Page 27 of Wed to the Devil

I pick up my fork and twirl a bit of pasta in the tines. “I'm glad that you approve.”

She swallows and then wipes her mouth. “I've never had anything like this before. Is this a popular Italian dish?”

I nod. “Bolognese is an Italian specialty. It is usually made by little old grandmothers with over twenty four hours to cook down the meat and vegetables into the stock.”

Talia nods and then seems to have a displeasing thought. “I see.”

“You see what?”

She shrugs a shoulder and piles another bite onto her fork. “It just occurred to me that our baby won't have a grandmother. That's kind of sad.”

Her statement knocks the wind out of me. I look up at her from my plate, my brows descending in a worried frown. “No, it will not. It will have a million other advantages though. I think it will be just fine.”

She nods slowly, picking at her food now. “Your mom died when you were little?”

To avoid answering the question, I take a big bite of my pasta. I leave her question hanging in the air, taking time to consider how to answer her question.

I swallow and say, “That's right. She passed away when I was ten.”

Talia stares down at her pasta. “What was your mother's name?”

I repress a sigh. “Caroline.”

“If you don't mind me asking, how did she die?”

“Pancreatic cancer. It was really quick. I think I knew about three months before she died that she even had cancer. And the next thing I knew, my father and Remy were holding my hands at the graveside when they buried her.” I put my fork down, my appetite leaving me. “It was a long time ago though.”

“Where is your mother buried?” Talia asked.

My mouth curves downward. “I think that's enough talk of my mother's death for one day, don't you think?”

Talia glances at me sharply. The look on her face says that she has a dozen more questions. But before she can ask a single one of them, I stand up, my face a carefully blank slate. I throw my napkin on the table and storm out of the room, needing some space.

ChapterNine

TALIA

Nibbling on my lower lip, I peek inside the doorway of Dare’s office. He’s sitting behind his desk, jotting down notes in a legal pad, his crisp white shirt open at the collar. He’s looking particularly appealing to me today, though that might be just my hormones playing tricks on me.

Clearing my throat, I step more fully into the doorway and knock on the open door. He turns his steely blue eyes on me, pinning me in place without even moving.

“What is it, darling girl?” he asks. He uses his pet name for me, which turns my legs to jelly and makes my heart beat in double time.

Swallowing, I lift my chin. “What exactly am I supposed to do all day?”

Dare puts down his pen, pushing the pad of paper a few inches away from him.

“What do you mean?”

“Can I still mind the cash register at Aunt Minnie’s bookstore? And what about my work with Hope House? There are still children going through tough times. I may have access to an unbelievable amount of money now, but Hope House is still one step away from bankruptcy.”

He leans back in his chair, his fingers drumming on the edge of his solid wood desk. “I thought you would relish the idea of taking it easy.”

Walking over to his desk, I cross my arms. I’m gearing up for a battle. But I need to play it cool, not yell or lose my temper.

“I’m a hard worker. Always have been, always will be. It’s dyed in the wool, never coming out. So I can let my job at the restaurant slide. Gladly. But the other two activities, Aunt Minnie’s and Hope House? Those never paid me. They both give me things other than money.”

He blinks. A ripple of doubt runs across his face. “Like what? Money and power are the only currencies that anyone who’s anyone trades in these days.”

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