“What rest of it?”
He changed subjects. “We should talk about last night.”
I felt my body begin to stiffen but I fought it and stayed relaxed.
“If you like.”
His mouth grew tight as his gaze grew sharp.
“Not. Fucking. You,” he declared, now angry and I held my breath for what was next.
I couldn’t fight with him. The new, improved Leah wouldn’t do that, certainly not on a boutique street.
No. Not ever. I could never fight with him.
I was channeling Perfect Cousin Myrna when he let me go but grabbed my hand, snatched up the bags, switched our direction and headed back to the valet parking.
We walked in silence.
I decided to test his mood. “Do you mind if we get a latte for the road?”
He stopped and looked at me. “What would you say if I did mind?”
Old Leah would tell him it would only take ten flipping minutes or at least she’d glare at him and pout all the way home.
New Leah didn’t know what to say.
As I struggled to come up with a reply, he closed his eyes as if patience eluded him. Then he gave up, walked us into the nearest coffee house (there were a billion), got me a latte, him a double espresso with enough sugar to down an elephant and we were away home.
My third mistake wasn’t a mistake, as such. It was just being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
I was in the dressing room putting my fantastic new shoes on the tilted shelves that showed shoes to their strategic best when Lucien walked in and went directly to my purse that was sitting on the dressing table. I turned and saw him drop my cell phone and wallet in the purse, my passport beside it.
Throughout the ride home he seemed tense. He didn’t anymore and I was unsure of his mood and further unsure what to do.
Was this another test?
The phone in the house was one thing but he’d put the keys to the Cayenne on the key holder by the backdoor. Now he was giving me back my freedom, in total.
Obviously, I couldn’t run immediately from the house, he’d catch me. I also couldn’t run at all because, again, he’d catch me.
Still.
He turned to leave, caught me staring at him and stopped.
“Italy,” he said.
I blinked. “What?”
“Italy. That would be your preferred on the run from a vamp destination.”
I felt my lips part and my eyes grow wide.
For some reason, my expression made his guarded face gentle and he walked into my space.
I tilted my head to look back at him and whispered, “How did you know?”
“Fiona,” he answered without hesitation.