Chapter 67
Liam
“So Elisabetta, tell me what you like to do for fun.” She blinks at me as we walk down the street. “Did you not hear me?” I ask her, looking over at her slowly.
“I heard you, but this isn’t a date,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Why should I tell you what I like to do for fun?”
“Maybe because I'm trying to get to know you better as someone who’s your boss.”
“Um, I may not have worked before, but I don't think bosses generally care what their employees do, but who knows? Maybe I just don’t understand the working world like you do.” She pauses. “Tell me, Liam.”
“Yes?” I say, thinking she’s going to ask me what I like to do for fun.
“What do your other employees like to do for fun?” she says, and I start laughing because she’s right.
“I never inquired about any of my other employees’ extracurricular activities because, frankly, I don't really care.
“You're not going to make this easy on me, are you?”
“Make what easy on you?” She shakes her head. “I don’t even know where we’re going.”
“We’re going to go to a place I call The Watermelon Hole.”
“The Watermelon Hole?” She looks confused. “Why have I never heard of it before?”
“Maybe because you don’t like watermelon?”
“I love watermelon. What is that, like a watermelon bar?”
“No.” I shake my head. “Have you ever heard of a watermelon bar before?”
“No, I haven’t, but I've never heard of this place. Why would it be called The Watermelon Hole if it doesn’t have something to do with watermelons?”
“Well, wouldn’t you just like to know?”
She rolls her eyes.
“So, Liam.”
“Yes?”
“What do you like to do for fun?”
I cackle then. "I like to make love and—”
“Oh, my gosh. Can we have one conversation that isn’t dominated by sexual talk?”
“I didn’t know you wanted to have a conversation with me that wasn’t dominated by sexual talk,” I say.
“Well, I do. I mean, yeah, you think you’re cute, and yeah, I know I’m cute, but if this”—she waves her hands back and forth—“working relationship is to work at all, then we need to have some common ground, and that common ground is not going to be how many words per minute I write, and it's not going to be when or if we actually do the dirty.”
“Well, okay, then. I like to read,” I say, surprising myself because I don't normally tell people that.
“You do?” She looks surprised.
“I do.”
“What do you like to read? Oh, wait, don’t tell me… steamy romance?” I stare at her for a couple of seconds, and she bursts out laughing. “Okay, I'm joking. I don't actually think you read steamy romance, but I have heard that it helps guys like you.”
“Guys like me?”
“You know what I mean.” She winks.
“So, what do you like to read? What's your favorite book?”
“Believe it or not, my favorite book is a series.”
“Oh, let me see if I can guess.”
“Okay.”
“Is it the Harry Potter series?”
“No, but I will admit that I did enjoy the books.”
“Me, too,” she says, nodding. “I actually want to go with Skye to Universal Studios so that we can go on the Harry Potter train.”
“Oh, yeah, I was just talking to my sister and niece about that,” I say looking at her. “I might try and fly them over and take them.”
“Oh, that sounds nice.” She looks taken aback.
“You have a niece?”
“I do.” I smile. “She’s amazing. She's funny, clever, naughty… She’s living the childhood I hope my children will live one day.”
“You want to have children?” She looks at me, shocked. I burst out laughing then.
“Don’t worry, Elisabetta. I’m not asking you to bear my children.”
“Trust me, that’s not a conversation we would ever be having,” she says, shuddering. “I would never want to be the mother of your kids. I would never want to be your wife.”
“Who knew you were so old-fashioned?” I say.
“Who says you have to be married to have kids? I mean, I think it’s preferable for the kids, don’t you?” she says. “I mean, I get why sometimes it doesn’t work out that way, but ideally, I think it’s better for kids to have a mother and a father.”
I nod slowly. "It’s true. It doesn’t always work out that way.”
“I know. I mean, I was raised by my dad, so I get it.”
“Oh, you were?” I look over at her. “So, your dad was a single dad?”
“Yep, my mom died when I was young, and he raised me.” She makes a face.
“Well, technically, that’s not completely true.”
“Oh, what do you mean? What part of that is not true? Your mom didn’t die young?”
“No, of course, my mom died. I mean, my father got remarried, and I had a stepmom, but she wasn’t like a mom to me. She did have a boy, though, so he was a stepbrother to me. Well, really, a real brother. His name’s Romeo. He's cool.”
“You have a brother named Romeo, and you didn’t think to call yourself Juliet?”
“I was already born, so no. I'm Elisabetta.”
“True, so, what’s your stepmom like?”
“Typical evil stepmother, was only in it for the money.” She shrugs. “I barely see her. To be honest, my three aunts raised me.”
“Your three aunts?” I frown. “I thought you said your dad raised you?”
