Page 69 of Arianna

“Why am I here?” I share exactly what is on my mind because I am not one to beat around the bush.

“Because I want you to.” He takes a sip of his glass and pushes a pizza box my way. “Eat.” That’s it. He doesn’t care to give an explanation. It just is.

A million things run through my mind, but I am smart enough to know this is not the hill I want to die on, and I also know to choose my battles wisely.

I overthink everything because I don’t trust this man. Kindness and all. He is a stranger. A generous stranger, but a stranger to me, nonetheless.

The carton box he pushed towards me has chocolate dunkers on it, and right next to it, there’s an order of breadsticks.

My mouth waters just at the sight.

I ignore the offending salad and dive straight into the junk food.

I am a foodie.

I love food.

For so long, I was denied the kinds of foods most people take for granted or spend their entire lives avoiding. Now, I stuff my face whenever I have the chance, not denying myself one of the greatest pleasures in life.

Eating shit that’s not good for you yet tastes delicious.

Then, I look at Sebastian’s plate and try with all my might not to gag.

The offending slice of pizza on his plate has fruit in it.

Pineapples.

Big, disgusting chunks of pineapples.

And here I was, so sure this man had taste in all aspects of his life.

Apparently not, if that is the topping he prefers.

There’s a tingle at the center of my spine, and I twist in my seat to find Sebastian glaring at the untouched slice of three-meat pizza sitting in front of me. “Is something wrong?

“Yes.” I take a bite of my pizza and chew before speaking. “That is gross.” I point at his plate.

“Forty-five percent of the world’s population who enjoy pizza might disagree.” Forty-five percent of the population. Yeah, right. He pulled that number out of his ass.

“Now you are just making things up.” I chuckle under my breath because of the absurdity of this conversation. Truth is, I am nervous about what this impromptu meeting means, and silence does not help.

I hate the silence.

Nothing good comes of it.

He goes back to pouring himself a glass of wine, and I continue eating my slice in silence until I find myself taking glances at the odd creature next to me from the corner of my eye.

“You are staring,” he taunts with a knowing smile. “May I assume perhaps that what you see pleases you?”

I huff, rolling my eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself.” I stare at him, trying hard to contain the small twitch on the corner of my lips. “You have something on your teeth. That is all.”

I am a liar.

And a horrible one at that, and he knows.

Ugh.

He has nothing on his teeth, but he does have a tiny crumb of pizza stuck to his bottom lip, and it’s driving me nuts.

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