donate the money to charity.”
She took a shaky breath and rested her hands on his chest. “I love it. I do. I just feel bad that you spent so much on a lie. It’s not right.”
He tipped his chin up with his finger. “I spent that much on you because I wanted to.”
“O-oh.” Articulate. Smooth. That was her. “Um.” Another winner.
His fingertip slowly traced along the line of her jaw. “Just say you’ll wear it.”
She closed her eyes. Why did he have to make this feel real? What was he playing at? She made herself look at him. Made herself say “Yes,” even if her voice shook. But she could barely stop herself from rising up on her toes and kissing him softly, a mere brushing of lips. “Thank you. I love it.”
“You’re welcome,” he murmured huskily. For a moment his hands gripped her hips, his grasp almost…possessive, before it fell away. “Are you ready to go?”
“Sure.”
He opened the door for her. “Where to?”
She snagged her purse from the table and made herself remember how to walk. She felt disproportionately weighted, dragged to the left, her hand heavy. “We’re going—”
She hooked her toe on the leg of the coffee table and tripped. Derek caught her, his reflexes quick. One more time and this would be a pattern. He lifted her upright. They stared at each other for a moment, Stephanie’s heart a crazed bird struggling to break free from the cage of her ribs, before they both broke away.
“Um.” She tucked her hair behind her ear. “As I was saying…we’re going to a nice little Mexican place called Talavera. Do you like Mexican?”
His grip tightened on the doorknob. “Sure,” he said tonelessly. “Sounds fine.”
She cocked her head. “Would you rather go somewhere else?”
“No.” He rubbed a hand over his jaw. “I just…haven’t really indulged much in Latin food since my mother died. My father was serious about culturally whitewashing me. Anything even remotely Hispanic…Mexican, Puerto Rican, Cuban, even Brazilian…he didn’t want any part of it.”
Somehow she wasn’t surprised. She tried a smile. “Maybe it’s about time…? I tried to find a Puerto Rican restaurant, but the Internet wasn’t much help on that front.”
His brows knit, creasing a line over the bridge of his nose, before his face smoothed into careful neutrality. “It’s fine,” he said.
She was fairly sure it wasn’t. She’d been an idiot for assuming. Thinking a half-Puerto Rican would automatically like Mexican food was like assuming all Sicilians liked Italian ravioli, when she’d rather swallow a cannoli whole than eat one bite of those vile bloated pasta squares—even if she was an oddity in her boisterous Sicilian family. She’d still made a stupid, culturally insensitive mistake, and he probably hated her now.
Once again, she’d managed to trip over her feet—and this time lodged one firmly in her mouth.
As they stepped out onto the sidewalk, he offered her his arm. He remained grave and unsmiling, but at least looked a little less tense. That counted for something, right? She curled her hand into his elbow.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “That was dumb of me. I was trying to…I don’t know. Do something to thank you for how much you’ve helped me. We can go somewhere else. Seriously. I don’t want to upset you.”
“I know what you were trying to do,” he said softly. “And I do appreciate it. Let’s just go. Enjoy dinner for what it is. No baggage. No…what did you call it? ‘Daddy issues.’”
“That sounds fair.” She leaned into him. Her ring dug into his side, and he winced.
“Maybe I should have chosen the round cut, instead of princess.”
She laughed. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine,” he said, and this time she thought he might mean it. He glanced down at her hand. “It looks better on you than I expected. You should keep it.”
She swallowed. The thing had to be worth hundreds of thousands of dollars. “Not
She took a shaky breath and rested her hands on his chest. “I love it. I do. I just feel bad that you spent so much on a lie. It’s not right.”
He tipped his chin up with his finger. “I spent that much on you because I wanted to.”
“O-oh.” Articulate. Smooth. That was her. “Um.” Another winner.
His fingertip slowly traced along the line of her jaw. “Just say you’ll wear it.”
She closed her eyes. Why did he have to make this feel real? What was he playing at? She made herself look at him. Made herself say “Yes,” even if her voice shook. But she could barely stop herself from rising up on her toes and kissing him softly, a mere brushing of lips. “Thank you. I love it.”
“You’re welcome,” he murmured huskily. For a moment his hands gripped her hips, his grasp almost…possessive, before it fell away. “Are you ready to go?”
“Sure.”
He opened the door for her. “Where to?”
She snagged her purse from the table and made herself remember how to walk. She felt disproportionately weighted, dragged to the left, her hand heavy. “We’re going—”
She hooked her toe on the leg of the coffee table and tripped. Derek caught her, his reflexes quick. One more time and this would be a pattern. He lifted her upright. They stared at each other for a moment, Stephanie’s heart a crazed bird struggling to break free from the cage of her ribs, before they both broke away.
“Um.” She tucked her hair behind her ear. “As I was saying…we’re going to a nice little Mexican place called Talavera. Do you like Mexican?”
His grip tightened on the doorknob. “Sure,” he said tonelessly. “Sounds fine.”
She cocked her head. “Would you rather go somewhere else?”
“No.” He rubbed a hand over his jaw. “I just…haven’t really indulged much in Latin food since my mother died. My father was serious about culturally whitewashing me. Anything even remotely Hispanic…Mexican, Puerto Rican, Cuban, even Brazilian…he didn’t want any part of it.”
Somehow she wasn’t surprised. She tried a smile. “Maybe it’s about time…? I tried to find a Puerto Rican restaurant, but the Internet wasn’t much help on that front.”
His brows knit, creasing a line over the bridge of his nose, before his face smoothed into careful neutrality. “It’s fine,” he said.
She was fairly sure it wasn’t. She’d been an idiot for assuming. Thinking a half-Puerto Rican would automatically like Mexican food was like assuming all Sicilians liked Italian ravioli, when she’d rather swallow a cannoli whole than eat one bite of those vile bloated pasta squares—even if she was an oddity in her boisterous Sicilian family. She’d still made a stupid, culturally insensitive mistake, and he probably hated her now.
Once again, she’d managed to trip over her feet—and this time lodged one firmly in her mouth.
As they stepped out onto the sidewalk, he offered her his arm. He remained grave and unsmiling, but at least looked a little less tense. That counted for something, right? She curled her hand into his elbow.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “That was dumb of me. I was trying to…I don’t know. Do something to thank you for how much you’ve helped me. We can go somewhere else. Seriously. I don’t want to upset you.”
“I know what you were trying to do,” he said softly. “And I do appreciate it. Let’s just go. Enjoy dinner for what it is. No baggage. No…what did you call it? ‘Daddy issues.’”
“That sounds fair.” She leaned into him. Her ring dug into his side, and he winced.
“Maybe I should have chosen the round cut, instead of princess.”
She laughed. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine,” he said, and this time she thought he might mean it. He glanced down at her hand. “It looks better on you than I expected. You should keep it.”
She swallowed. The thing had to be worth hundreds of thousands of dollars. “Not
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