The Italian restaurant is packed by the time we get there. The hostess takes my name and promises they'll have a table for us in fifteen minutes. I take advantage of the time and pull Liberty into a corner before wrapping my arms around her. She's tense at first, but within moments, she relaxes and lays her head against my chest, letting me hold her.
A few people shoot us curious glances, but most are too wrapped up in their own conversations to wonder how a scarred son of a bitch like me got lucky enough to be with a goddess like her. She feels so soft in my arms. I instantly become addicted to cuddling her. Which is surprising. I've never been one to cuddle.
Affection wasn't normal in our household. Our parents were too busy with their own lives to spare me and Sebastian much attention. It was our nanny who comforted us when we were sick or afraid, who kissed us on the cheeks and sent us off to school. She died of a heart attack twenty years ago. I don't think I've been held since then.
Holding Liberty is nice though…better than that. It feels a little like coming home.
I hope like hell she feels it too.
Eventually, the hostess motions for me, silently letting us know our table is ready. I reluctantly release Liberty, only to put my hand on the small of her back to guide her. Touching her is quickly becoming my favorite thing to do.
"This way," the hostess mutters, casting furtive glances in my direction, a mix of pity and curiosity on her face. She leads us through the restaurant toward the back, sneaking looks at me every couple of seconds.
People have been staring at my scar for years. It doesn't bother me anymore, but Liberty doesn't seem to appreciate her looking at me like she is.
"It's rude to stare," she tells the girl, her voice firm.
"I'm…so sorry." The girl blushes bright red.
"He's a decorated war hero," Liberty says, still bristling on my behalf. And fuck if that doesn't turn me on like nothing ever has before. The fact that she comes up to my chest but thinks she needs to stand up for me is sexy on levels I can't even begin to comprehend.
One way or another, I'm going to make her fall in love with me.
I know I'm already there with her. Why else does my heart feel like it wants to crawl up my throat and take up residence inside her? It belongs to her now. So do I. If she doesn't come home with me tonight, I'm going to be a miserable bastard.
Neither of us speak again until we're seated at the back of the restaurant. Our table is situated behind a low retaining wall, offering privacy from the main dining room. We're close enough to the bay to see the lights of the city reflecting off the water in the distance.
"Do people always stare at you like that?" Liberty asks once our waiter brings out a basket of bread and glasses of ice water before disappearing again.
"Usually."
"That's rude."
"Used to it, baby girl." I offer her the basket of bread, waiting until she takes a piece before I grab my own. Her cheeks are pink, though I don't know if it's because she's angry on my behalf or because she's feeling shy again.
"It's still rude."
She's not wrong.
I watch her nibble on her bread.
"You grow up around here?" I ask, curious as hell about her. She knows a lot about me, but she hasn't shared much in return. All I have are the little tidbits I've been able to piece together on my own. I don't like not knowing everything about her. Ordinarily, I'd just call up a buddy and tell him to get me everything there is to know about her…but I don't want to do that. I want her to trust me with the pieces of herself she keeps hidden behind those walls.
She flinches and then shakes her head. "I grew up in Los Angeles. Um…in foster care."
"Your parents are gone?"
She nods, staring at her water like it holds the answers to the universe. "Yeah. My dad was in the military. My mom died while he was overseas. Aneurysm. He didn't handle losing her and his PTSD well and got hooked on drugs. Um, he lost custody of me when I was six." She looks so fucking sad. "He overdosed a little over a year later."
Shit. No kid should have to lose both their parents so fucking young. I don't know why she wasn't ever adopted, but it kills me a little bit to know just how long she's been alone, trying to hold it all together. I'm also proud as hell of her. She's made a life for herself despite everything.
I feel like an ass for thinking she accepted this job because of Sebastian. She did it for her dad, so no other little kid had to lose a parent to the wounds war leaves behind like she did. She's been through hell in her life, but she's still standing. She's got a warrior's spirit.
"I'm sorry, baby girl."
"It was a long time ago," she says like that means it should hurt less. Some wounds don't ever heal though. They just scab, breaking open over and over again.
"You have any other family?"
She shakes her head, confirming what I already knew.
"I think Sebastian and Alessi would tell me something different," I murmur, resting my elbows on the table and then tenting my hands together to rest my chin on them.
She looks up at me, confusion on her face.