“My dad’s a businessman and—”
“When you’re a successful businessman, you kind of just work a lot. So, your dad’s very successful, huh?” I stare at her for a couple of moments, wondering how much she knows about her father’s business.
“Yeah, I mean, he paid my way through my school, he paid for my apartment, and he pays for me to live now. He also pays for Romeo and my aunts. He does really well. He's very rich.” She glares at me. “Far richer than you, I'm sure.”
“I am sure,” I say, nodding solemnly. “And what is it that he does for a living?” She stares at me for a couple of moments, and a puzzled expression crosses her face, an expression that I can't quite understand or read.
“It doesn't matter,” she says. “Did I tell you that I like painting?”
She’s trying to change the subject, I think to myself, and I wonder why.
She’s volunteered a piece of information that I don't think she would volunteer unless she was feeling uncomfortable.
She feels uncomfortable talking about her dad with me.
I grow cold for a second. I wonder what she knows.
I wonder if she knows anything or has any inkling, but there's no way that she can. There’s absolutely no way.
“What kind of art?” I ask her. I pull out my phone and look at the GPS. “By the way, just in case your feet are feeling tired, we’re about six blocks away.”
“I’m fine,” she says. “I walk in heels all the time, and I go to the gym a lot, so this is not hurting me whatsoever.”
“Well, I'm glad to hear that you’re in such good shape.” I wink at her. Mmeans you can last all night long.”
“Liam, I already told you we’re not.”
“Sorry.” I hold up my hands. “Just kind of hard being with someone like you and not making suggestive comments.”
“So, what? You can’t help yourself from making suggestive comments with every attractive woman you’re with?
“Um, that’s not true. Maybe there’s just something in the connection that we have that makes me enjoy teasing you.”
“Yeah right,” she says. “Anyway, I like to do watercolor, but I'd like to get into oil painting. I don't know why I haven't. I think I was waiting to go to Italy and train with some masters, and when the opportunity arose, I didn’t want to take it because I didn’t want to leave Skye, and I knew she couldn't afford to go and spend so much time in Italy. Now, I guess, maybe this summer, that opportunity will be there and—” She pauses. “I’ll have a summer of leisure, painting, dancing, and whatever.”
“That sounds fun. Is that something your dad is doing for you?”
“Yeah, my uncle has a place in Florence, and as you may know, it’s the heart of art in Europe.”
“I think Parisians would argue with you about that.”
She shrugs. “It’s one of the hearts of art in Europe,” she says. “Anyway, it’s complicated.”
“What’s complicated?”
She stares at me for a couple of seconds and shakes her head. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“What wouldn’t I understand?”
“Oh my gosh, get the hint, Liam. I don't want to talk about it with you.”
“Oh, that’s all you had to say. So, you still haven’t told me your favorite book,” she says. “All we know is it’s not Harry Potter.”
“You were close. It's the Lord of the Rings Trilogy.”
“Oh, how did I not guess another man loved JRR Tolkien.”
“Well, he is one of the greatest writers to ever live.”
“I suppose,” she says. “I mean, if I'm honest, I couldn't get into his books.”
“So, what’s your favorite book?”
“My favorite book...” She stares at me. “Maybe Cinderella. It’s this cool little story about this orphaned little girl whose father marries an evil woman, and she has evil stepsisters, and she wants to go to the ball to meet Prince Charming.”
“Oh, and are you Cinderella in this story?” I ask her as we make a left.
“No, I’m not. I’m—”
“Hey, watch out.” I grab her by the wrist and pull her towards me before a short little boy knocks into her. He stops and looks up at us, a huge gap in his front teeth.
“Sorry, I was just racing my best friend,” he says, giggling as he continues on his way. About five seconds later, a small, chubby boy comes running down the road behind them.
“Wait up, Evan! You’re cheating!” He stops for a few seconds, breaths deeply and shouts, “You’re cheating!
” I look at Elisabetta, who looks at me and gives me a wry smile as he runs off again.
I wonder where their parents are, but five seconds later, I notice a man with a dazed expression on his face hurrying past us with two Spiderman backpacks and a basketball in his hand.
“Welcome to New York, where the Olympics are held on the streets every single day. You’re okay, right?” I ask her.
“Yeah. Thank you for helping me avoid getting hit.” Her eyes twinkle as she looks me in the eye. “I appreciate it because I totally didn’t see that little boy coming, and he totally would have hit me, and I would have been on the street.”
“I wouldn’t have let you fall,” I say, my fingers now holding hers. She blushes slightly and looks down. The moment feels heavy, and I don't know why. I let go of her hands and take a step back. “We’re only about two blocks away now.”