Chapter 21

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

ASHLEY

At six fifty-five, there's a knock on the front door. I don't rush to answer it. This isn't a date. This isn't a fun night out with friends. This is something I don't want to do, but can't think of a way to get out of.

At the second knock, which to my overactive imagination sounds irritated and a little bit threatening, I stand up, rub my palms over my thighs, and make my way to the door. I take a deep breath before reaching out and turning the handle.

My first thought when I see Zain is that I picked the right clothes. He's dressed in a pair of black jeans, a black shirt, and black boots. Combined with his dark eyes, and even darker hair, the entire outfit makes him look dangerous.

That's because he is dangerous.

"I'm surprised." His deep voice cracks my composure, and my mouth dries up.

I swallow, and attempt to speak.

"By what?" The words come out a little croaky.

"By the fact you didn't run. I expected you not to be here."

"You didn't give me much choice. "

"There's always a choice. You could have called my bluff."

"It wasn't a bluff."

"You're right. It wasn't. Are you ready to go?"

"No, but that doesn't matter, does it?" I grab my jacket from the hook beside the door, check my house keys and cell phone are in my pocket, then join him outside. "Do I need my purse?"

"Wouldn't be much of a gentleman if I made you pay for a dinner I invited you to, now would I?"

"You're forcing me to join you, and you're not a gentleman." I blurt the words before thinking it through.

"How would you know?"

Lights flash on the Mercedes parked behind my car. He opens the passenger door, waits until I'm seated, then slams it and moves around to take the driver's seat beside me.

"Where are we going?"

"Pappano's. I'm told it's the best Italian restaurant in town."

"It's the only Italian restaurant in town."

"When I was sent to prison, there weren't any Italian restaurants at all. So that's progress, wouldn't you say?"

His conversational tone should relax me. It doesn't. It does the opposite. With every word he says, with every non-reaction he gives me, my anxiety ramps higher.

I look out of the window while he drives through town, but every so often my gaze strays to where his hands are on the wheel. He doesn't try to fill the silence. He doesn't look at me, that I notice anyway. And by the time we reach the restaurant, I'm wound up so tight, I wouldn't be surprised if my head exploded during dinner .

I'm out of the car before he can open the door for me. When his hand touches the base of my spine, I almost jump out of my skin.

"Anyone would think you're nervous about being seen with me." Amusement threads through his voice. "Or scared, possibly."

"I'm not scared."

I'm terrified . His behavior isn't making sense to me. Anger I'd understand. It would match his threat about my mom. But this calm man walking beside me scares me more than his threats have.

Maybe that's his intention.

We're greeted by one of the staff when we walk inside. Zain tells her he has a table booked for two, and she checks the screen on her tablet. Once she finds his name, she gives him a bright smile.

"Right this way, sir."

I wonder if she recognizes his name. Does she know where he's been? What he was accused of? If she does, nothing shows in her face or voice when she leads us to our table or sets the menus down.

"I'll give you a couple of minutes. Would you like something to drink while you decide what to order?"

"A bottle of red wine, and a glass of water, please." Zain doesn't ask what I want, doesn't even look at me.

"You got it!" She walks away.

"Are you going to pick what I can eat as well?" I can't help saying.

"Do you need me to?"

"I didn't need you to pick my drink."

"Don't you drink wine? "

I want to say no, but I do drink wine. "Yes."

"And red is your favorite, right?"

"How do you know that?"

His eyes lift, and there's a gleam in them that I don't like. "I know everything about you, Ashley. Haven't you figured that out yet?" He sets down the menu, and leans back on his seat. "How is Scott?"

My lips part, and I suck in a sharp breath. "How do you know about him?"

"That's not the question you need to be asking." He returns his attention to the menu.

"What does that mean?"

"What do you want to eat?"

"Answer my question!" I half-rise from my seat.

"Sit down, Ashley." His voice is soft.

"No. I want to know how you know about Scott."

"If you don't sit down, I'm taking everything off the table that makes this decision more palatable for you. I'll still get what I want, and I'll destroy your mother in the process." The pleasant way he delivers the words chills my blood.

"What do you want?" I don't sit down.

His quiet sigh moves his shoulders. His head lifts, and dark eyes meet mine. "I told you. I want you for fourteen months. I'm amenable to staying silent about your mother to make it easier for you to agree, but trust me when I say that it really doesn't matter. I'll get you, either way. It's simply a case of one way causing less in the way of rumors. So sit down and decide what you want to eat. "

"I want to go home."

"That isn't an available option tonight. You'll sit here. You'll smile. You'll laugh. You'll look like you're having a good time. And when we finally leave, you'll behave as though you can't wait to see me again."

"And if I don't?"

This time his sigh is irritable. "You're not that stupid, Ashley. You know what happens if you don't."