Page 62 of Wicked Dix

We’re about forty-five minutes out of Rome, which I quite like. We’re close enough to do all the touristy things but far enough away that we aren’t swarmed by sightseers.

“Is there anything special you wanted to do for your birthday?” Dixon asks as he pours me a glass of wine.

“No. Being here with you is special enough,” I reply sincerely. He nods, his smile revealing he’s as happy as I feel.

Looking over the menu, I try to decode what it all means. “I’ll have whatever you’re having,” I finally decide as I can’t read a lick of Italian.

Dixon laughs and passes me my wine. The moment I take a sip, my cheeks heat, and the alcohol goes straight to my head. “Wow, that’s strong.”

“It’s locally made. I guess the farmers don’t really worry about the alcohol content,” he teases, reading over the label.

A pretty brunette server saunters over to our table to take our order. The moment her eyes land on Dixon, a surge of jealousy passes over me. She doesn’t bother to conceal her blatant flirting when she bats her eyelashes and smiles. “Buonasera. Sono Julia. Avete bisogno di aiuto con il menu?”

I have no idea what she just said, but I hate her regardless.

“Hello, Julia. I think we’re ready to order,” Dixon replies, thankfully in English.

ButJuliagives him a cutesy, sheepish smile and shakes her head. “Io non parla inglese, signore.”

Dixon looks at me and pulls an apologetic face. “She doesn’t speak English,” he explains. How convenient. But I nod, waving off his apology.

He switches to Italian and orders our meal. I only know this because Julia writes down whatever he’s saying on her notepad. Once she’s done, she reaches for our menus, her eyes never wavering from Dixon. Just when I think we’re Julia-free, she strikes up a conversation with him, speaking a million miles a minute. Dixon laughs at something she says while she uses her hands to explain God knows whatever they’re talking about. I suddenly feel like the third, uneducated wheel.

Reaching for my wine, I take a big sip, needing to do something with my hands and throat before I yell at Julia to stop looking at my boyfriend while strangling her with her long beautiful hair. Dixon picks up on my jealousy and thankfully wraps up the conversation quickly.

Julia gives him a playful wink before heading off to the kitchen. When Dixon smirks smugly at me from across the small table, I ignore him and continue gulping down my wine. I refuse to allow that Italian beauty to spoil our night.

“So what did you order?” I ask, needing to fill the silence.

“I was going to order the chicken, but Julia suggested we try the fish as it’s their specialty.”

“Did she now?” It’s out before I can stop myself, and that smug smirk returns to Dixon’s face.

“It does sound delicious,” he replies, leaning back in his seat, watching me closely.

“I hate fish,” I childishly reply, which is a total lie, and Dixon knows it.

“Since when?”

“SinceJuliasuggested it.” I slap my hand over my mouth, mortified that I said my thoughts out loud.

Dixon rocks back in his chair, his mouth tipped up in a permanent grin. “Are you…jealous?” he asks, pausing for effect.

I scoff, but I can’t deny that I am. I hate that he seems to be the object of every woman’s affection because he’s mine. It seems his hotness knows no international boundaries because, wherever we go, he’s got a line of willing females lagging behind. That thought has me reaching for the bottle and filling up my empty glass.

“How about you wait until you’ve had something to eat?” Dixon suggests, still watching me carefully. I ignore his request and take a big sip. The room is spinning by the time I place the half-empty glass back on the table.

This is not like me. I’ve never ever been jealous over anyone or anything before. But as I see Julia wiggle her butt as she walks past our table, that sheet of jealousy washes over me once again. I don’t know whether it’s the wine or, as the saying goes, “when in Rome,” but words fly out of my mouth before I can stop them. “How many women have you slept with?”

Dixon chokes on his wine in response.

Probably not the best place to ask such a question, but now that I’ve said it, I want to know. I fold my arms across my chest,waiting and watching. Dixon looks at the table to his left, giving them a polite smile as he wipes down his stained shirt.

“You really want to do this here?” he asks, circling his finger around the room.

“Sure, why not? No one will understand, seeing as no one speaks English.” The corner of Dixon’s mouth tugs.

“Why do you want to know?”

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