Page 18 of Her Defiant Heart (Damaged Hearts 1)

It’s the answer my old self wants

. It’s the answer Jennifer is immensely pleased with—and yes, I just referred to myself in the third person. I set out to trap him and it happened quicker than I imagined. Here he is, interested in me, taking me out to an expensive dinner and most likely secretly hoping he’ll be peeling my panties off my body with his teeth by the end of the night. Normally I’d give my body to him without question. That was always the plan.

Instead, my insecurities come flying out, making me say stupid stuff, just like I feared. Again, I’m about to blow it and that’s the last thing I need.

Stay. Focused.

“Yes.” I breathe a sigh and nod once, to reaffirm my answer. “That’s a good enough reason.”

“Great. Now that we’ve got that settled…” he says just before he kisses me again, a quick one that takes me by surprise. “Let’s go eat,” he murmurs, and all I can do is blink up at him, trying to bring his handsome face back into focus. By the time I recover, he’s holding my hand again, leading me toward the restaurant entrance, and I follow along blindly, nearly tripping over the sidewalk.

As we enter the building, I’m immediately dazzled by the stark white interior and the open ceiling with its crisscrossing rough-hewn beams. There are colorful flower arrangements everywhere, their lush, fresh scent lingering in the lobby, and I take a deep breath, savoring the smell. This place reeks of money. It’s expensive, classy, like nowhere I’ve ever been before.

Two men clad in sharp black suits stand behind a high counter, and as we approach them I can see they’re scanning an extensive list with fierce concentration. One of them glances up when Rhett says he has a reservation and offers his name. The one man stands a little straighter, calling Rhett Mr. Montgomery with a touch of awe and respect. He nods at his coworker before leading us deep into the restaurant, until we’re at a table by an expansive window that overlooks the river that runs through town. Candlelight flickers in the pale gold votive resting in the center of the table, casting its glow upon the single white rose sitting in a crystal vase by the window.

My palms are sweating as the host holds the chair out for me, and I practically fall into it, shocked when he gently pushes my chair closer to the table. He takes the napkin from the plate and shakes it out before draping it across my lap, and I can only sit there, unsure of what to say or what to do next. I mutter a thank-you when he finishes, and my gaze cuts to Rhett, who’s watching me with amusement, his mouth curled into a lopsided smile.

I both want to smack and kiss that smile off his face.

“You’ve never been to a place like this before.”

My cheeks heat with embarrassment and I’m thankful for the dim lighting so he can’t see me. “Guess I’m not used to strange men doing things for me,” I admit. That’s better than confessing I don’t know how to function in fancy restaurants. I need him to believe I can be a part of his world, that I would fit in seamlessly, no matter what the situation is.

“The food here is fantastic.” His change of subject tells me he must sense my nervousness, and he tears his gaze away from mine, cracking open the menu. “I’m starving.”

“Me too.” Not really. I’m too nervous to eat, too freaked out I’ll screw something up and prove to Rhett I don’t belong here. I don’t belong with him.

“Do you have a preference for anything?” He skims the menu, his lips slightly pursed, a lock of thick hair falling over his forehead. I watch him instead of checking my meal options, captivated by his dark good looks, the way he sinks his teeth into his lower lip, as if he’s concentrating really hard. This is all supposed to be pretend, but why does tonight feel so real? I’m barely in and I’m already taking it way too seriously. He’s just so good-looking and charming and oh my God, what am I even doing?

Suddenly Rhett glances up, his gaze meeting mine, and his knowing smile tells me I’ve been caught staring.

My heart thumping out of control, I jerk my gaze back to the menu, squinting as I try to make out the minimal descriptions, trying my best to ignore the outrageous prices. Everywhere he takes me, I can’t afford. I can’t even understand what’s on this stupid menu since it’s written mostly in Italian.

Situations like this remind me that I’m completely out of my element, though I knew this from the very start. I somehow forgot, though, that the Montgomery family moves in a different stratosphere than mine.

I remember he asked me if I had any preferences and I finally answer him.

“Um, what do you recommend?” I can’t say spaghetti, because that is my favorite Italian dish, but it’s also the most common Italian dish there is. What in the world is antipasto? Some sort of appetizer? I can figure out insalata, and even minestra, salad and soup. Oh, I recognize fettucine alfredo, since I had that once at the Olive Garden. Dad took me there for my twelfth birthday, when things were better, and he was better too. When we had a little more money and we could splurge on special occasions, but that was it.

“Any of the risottos are good,” Rhett says, and I nod. Okay, I can do that. I’ve watched Hell’s Kitchen before—I actually know what risotto is, since Gordon Ramsey makes it all the time. My gaze jumps to the risotto section, and my eyes go wide when I see the prices. I can’t believe rice costs that freaking much. “Plus, all of their pasta is homemade, and it’s amazing,” he continues.

“Nice.” I nod, anxiety rising within me, making it even harder to focus. I don’t know what to get, and I’m afraid I’ll say it wrong when I’m asked what I want. I’m not in the mood to make a fool of myself tonight either.

One tiny mistake could ruin everything.

Snapping the menu shut, I smile at Rhett when his gaze meets mine once more. “Will you order for me?”

He appears surprised by my request, but he rolls with it. He’s so easygoing, it’s downright unreal. “Sure, if you’re okay with that. Are you interested in a particular dish?”

“I’m interested in whatever you think is good.” I sit up straighter and stretch my lips into a closed-mouth smile, trying to look like an agreeable date so hopefully he’ll want to see me again. God, it’s so difficult, striving for perfect all the time. “Surprise me.”

“Really?” He sounds excited and he raises his eyebrows. “You trust me enough to order for you?”

I don’t trust you for shit, I want to tell him, but I don’t. I can only imagine the hurt that would cross his face at my words. I get the feeling he’s not used to insults. He grew up having an idyllic, carefree life with my bitch of a mother showering all of her affection on him while I didn’t even get a scrap.

“I’m sure whatever you choose, I’ll love,” I say carefully, immediately wishing I could snatch back my use of the word love.

I don’t throw that word around lightly. Love isn’t a good or easy emotion. It’s painful and hard and only ends up hurting you.

---