JENNIE
After I change into a dress and the pumps I threw at him, Taehyung takes me to dinner.
It's a charming Italian place, designed like an old Tuscan villa, with two floors surrounding a central courtyard. The structure is made of terracotta bricks draped with hanging ivy. A thousand white lights twinkle in the olive trees on the patios and courtyard and around the edge of the roof.
It's magical, romantic, and completely unexpected.
It's also empty. Aside from the waiter who seated us, there isn't another soul in sight.
Taehyung sees me glancing around in confusion. "I own it." He flicks open a white linen napkin and drapes it across his lap.
"Oh. It's not open to the public?"
A hint of a smile crosses his face. "Not tonight, it isn't."
I take it that means he closed the place down so we could dine in private. I can't decide if that's romantic or controlling. Then I recall all the glass containers of food in his refrigerator and another thought crosses my mind: maybe he did it for safety.
Maybe the mafia pope can't eat in public because it's too dangerous for him.
Or for me.
Or he thinks I'd scream for help in a crowd.
I'm busy mulling it over, toying with a gleaming salad spoon, when Taehyung says, "Considering you're so shy and awkward around strangers, I thought you'd feel more comfortable if we were alone."
My fingers fall still. I glance up at him. He's trying to suppress a smile.
"So you remember that conversation."
"I remember everything."
I really hate it that he can be so considerate and gentlemanly one moment, but then, when it suits him, he can turn around and throw all his manners out the door.
The waiter arrives at our tableside. "Buonasera signore." He bows to Taehyung. To me, he sends a respectful nod of his head. "Signorina."
"Buonasera," replies Taehyung. "La lista dei vini, per favore."
When I laugh in disbelief, the waiter sends me a quizzical look.
"Sorry. Ignore me, I've got low blood sugar. Haven't eaten anything since lunch."
Taehyung says something else in Italian to the waiter, who smiles. He retreats, whistling, and disappears around a corner.
He passes me the bread basket from the middle of the table. It's covered in a white linen cloth. I pull the cloth back to reveal a beautiful selection of fresh ciabatta rolls baked with olive oil, salt, and rosemary. They smell like heaven.
I take one, put it on my bread plate, hand the basket back to Taehyung, then slather the roll with butter from a small round butter dish near my water glass. Then I tear off a hunk and pop it into my mouth, moaning when the taste explodes on my tongue.
"I'm glad to see you're not on the low carb bandwagon."
"If carbs are good enough for Sophia Loren, they're good enough for me."
That earns me a laugh. "She's a little before your time, isn't she?"
"I saw a picture of her in a bikini once along with a quote about how she owed her figure to spaghetti. I thought it was cute. I feel sorry for women who don't love food. It's almost better than sex."
Taehyung's eyes go hot, and his voice turns husky. "It's not even a close second."
"You haven't tried the bread yet."
He chuckles, shaking his head.
The waiter returns with a wine list as thick as my arm. Taehyung scans through it, flipping pages, then says something in Italian. The waiter bows again, then retreats.
We're quiet for a moment, then Taehyung says suddenly, "If you could go anywhere in the world, where would it be?"
It's a strange turn in the conversation, but I consider it. I tear off more of the ciabatta roll and chew on it while I think. "Probably Argentina."
"Interesting choice. Have you been?"
"I've never been anywhere. But there was this woman named Valentina who lived in the town I grew up in who was from Buenos Aires. She had to be at least seventy years old, but she was beautiful in that way certain older women are. Sexy, too. She had lovers half her age. My mother thought she was crazy, but I thought she was so glamorous. You could tell just by looking at her that she'd led an interesting life. A big life. That's what I wanted, too."
He studies me with such intensity I start to feel self-conscious.
"Is that why you moved to Boston? To live a big life?"
My laugh is small and dry. "I moved here because my boyfriend at the time was starting medical school at BUSM."
Taehyung's scrutiny grows sharper. I can tell he wants to ask more, but doesn't.
Drumming his fingers on the tabletop, he watches me closely for a moment, his head tilted to one side. Then he switches the subject. "Why a criminal defense attorney?"
My heart skips a beat.
This isn't a topic I want to discuss. There are too many emotional minefields. I drop my gaze to the bread basket and carefully set down my glass of wine. "It's a long story."
"I'd like to hear it."
When I don't say anything, he prompts, "Are you planning on representing celebrities?"
"I don't care about the money."
"Then you're one of the few people who don't."
"You just said yourself that money is a burden."
"Don't avoid the question."
Aggravated now, I look away and huff out a breath. "Fine. I chose criminal defense because I know firsthand how shitty the justice system is for people who can't afford a good lawyer. If you're poor and you've been accused of a crime, you're fucked, regardless of your guilt or innocence. There are no country club prisons for poor folks, only politicians, hedge fund managers, and millionaires."
There's a pause, then Taehyung murmurs, "Freedom for the wolves has often meant death to the sheep."
When I look at him askance, he says, "It's a quote from Isaiah Berlin."
"It's morbid."
"It's the truth. There are only two kinds of people in the world: predator or prey. The poor are always prey. Poverty is helplessness. Which apparently you know."
We stare at each other, unblinking.
The waiter comes back, bearing more plates. Taehyung shoots him a threatening look, and he turns around and goes back from where he came.
When he's gone, Taehyung says, "I meant what I said. I won't pressure you to sleep with me."
Even though I'm glad he changed the topic my cheeks flame hot.
"But you will be sleeping with me. In my bed. Understood?"
I exhale a shaky breath. "Why?"
"Because I need you," comes the hard response. "And if I can't have you one way, I'm damn sure going to have you the other."
"What about what I need?"
"What is it you think you need?"
"My freedom of choice, for one thing."
He looks at me for a beat, then releases my wrist. He relaxes back into his chair and folds his hands in his lap. "Why don't you go to the ladies' room. It's right around that corner."
"I don't need to use the restroom."
"Don't you?"
What. The. Hell. "No, Taehyung, I don't."
"I think you do."
His eyes glitter. There's something behind them I don't understand, but I do know that he's got a reason for wanting me to go to the restroom.
I debate with myself for a moment, then push back my chair.
I cross the courtyard and turn in the direction he pointed. As soon as I'm out of his sight, I pause for a moment, resting my hand on the rough brick wall to give my heart a chance to recover. When it slows to a more normal beat, I continue down the walkway, passing the men's room. There's an arrow on the wall indicating the women's toilet is around another corner to the right.
I turn the corner and stop dead, staring.
The ladies' room door is there, as the sign said it would be. But ten feet beyond it is a break in the building where there's no wall or doorway, just an open arch leading to the street outside.
My heart starts to pound.
I could walk right out that arch and be gone. Which, obviously, he knows.
He's giving me a choice.
I stand there thinking for what seems like a long time but might only be seconds.
Then I exhale the pent-up breath I've been holding, push open the ladies' room door, and go inside.
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