurately, at me. She has long, dark hair and striking features. I can’t see who she’s with, but he’s wearing a suit jacket. The expression on her face isn’t one of annoyance or hate, and I mentally hope it’s not a past girlfriend. Although, with all that Dante’s said, I doubt he’d have taken anyone special out like this. Wasn’t that the whole point of our argument?
Our waiter arrives and pours us water before prattling off the specials, but I tune him out as my attention is still locked on the woman across the room.
“Wren?”
“Sorry?” I snap back to Dante and see him looking unimpressed. “Um, would you mind repeating those?”
The waiter does, telling me of salmon and brisket something or the other, but my attention is pulled again, and this time, Dante turns to look at what’s got me distracted. As soon as he twists, the woman’s face lights up. Her brow arches, and a calculated smile spreads across her face.
“Excuse me.” He stands and throws his napkin to the table.
The waiter freezes, looks at me, then towards Dante’s retreating back. “I’ll come back when you’re both ready.” He scurries off in a hurry.
I sit still, and a knot of nerves winds its way into my gut.
Who is she?
It’s too far to hear, but the woman sits back and looks positively pleased with herself that she’s disturbed our date. That is until Dante turns his attention to hers. He shoves his finger in the guy's face, and he immediately backs up with his hands in the air. It’s at this point that the woman stands, facing off at Dante.
My feet itch to stand and go find out what all the fuss is about, but just as I build up the courage to do just that, I see the woman shake her head and march her way over to me.
I grab a sip of water from the glass on the table and swallow hard as she slips right into Dante’s chair. Her fingers thread together, making a perfect cushion for her chin. Her eyes are kind, sort of, and I wait for her to either introduce herself or explain.
She rolls her gaze over me as if scrutinising what she sees.
“Well?” I prompt, growing increasingly anxious but also annoyed.
“Oh, I’m sorry. It’s just a first. I’ve never seen Dante out with a woman before.”
“And why would that interest you?” I counter.
“Dante, I like her already.” She smiles at me. I look up to seek some kind of explanation from Dante and see he’s standing to the side, a scowl as deep as a trench marring his forehead. “I am Mariana.” She offers one of her delicate and beautifully manicured hands for me to shake.
I glance at Dante for the missing piece of information before reaching out.
“My baby sister,” he grumbles.
