Book To Read
Chapter 19
About 30 minutes from our destination, she started complaining about being hungry again.
“I have food at the cabin,” I said.
“What kind of food?” she asked suspiciously.
“Canned food.”
“I want real food.”
“I don’t want to stop.”
“Why not?”
“Because people would remember a tall guy in a suit and a woman in designer clothes,” I pointed out.
“So?”
“So if my cousin sends mercenaries to look for us, I would prefer people not remember where we were.”
“We stopped at a gas station.”
“We had to stop at a gas station,” I said calmly. “We needed gas – and you wanted food, remember?”
“That guy at the register will remember us.”
“That was unavoidable. And it was only 45 minutes into the trip.”
“Are we only going to eat canned food for however long we’re up here? ‘Cause I am telling you right now, that is NOT acceptable.”
I gripped the steering wheel hard and imagined it was her neck.
Her little, scrawny neck…
Zen fuckin’ master –
Zen fuckin’ master –
“We’ll eat canned food until we run out,” I said calmly.
She sniffed haughtily. “I don’t want to be eating crap for three days.”
“It might be longer than three days.”
“WHAT?!” she shouted. “How long?!”This text is property of Nô/velD/rama.Org.
“I don’t know, but you should prepare yourself for – ”
“If it’s gonna be longer than three days, then I definitely want to eat in a real fucking restaurant!”
“Lucia – ”
“You can’t just take me out into the middle of nowhere and – ”
“I’m trying to keep you safe.”
“I don’t CARE! I’d rather DIE than eat nothing but fuckin’ beans out of a can, especially when there’s plenty of good restaurants along the – ”
“ALL RIGHT!” I roared. “ALL RIGHT! WE’LL STOP AT A FUCKING RESTAURANT! ARE YOU SATISFIED?!”
She just smirked. “…yes.”
She was not satisfied.
It was getting dark when we stopped at a small restaurant nestled in the foothills of the mountains.
I thought the place was rustic but charming, with walls made of rock and exposed wooden beams in the ceiling.
Lucia did not agree.
“Oh God, I’m in a backwoods serial killer movie,” she murmured as she looked around us.
Only a few locals were in the place, and they glanced at us every few minutes.
“God, what are they wearing?” Lucia sneered about their plaid shirts and simple dresses.
“Clothes,” I said coldly.
“Why are they looking at us?”
“Because a tall guy in a suit and a woman in designer clothes stand out,” I said coldly. “Just like I said earlier in the car.”
When the next local glanced at us, Lucia stared back at him openly, her eyes wide as ping pong balls.
The man turned away quickly and didn’t look at her again.
The wine list was not to Lucia’s liking, either. The selection was what you would expect for a tiny mom-and-pop’s in the middle of nowhere.
The by-the-glass prices raised her hackles in particular.
“What is this, boxed wine?” she complained as she looked at the list.
“Don’t be a snob,” I said.
“Yeah, you would say that,” she muttered. “You probably drink it by the box-full.”
“Why do you think it’s boxed wine, anyway?” I asked in irritation.
“It’s, like, 3 euros a glass.”
“Outside the fancy restaurants you’re accustomed to, 3 euros a glass for table wine is pretty common.”
“Cheap wine for poor people,” she muttered.
I fantasized some more about wrapping my hands around her neck and squeezing. Hard.
She didn’t like the menu, either. “There’s nothing good to eat.”
“What are you talking about? There’s steak, and chicken piccata, and three types of pasta – ”
“Yeah, and that’s it.”
“What did you expect in a tiny little town?” I growled. “Caviar and lobster? Lamb chops? Pheasant?”
“I just – ”
“This is not Venice,” I hissed. “This is not Florence. This is not Rome, or Paris, or Barcelona, or anywhere else you might find a three-star Michelin restaurant.”
She scoffed. “More like a negative three–star Michelin restaurant…”
I had had enough.
“YOU are going to order some fucking food,” I said in a harsh whisper. “You are going to EAT your fucking food… and you are going to SHUT THE FUCK UP ABOUT IT so I can enjoy a few minutes in GODDAMN FUCKING PEACE. Do I make myself clear?”
She looked at me and raised a single eyebrow.
Not like she was afraid; more like I had surprised her the tiniest bit.
“Don’t have a cow, dude.” She paused, then said, “I bet you don’t even know where that’s fr– ”
“I WATCHED THE FUCKING SIMPSONS AS A KID, SO YES, I DO KNOW. NOW SHUT THE FUCK UP,” I whispered so harshly that it was audible to everyone in the restaurant.
We ate in silence.
Everyone else in the restaurant was silent, too.
It was heaven.