“You tell them your deepest, darkest secrets?” I asked.
“To the extent I have any. I’m pretty much an open book.” A hint of the frown again and my fingers buzzed with the urge to press it away.
“I read a thing online about you,” I confessed. “Because, you know—” Obviously I was going to google a guy before I shared cheese with him. “It said you had ‘shunned the London jewelry industry’ for years. That true?” I didn’t need an internet search to tell me that—his reputation preceded him—but he didn’t need to know that.
“Yes and no,” he replied.
I waited for him to elaborate but he just dipped a mushroom into the cheese, popped it in his mouth and chewed.
“Well, that’s not an answer.”
“No. That was me saying I don’t want to answer.” His lips curled around his words and he scanned my face before adding, “In British.”
I laughed. “I’m not fluent yet.” I met guys who kept things secret, but I wasn’t sure I’d ever met a man who was completely open about what he was hiding.
“You didn’t tell me which one of my competitors you’re interning for,” he said, clearly trying to change the subject.
“Sparkle,” I said, still proud I’d managed to secure an internship at such a well-renowned firm. Daniels & Co were arguably a better brand, but Sparkle wasn’t far behind.
Dexter froze, his breathing shallow and his eyes fixed on me. It was as if he had an invisible gun to his head and he was trying to warn me to run. And then all of a sudden, he was back to normal—all smiles and easy charm.
“Rewind there for a minute.” Okay, so it was a first date and he didn’t have to tell me why he’d stayed away from London or what his mother’s maiden name was, but we had to have some kind of exchange of information, something deeper than cheese talk. “What was that?” I asked. “When I mentioned Sparkle?”
“What?” he asked, stabbing a piece of pepper.
“Put down the vegetable and tell me why you looked like you’d seen a ghost when I mentioned who I was interning for.”
“No ghosts,” he said, setting down his fork and taking a sip of wine.
This date had only just begun and already it was full of negatives. I was avoiding telling him things, and he was clearly holding his cards close. “You know what I think?”
He paused and looked at me, waiting for me to go on.
“I think we’re doing a dance,” I continued. “I think you’re not saying some things. I’m doing the same, even though you said you like it when I’m completely open and you said you were an open book. We’re skating on the surface and it’s nice and all. I mean—you’re great to look at, and fondue is a riveting topic of conversation, but what are we doing here if we’re both trying so hard not to share who we are?”
He blinked but didn’t move. I wasn’t sure if he hadn’t liked what I said or he wanted me to elaborate.
I sat back and pushed my glass away. “I’m trying not to give away that I live under a gray sky in a single-wide trailer and work in a factory. And that I’m wearing a one hundred percent rayon shirt. You?”
There—I’d thrown down a challenge. He might walk out, but just like Dexter had known I wanted to say yes to dinner despite saying no at first, something told me he wouldn’t balk at my invitation to tell the truth. These three months in London would come to an end all too soon, and I wanted to make the most out of every second, including tonight. I had to have the truth, because I didn’t have time for lies.
“It’s all connected,” he said, as if that made perfect sense. His gaze scanned the room, like he was checking for exits or perhaps deciding whether or not he was going to open up. “My parents died in a car crash when I was nineteen.”
This time, I couldn’t hold back—I had to touch him. I leaned and slid my hand over his.
“And my brother sold their business to Sparkle, right out from under my nose. I had no rights under the will because I wasn’t twenty-one. Dealing with the estate was all up to my brother. I lost my parents and their business to Sparkle. All in one.”
“Oh, God. I’m so sorry.” I squeezed his hand.
“Sparkle had tried to recruit my mother—over and over—as a designer. And had poached other members of staff. My parents’ business was small but it produced beautiful jewelry. Sparkle had wanted to own them for years. When they died . . .”
“Sparkle pounced.”
The warm, flirtatious smile had disappeared and the ridge between his eyes was deeper now. I wanted to fix it. I wanted to make it better. “They took advantage,” he said. And I’d bet he’d spent his entire life making sure no one else was ever going to take advantage of him again.