A billion times better.
I sat in the restaurant and read the menu by candlelight. It was a nice place, because Liam liked nice things. He would never be seen at the restaurant where I worked or any casual place like that. He said he was too rich “to eat shit.”
I’d let him pay because I couldn’t afford this place. Just a salad was thirty euro. I’d been wealthy for a long time, so becoming broke was a really humbling experience. I realized how hard it was to get by when you were alone with no experience.
At least I was starting my new job in a couple days.
Liam walked inside, moving to the front because the staff recognized his face. A man in a suit guided him to the table where I waited. Liam didn’t look at the chair or the table, his eyes focused on me as if he liked my black dress. Some things hadn’t changed…like the way he looked at me.
He ordered a bottle of wine for the table along with an appetizer, running the show like usual. He always issued orders and put people to work because that was how he was…a natural leader.
He was quiet as he stared at me, ignoring the staff as they poured the wine, brought the basket of bread and the appetizer, and barely issued a thank-you when they walked off. His broad shoulders were large in his sports coat, and he stared at me like I was still his, even though I hadn’t been his for so long. There were times when I wished I would forgive him because he was the kind of man any woman would want. He was handsome, masculine, and strong. And he always made me feel like a woman. But now that I had Damien, I didn’t feel the same way anymore. I was glad I hadn’t settled…because I’d met a better man. I’d met a man who made me feel so much, who made me feel safe, who made me trust him without having to try. He put me back together—whether that was intentional or not. He didn’t need to take me to a fancy place to impress me. He could do it with a large pizza in his boxers.
“What did you want to talk about?” I wanted to keep it professional because I wouldn’t have met him otherwise. I didn’t ask how he was because that might open the doors to him saying he was miserable without me…and that whole conversation would start again.
His eyes showed slight disappointment, like he’d hoped for more this evening. But he didn’t fight it because he knew I would leave the restaurant. “I’m going back to death fighting.”
My heart started to race a little quicker as the fear killed me. He knew exactly how I felt about that, and I wished he’d never told me. We could be divorced for twenty years, and I would still care about his well-being.
He watched my reaction.
“Why?”
His eyes were steady on mine. “Why not?”
“Because you could die,” I snapped. “That’s why.”
He shrugged. “The pot is bigger.”
“You’re already a billionaire.” My voice rose uncontrollably, bringing me from a state of calm to one of hysteria. “Why do you need more money? You have a plane, several homes—what more do you want?”
He hadn’t reached for the wine or the warm bread wrapped in the white linen. “I don’t have anything else, Annabella. I don’t have a wife or a family, so I’m not risking anything anymore. It’s a challenge, something to work toward. Regular fights are boring. But when your life is on the line…”
I closed my eyes. “Please stop.”
He shut his mouth. “I’m not going to lose. I never lose.”
His arrogance didn’t give me any assurance. “Why are you telling me?”
It was the first time he broke eye contact, looking across the restaurant at no one in particular. His blue eyes were impossible to read because they were always so hard. He shifted his gaze back to mine. “Because I won’t do it…if you take me back.”
I inhaled a deep breath into my lungs, appalled that he would put me in that position. He gave me an ultimatum, guilting me into giving him what he wanted, manipulating me by creating a life-and-death situation. “You’re an asshole.”
He didn’t argue.
“How about you not do it out of respect for what we had?”
“Anna.” He deepened his tone. “You are my only reason for living. I’m never gonna love another woman the way I love you. I’m not doing this to coerce you—”
“It seems like it,” I hissed.
“I thought you should know how miserable I am without you, that I don’t value my life the way I used to. And maybe that will be enough for you to trust me again, to believe me—”
“If you really loved me, you wouldn’t do this, simply because I asked you not to—whether we’re together or not.” Our voices grew louder as we argued across the candlelit table. “You know I’ll always care about you, always love you, so you’re doing this to be a jackass.”