His Dirty Promises (Dirty Billionaires 2)

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I get the curiosity. Even though most of the time I think I understand why, without ever excusing what he did, there are still times when it keeps me up at night wondering how the hell he went from kind, gentle, going on and on about how a woman’s feelings were to be treated as softly as her body from anger, or a fist. He not only said it, he lived it, he rarely ever raised his voice in anger to us kids or my mom. When I heard them screaming at each other I knew something was wrong. I just never knew how wrong.” He begins pulling out box after box from the large paper bag. “Come on, help me with this, I’ll never be able to eat half of it.”

“Yay, they gave us pickles.” Okay, I’m two octaves higher than normal trying to pretend like I’m not still completely freaked out from what Dante told me. Deep breath take it down a notch. “I hope they’re sour, I love sour pickles.” I snag a few pickles, yes, sour. I grab a few plates from the cupboard. We load our plates up, me with plenty of brisket, hot links, turkey, pickles, a small spoonful of beans, a few pieces of bread, and a large cup of barbeque sauce.

“You don’t like coleslaw or macaroni salad?” He offers me the small containers.

I shake my head. “I hate mayonnaise salads. I don’t mind it on a sandwich or hamburger, but I think it’s icky. I also don’t like potato salad.”

“Why didn’t you say something? I hate it too.” He grabs a pitcher from the refrigerator. “Sweet tea?”

“Yes, please.”

He pours a glass then hands it to me. I take it with my plate over to the long worn wooden table. I’m trying to focus on my food, not on how he sits down right in front of me. We don’t talk as we eat, both focusing on our food. It isn’t until Dante gets up for seconds he says anything, asking me if I want something else.

“More tea and another piece of bread, please and thank you.”

The pitcher is brought to the table, where he refills my glass then his. “I’m glad you picked this restaurant. It’s been over a year since I had barbeque. I can’t think why it’s been so long.”

“Probably because the sides are horrendous. It’s not easy to come up with a healthy side. I love this, but I’ll be feeling guilty for a few days. Although this turkey is better than I thought it would, it’s nice and moist.”

“You know you’re taking this home, right? I don’t usually eat leftovers.”

“I don’t want the sides. I’m only eating the beans because all meat with a lot of pickles isn’t a balanced meal.”

His chuckle tickles my tummy. “A spoonful of beans makes it all better?”

“That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. Along with banana pudding counts as a fruit.”

He laughs. “Are you hinting you’re ready for dessert?”

“Ding, ding, ding, two points for Gryffindor.”

Shaking his head, he takes my plate and his into the kitchen. “I’m not Gryffindor. I’m Hufflepuff.”

“Me too! And you say it with pride. I’m impressed. No one ever wants to think of themselves as anything but Gryffindor. Ravenclaw is like the only acceptable alternative.”

An eyebrow goes up. “Do you have a wand?”

“Okay, if I had a wand I would never let you play with it, and you totally deep down would want to. I do not have a wand. I do have a robe because those things are comfy as fuck, and a scarf I knitted with my own two hands. I used to love knitting but I haven’t done it in a while. All these people in class assumed I was going to knit them stuff for free.”

“Are you serious?”

I love the way his brown eyes go wide, the better to drown in them. “Yes, I couldn’t believe it at first. It’s how I ended up knitting half a dozen scarves for free. Eventually I got better at saying no or demanding the money upfront for the yarn. After the tenth time I got called a bitch for not wanting to knit something for free, I stopped bringing my knitting to class. It was good for when I got fidgety. I could do it without even looking. It was also a way I made money on the side. I had an online store where I sold everything from scarves to hats to doggy sweate

rs which I started making for Grover.

“I’m sad Grover loves Alicia and Cesare more now. For like five minutes I wondered if I could ask for him to live with me, but he adores Cesare. And I think deep down Cesare likes him too. I don’t want to make anyone sad.”

“Grover is rather attached to Che. Have you considered getting a new dog now that you have a home and a place where one is allowed?”

I hesitate for two seconds. “Not yet. I’m not going to live here long, maybe six or seven months. It’s not a good idea to bring an animal into a home if you’re going to move soon, animals hate change.”

“Why are you going to move? Che was clear, the condo is your home now.” He’s loud and his eyes are wide.

I shrug; I wasn’t expecting such a strong reaction. “It’s not my home. It’s Cesare’s and Alicia’s. I don’t feel comfortable enough to even put my feet on the sofa. Once I find a job and have an idea of what I can afford, I’ll look for somewhere of my own. I might even have enough to put a down payment on a condo. Minus the ridiculous cost of your suit.”

He shakes his head. “I know for a fact Alicia told you to redo the condo to fit your tastes.”