Chapter 1
MEGAN
I fidget, wrapping my fingers around the stem of the wineglass, trying to will myself not to give away too much of the nerves rushing through my system right now. I glance at the man on the other side of the table; I don’t know if I’m going to be able to contain it much longer.
“You want another drink?” Marco asks, waving down the waiter—I hardly have a chance to open my mouth before he’s ordered for me, taking the matter into his own hands before I can so much as get the words out.
I bite down hard on my lip, the waiter catching my eye for a moment as though expecting me to dissuade him, but I can’t find it in me to get a word out before he takes off toward the kitchen and leaves me with Marco once more.
As his gray eyes lock on mine once again, I feel myself withering.
I reach for my phone in my bag before I can stop myself, closing my fingers around it and reminding myself that I have a way out of here if I need it.
“You thinking of calling a cab already?” Marco demands, his gaze shooting over to where my hand has vanished.
I shake my head, drawing it back again, feeling stupid for so much as thinking I could get away with this when he’s right in front of me. “No—no, I mean, I just wanted to check the time,” I blurt out, forcing a smile onto my face and staring into the wine once more.
I’ve barely had a few sips, but honestly, I should think about putting away a bit more. It might help loosen me up, allow me to let go of the nerves that feel like they’re going to get the better of me at any moment.
“Why?” he asks, leaning forward, his eyes narrowing even as he keeps the grin on his face.
Something about it sends a shiver down my spine, the hair on the back of my neck standing up as I try to contain myself. I can’t tell if it’s just the memories from my last relationship rising up inside of me, or if there is really, truly something about this man that I should be wary of.
Given how badly my instincts have let me down before, it’s not as though I’m any good at telling the difference.
God, I can still remember how it felt when I first got together with James, how convinced I was that I’d managed to find someone who could give me everything I needed.
I really believed that I had managed to wander my way into some ridiculous fairy-tale fantasy, falling in love with the first man I met when I moved to the city alone, and believing that he could really be the one.
And looking back now, of course, I can see how stupid I was to believe it, even for a moment. How I should have seen through it, how it was all too good to true.
Sometimes, I wish I could go back in time to that nineteen-year-old version of me and shake her and tell her not to be so damn stupid—or at least to listen to Carlotta when she told me the guy was no good for me.
Well, you live and learn, I guess. Which is exactly what I’m trying to do here tonight with Marco—my first date since it all went to crap with James.
Carlotta knew of Marco through a friend of a friend, and she convinced me he would make for a good place to start my dating adventures again.
She doesn’t know much about him, but she told me he was cute enough and that she had heard good things about him from her friend, which should have been enough to convince me.
And it was. I mean, it has been.
Enough that I’m on this date with him, at least.
Dinner at this Italian place—it’s nice enough, the food expensive, the drinks even more so, which is why I’ve been nursing this single glass of wine for so long.
I don’t want him to feel like he has to put all this money on the table just to spend the night with me.
And at the back of my mind, I’m distinctly aware that he might think he’s owed something if he drops a large amount of money on me, and that’s something I know I don’t want to give to him.
Carlotta has promised me an out, of course.
She told me that she’s going to keep her phone on her all night, and if I need a way to break free, I can just shoot her a text and she’ll come up with some entirely reasonable excuse that will allow me to get out of here without causing too much of a scene.
It’s the only way she actually convinced me to do this in the first place.
She’s been trying to convince me since the day James and I split up that I need to find someone new. Only way to get over someone is to get under someone else, that’s what she told me.
But the thought of putting myself out there again after I made such a mess of it the first time around is not exactly enticing, so she could only tempt me to it with the promise of an escape hatch if I need it.
“You know, you look so beautiful,” Marco murmurs to me, as he reaches under the table, resting his hand a little higher up on my thigh than he needs to.
I freeze—I want to pull away, but I don’t know how to do it without causing a scene. My heart leaps into my chest, a cold sweat appearing at the nape of my neck. I can feel my breath coming a little quicker, and I pray he doesn’t mistake it for arousal.
