Page 30 of Immoral

I cup her chin and force her to look at me. I growl, "Not once have I cheated on you."

Anger flares in her cheeks. "You spent high school letting whoever wanted to do anything with you, do it."

I count to twenty-five, kicking myself again for all the dumbass things I did in my life. I try to rationalize it to Cara, stating, "We were in high school. Not once did we discuss exclusivity. And you know I stopped that shit when I graduated."

She pins her eyebrows together. "Did you?"

I open my mouth to assure her I did, but a server sets down a loaf of bread. He proclaims, "I'm Carl, and I'll be your server this evening. Have you had a chance to look at the wine menu?"

I tear my gaze off Cara. He's got long blond hair pulled into a slick ponytail. His teeth are slightly crooked, whiteheads need popping in several places, and he's pencil skinny. He appears barely sixteen. I address him. "No. Hold on." I glance at the menu in front of me and order, "A bottle of the Giacomo Conterno Monfortino, please."

His eyes light up, which doesn't surprise me. It's a $1200 bottle that will cost even more tonight because of the hefty restaurant markup on it. He beams, "Our finest Barolo."

I resist a snide remark about how he probably doesn't know the first thing about wine. I doubt he's ever even experienced a cheap glass, much less one that bursts into flavors the minute it hits your tongue.

In my family, we drink Barolo every night at dinner. Anytime I dated a woman who didn't appreciate it, I got rid of her fast. I never had that problem with Cara. She's always loved a good bottle as much as I have.

"Are you ready to hear the specials?" Carl asks.

"No. Wine first," I dryly state.

Surprise fills his face. "O-okay. I'll bring it right away." He hurries off.

I pick up a piece of bread. It's fluffy and warm. The scent of herbs flares in my nostrils. I realize I haven't eaten since I found out Uberto kidnapped Cara. I stab my fork in the butter, sniff it, then shake my head. I turn to my tesoro. "I'll be back."

"Where are you going?"

"This has honey in it. I'll be back."

"I can wait."

I peck her on the lips. "No." I grab the pot of butter, rise, and scour the room.

The manager sees me. His eyes widen, and he rushes toward me. "Mr. Marino. Do you need something?"

I hold out the dish. "This has honey in it."

"Yes. People come all over for it. They love it," he states, as if there aren't any issues.

It angers me. I count to five then seethe, "My wife is allergic to honey. If she put that in her mouth, she could die. Don't you ask guests if they have allergies?"

His face turns beet red. "Umm..." He swallows hard. "I'm sorry. Let me get you plain butter."

"Does the bread have honey in it?"

Uncertainty fills his expression.

"Check," I bark.

"Yes, sir."

I count to three. "Thank you." I sit back down and take a sip of my water to cool off.

"You didn't have to bite his head off," Cara declares.

I sniff hard and turn to her. "You could have died."

"They didn't know."

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