Speak Low (Speak Easy 2)

I feigned a swoon, putting a hand over my heart. “How romantic!”

“What about you? You got a fella?”

“Me? No.”

If we were on the playground, the look she gave me might have been accompanied by a bratty little nyah-nyah. “So who bought you those goods?”

I looked at Enzo again, who was gripping the back of Gina’s chair so hard, I thought he might break it in half. Oh, how I loved to see him squirm. “Just an admirer,” I said airily.

Gina was intrigued. “Is he handsome?”

“Indeed he is.”

“And rich?”

“Well…” I pretended to think this over. “He does have a nice new motorcar.”

“So does Enzo,” she said, smug-faced. “A Packard. Daddy bought it for us as an early wedding gift. Isn’t that right, honey?” She glanced back at her fiancé.

I nearly vomited.

“Sure.” He cleared his throat. “Tiny, are you ready to go?”

“Absolutely.” I stubbed out my cigarette in the ashtray in front of Gina. “Enjoy your evening, Miss Meloni. And congratulations. I’m sure you’ll be very happy together.”

Enzo grabbed my arm and yanked me sideways before she even had a chance to reply. “What the hell was that?” he hissed in my ear. “Are you out of your mind? Her father will kill me!”

“Good,” I snapped. “Saves me the trouble!” I shrugged out of his grasp and tried to run through the crowd, but it was too thick. He got me by one elbow and dragged me over to the booth, which was empty. “Stop acting like a child,” he demanded, shoving me onto the bench. “Give me a chance to explain.”

I looked up at him angrily. “Why should I?”

“Because… I have something for you.”

I lifted my chin higher. “Not. Interested.”

A knowing smile snuck onto his lips. “You will be when you see it. Meet me out front in ten minutes.”

“You don’t really expect me to go somewhere alone with you, do you?”

“I’ll make it worth your while.”

“You want to take me somewhere, you have to tell me what you said to Joey tonight.”

Anger darkened his complexion. “I don’t have to do anything.”

“Then I’m leaving. Alone.” I stood and tried to get past him, but he

blocked my way, gripping me by the upper arms.

“No. You’re going to stay here and wait for me.”

Something in his tone made me clam up instead of making a sharp-tongued retort or kneeing him in the balls, which was another compulsion I occasionally had around him. I froze, my gaze sliding to one of his hands squeezing my skin.

He must have realized he’d gone too far, because he let go and glanced around to make sure no one was watching us. “I’m sorry,” he said, softer now. “I know this sounds crazy, but I’ll make it up to you.”

“You hurt me.” I rubbed my upper arms.

“I said, I’m sorry.”