Mia flees back to the kitchen. As soon as she’s through the doors, Vince tears his gaze from her and glares daggers at me. It’s on the tip of my tongue to say something snide, but I bite it back. No point pushing the kid. It’ll be hard enough for him to sit through this dinner with her serving me. The important thing tonight is just to get through this. Next week the standards will be a little higher. I might actually tell him not to come to the nightly dinners this week, just send him out on his own. He can come back next Sunday and we’ll see if he can make it through dinner without making Mia uncomfortable. I’ll move him next week, too. She hasn’t been at the table for a few days and I’ve been distracted, so I didn’t think about it. Probably should’ve moved him down by Alec so Mia would’ve been alone up here by me.
Oh well, next week.
Mia comes back to the table with her salad and takes a seat. She stares at her salad plate like it initiated a staring contest and her life’s dream is to win. Francesca takes a seat, casting a worried glance at Vince and Mia, then a nasty look for me. I wink at her, just to be a dick.
“You look pretty.”
Alarm courses through me and my gaze snaps to Vince. I didn’t expect him to address her. I thought perhaps he might make a passive-aggressive dig, but a compliment? I didn’t expect that at all.
Mia steals a tentative glance at him. “Thank you.”
Unease moves through me. I’m not a jealous man, I didn’t expect to be remotely bothered by sitting here at the table with the only other man Mia has ever fucked, but I also didn’t expect them to be stealing glances at one another and conversing in hushed, agreeable tones, like two prisoners talking through the wall to keep each other company while the warden’s away.
Perhaps it was a mistake to make her come to dinner tonight. I could have let her sit this one out. I could have left her upstairs in my bed, away from Vince. Next week, when she knew her place, when she knew I didn’t fuck anyone but her yesterday, when she knew I wanted her to be mine… next week I could have brought her back to family dinner.
While I worry that I made a wrong move, a thoughtless, stupid fucking move, Mia picks at her salad and drinks her wine like a housewife at the end of a long day.
I’m tempted to engage her in conversation, to draw her back into me, but I can’t. I could, probably without much resistance, but I can’t because I need to keep a safe distance until tomorrow. The only problem is, while I sit here eating my salad and not forcing Mia’s attention to return to me, Vince keeps stealing fucking glances at her. I don’t think she catches any of them, but I sure as hell do.
I’m tempted to interrupt dinner and kick him out. Give him some cash and tell the little asshole to go grab a pizza. I don’t like him looking at her like that. I don’t want her to notice him looking at her like that. Not when she hates me. Not when she doesn’t know we have dinner plans after she gets off school tomorrow.
I devour my salad without tasting it, too distracted by Mia and Vince. Faint memories of eating salads for lunch with Mia yesterday float back to my consciousness, feeding her a bite off my fork.
Mia stands and grabs my plate.
Vince grabs her by the wrist.
I’m tempted to reach for my gun.
This little asshole grows a pair of balls and directly opposes the orders I gave earlier, telling Mia, “I want you to bring my dinner.”
Mia swallows and her gaze meets mine for the first time since she’s taken a seat at the table. I cannot believe the balls on this fucking kid. I clear my expression and look at Mia, waiting to see what she says.
There are two possible right answers:
1.) No, I only serve Mateo now.
2.) Mateo, am I allowed to bring Vince’s dinner out, too?
Mia says neither. Instead, Mia murmurs, “Okay.”
Okay?
Anger burns through my veins and I regard Vince with feigned curiosity. “Why?”
Even more anger brewing in his brown eyes, Vince shoots back, “Why not?”
I offer up a nonchalant shrug. “Well, I’m the one fucking her each night. I’m the one waking up with her tangled in my arms every morning. Doesn’t seem to me there’s much reason to—”
Vince’s chair flies back, startling Mia. She gasps and her fearful gaze darts to me.
“Fuck that,” Vince says, meeting my gaze. “Fuck. That.”
Well, this was certainly not on tonight’s itinerary.
Mia’s tone is pleading. It almost soothes me—except it’s not directed at me. “Vince,” she says, but stealing a glance at me.