breadsticks.”
This seemed to amuse Luke. “My kind of girl!”
When the waitress came, they placed their orders and then settled in for a one-on-one intimate discussion.
“Tell me about your life,” Luke said suddenly, leaning in closer to her. “I want to know.”
She smiled wryly, loving this new side of Luke. A cocky hunk who asked questions about women? Was she dreaming this? “Why?”
“Because I want to know.”
“Okay, fine. I’m thirty years old, I have a gorgeous younger sister, my mother is a scatter-brained fashionista, and my parents buy my love with gifts. That sums everything up.”
“But you didn’t say anything about why you hate men so much.”
“Oh, did I forget to mention that? Every guy I’ve been with has walked all over my heart. And I’m sick of it.”
He watched her thoughtfully for a few moments. “That’s not very nice.”
“You’re telling me.”
Stroking his cheek, which Isabella noticed to be unshaven, he said, “I can’t understand why someone would do that to you.”
“Well Luke, I’ve struggled with that problem myself, and I just can’t figure it out. So, you know what? Screw it. Screw all guys.”
“Even me?” He cocked a sweet smile.
She hesitated. “Even you.”
“You didn’t sound so sure.”
He was watching her with such an intense, level gaze it was hard to keep eye contact with him. She didn’t like how his eyes made her insides quiver and skin prickle.
“Tell me about yourself,” she said, switching the subject.
“I work in construction.” He smiled.
His vagueness made her uneasy. There was so much more hidden beneath that smile.
“And?”
“I’m thirty-one years old and I... I live in a shitty apartment.”
“Okay, better. Anything else?”
“When I was younger, I modeled.”
This didn’t surprise her. “Why did you quit?”
“I wanted to go to school and be an engineer.”
She stared at him. “Really?”
He nodded as though he was used to the reaction people had when hearing that. “Can’t imagine me for an intellectual, right? I dropped out of college before I could get my degree.”
She was plagued with curiosity. “Why?”
He hesitated, as though uncomfortable talking about himself and his past. She sensed he didn’t often open up to people, and wondered how many of his friends and coworkers even knew these things about him. “The economic situation at home fell through. There was no way I could pay, so I went into good ol’ manual labor. No harm in earning a hard day’s work, ya know? It’s turned out to be more fulfilling than I thought.”
“Where did you grow up?”
“Here in Florida. I was born in Wisconsin, where my parents lived—but then they got divorced, and I came to live with my mom here. I was a punk when I young, all throughout my modeling career. I finally matured once I started going to college,” he said. “Early for most men.”
She hated to admit it, but the guy was intelligent. He had looks and brains. It was more than she’d bargained for and her mind was absolutely spinning.
“Listen, you told me you were in the mafia earlier, and that’s cool, but I don’t believe you. So what is this international life of mystery that you lead?”
She laughed. “It’s not such a mystery. All throughout my childhood, my parents took us on expensive vacations across the country and the rest of the world. They work an insane amount and travel all the time, to this day. Their lifestyle is quite extravagant. I remember visiting Paris for the first time and begging my mom to take me to the Louvre but we had to catch the pre-party of Fashion Week instead.” Isabella laughed, recalling. “Both are cultural events, I guess.”
“And what about your sister? I can’t imagine what this girl must be like.”
“She better conforms to my mother’s ideal of pretty, skinny, and airy.” She paused. “I think the first time I showed an interest in books and writing, my mother shoved a
This seemed to amuse Luke. “My kind of girl!”
When the waitress came, they placed their orders and then settled in for a one-on-one intimate discussion.
“Tell me about your life,” Luke said suddenly, leaning in closer to her. “I want to know.”
She smiled wryly, loving this new side of Luke. A cocky hunk who asked questions about women? Was she dreaming this? “Why?”
“Because I want to know.”
“Okay, fine. I’m thirty years old, I have a gorgeous younger sister, my mother is a scatter-brained fashionista, and my parents buy my love with gifts. That sums everything up.”
“But you didn’t say anything about why you hate men so much.”
“Oh, did I forget to mention that? Every guy I’ve been with has walked all over my heart. And I’m sick of it.”
He watched her thoughtfully for a few moments. “That’s not very nice.”
“You’re telling me.”
Stroking his cheek, which Isabella noticed to be unshaven, he said, “I can’t understand why someone would do that to you.”
“Well Luke, I’ve struggled with that problem myself, and I just can’t figure it out. So, you know what? Screw it. Screw all guys.”
“Even me?” He cocked a sweet smile.
She hesitated. “Even you.”
“You didn’t sound so sure.”
He was watching her with such an intense, level gaze it was hard to keep eye contact with him. She didn’t like how his eyes made her insides quiver and skin prickle.
“Tell me about yourself,” she said, switching the subject.
“I work in construction.” He smiled.
His vagueness made her uneasy. There was so much more hidden beneath that smile.
“And?”
“I’m thirty-one years old and I... I live in a shitty apartment.”
“Okay, better. Anything else?”
“When I was younger, I modeled.”
This didn’t surprise her. “Why did you quit?”
“I wanted to go to school and be an engineer.”
She stared at him. “Really?”
He nodded as though he was used to the reaction people had when hearing that. “Can’t imagine me for an intellectual, right? I dropped out of college before I could get my degree.”
She was plagued with curiosity. “Why?”
He hesitated, as though uncomfortable talking about himself and his past. She sensed he didn’t often open up to people, and wondered how many of his friends and coworkers even knew these things about him. “The economic situation at home fell through. There was no way I could pay, so I went into good ol’ manual labor. No harm in earning a hard day’s work, ya know? It’s turned out to be more fulfilling than I thought.”
“Where did you grow up?”
“Here in Florida. I was born in Wisconsin, where my parents lived—but then they got divorced, and I came to live with my mom here. I was a punk when I young, all throughout my modeling career. I finally matured once I started going to college,” he said. “Early for most men.”
She hated to admit it, but the guy was intelligent. He had looks and brains. It was more than she’d bargained for and her mind was absolutely spinning.
“Listen, you told me you were in the mafia earlier, and that’s cool, but I don’t believe you. So what is this international life of mystery that you lead?”
She laughed. “It’s not such a mystery. All throughout my childhood, my parents took us on expensive vacations across the country and the rest of the world. They work an insane amount and travel all the time, to this day. Their lifestyle is quite extravagant. I remember visiting Paris for the first time and begging my mom to take me to the Louvre but we had to catch the pre-party of Fashion Week instead.” Isabella laughed, recalling. “Both are cultural events, I guess.”
“And what about your sister? I can’t imagine what this girl must be like.”
“She better conforms to my mother’s ideal of pretty, skinny, and airy.” She paused. “I think the first time I showed an interest in books and writing, my mother shoved a
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