“Uh, you know, I think I should—”
The waiter returns with our drinks before I can get another word out, planting them down before me. I grab the cocktail and throw it back almost in a single gulp, though I’m sure I should be a little more careful with how much I’m drinking.
Marco grins. “See, you just need to relax a little, baby,” he tells me softly. “We can get out of here soon, okay? Just let me get the bill…”
I spring to my feet, shoving his hand off my knee in the process. “I need to go to the bathroom,” I blurt out, and I rush toward the back of the restaurant, hooking my bag over my shoulder as I move in between the white-clothed tables as best I can.
Tinny music chimes through the speakers, the scent of red wine is in the air, but all I can think about is getting the hell out of here. It’s my fault that I agreed to go on a date so soon after the end of a relationship; I should have known I wouldn’t be able to pull myself together so quickly.
I need to…I don’t know what I need to do. I feel like my head is going to burst, and that’s not exactly conducive to making my excuses and getting out of here in one piece.
I splash some water on my face and stare at myself in the mirror, wondering if I’m overreacting. But I can still feel the heat of his hand resting against my leg, practically searing its way through my skin.
This guy…I get the feeling that he’s not going to take no for an answer.
I don’t know if that’s a fair conclusion, but it’s not one I’m willing to test. He ordered me more drinks to try and get me to loosen up, and now he’s talking about getting us out of here.
I don’t even know if I have the words to tell him that I don’t want to go home with him, not without making a fool of myself or leaving the door wide open.
If there was ever a time to tap in a friend for an SOS call, it’s now.
I pull out my phone, hands still shaking, and swipe through my contacts until I see the name Siffredi.
Carlotta. I tap on it and type out a message with shaky hands.
Hey. I need to get out of here. Can you come down and meet me?
I’m at Natali’s. I don’t think he’s going to let me walk out of here without a fight…
I shoot off the text, wash my hands, and make my way back to the table on shaky legs, trying my best to keep my feet from trembling too much in my kitten heels. Marco’s eyes trace me all the way from the bathroom to the table once more, drinking me in like a shark tracking down its prey.
“You must have known what you were doing when you put on that dress tonight,” he remarks, leaning in a little closer.
There’s something almost accusatory in his tone, like he’s holding it against me.
The hairs at the back of my neck stand up and I wish I could check my phone to see if Carlotta has gotten back to me, but I know that would likely only give him reason to press for an explanation.
“Well, uh, it’s just the only clean one I had in my closet,” I reply awkwardly.
Not true, of course. I selected a dress that I felt confident in, a short black number that showed off my legs. But now, I feel like I’ve put myself on display, like a piece of meat at a market ready to be plucked off the shelf by whoever wants me.
Marco chuckles. “I don’t believe that for a second.” His hand slides to my leg under the table again, and I tense up.
How can he not tell how uncomfortable I am? Does he just not give a damn? I don’t know what to do, what to say right now—I could spring to my feet and scream at him to get his damn hands off of me, but the attention that would draw to me is the last thing I need right now.
If I just sit tight, Carlotta will be here soon enough, and I can get out of here and be done with this.
Hell, in an hour or two, we’ll be sitting in her living room, laughing about this awful date and what an asshole he was, sipping on a glass of wine each and bemoaning how hard it is to find a good guy.
“I’ve paid the bill,” Marco tells me, as he rises to his feet. “And the car is on the way. Come on—let’s go.”
He doesn’t give me a chance to respond, grasping my arm and pulling me to my feet—almost rough, but just enough that it could pass for firmness to anyone watching. The words of protest are still stuck in my throat, even as I will myself to get them out. Why can’t I say anything? Why can’t I…?
Suddenly, the cold air announces that I’m outside, and I blink, trying to bring myself back down to earth.
The grip of Marco’s hand on my arm throws me back to all the times James manhandled me, dragging me from one place to another when he felt like I’d embarrassed him beyond all repair.
Even the thought of it is enough to bring me back there, the memories flooding my body.