“I’m glad you could make it on such short notice.”
“No problem. It’s better to do these things in person so there’s less confusion.” I slide off my puffy coat to reveal a long-sleeved V-neck sweater and a pair of tight blue jeans that hug my hips with fuzzy boots.
A sound comes from Fabio, and I could have sworn it was a grunt.
“Sorry to drag you out when it’s cold, but thank you for coming tonight.” I wonder if he knows I came twice before I got here.
Blushing, I say, “You’re welcome.”
He pulls out a chair for me. “Please sit.” His voice is thicker, raspy. I allow him to push in my chair and then he asks, “What would you like to eat?”
“I don’t know. I can’t remember what’s good here. Isabelle only brings food home every once in a while, and my dinner was cut short last week.” I’m making excuses because I can’t tell him the second my eyes land on his handsome figure, my stomach does flips and I’m not sure I can eat a bite.
I look over to where John and I sat on our date, but the table is gone. “What happened to the table?”
“Remodeling. So did you bring the information?”
I close my eyes and slap my forehead. “Shit. I can’t believe I left it in the car. Let me go get it.” I stand, but he grabs my hand and stops me. My pulse ratchets up. I wonder if he can feel it with his thumb against those veins. I look up into his eyes, and I swear I read more there than I should. “I’ll be quick,” I insist.
He shakes his head and finally releases his grip. “No. We can talk about it later. Besides, I need your help on something.” Fabio’s voice lowers on that last bit.
“Okay. Is it a state secret?” I ask, hoping to ease the tension simmering between us. He smiles, about to answer when the same waiter from the other night appears, halting all conversation.
“Sir, can I get you something to drink?” the waiter asks, and Fabio looks to me.
“Just some water,” I say. I know it’s his job to be expedient, but it still irritates me.
“A scotch please.” The man nods and leaves us.
“So, where were we? Oh, yeah. State secret? No, but it’s regarding my brother, Franco, and your sister,” he says, piquing my interest.
I lean in and blurt out, “Oh goodness, did you find out about her crush?” I press my hand to my mouth, realizing I shouldn’t have said that.
“She has a crush on him?” A smile spreads across his face.
“Well, I know she used to.”
“Wow. This is even better.” He rubs his hands together maniacally.
“So the day I took your sister to the hospital, it wasn’t me who noticed she’d been hurt. My brother called me.” I immediately jump to the memory of another Instagram post that I’d first seen that model and him having dinner together. There were two women and two men in the picture with Fabio next to her. The next time the model posted with him it was of her at the restaurant with an engagement ring.
“Yeah? Was he there?” Does he hide out in the ceiling?
“No. Never. Franco never leaves his home. He’s afraid of anyone seeing him, mainly your sister, so he watches her on the cameras. He’s madly in love with her.” My eyes roam around the room and notice several cameras.
“Not enough, obviously,” I scoff. She’s been thinking about him for years.
“No. He’d die for her, but he’s just afraid of the rejection once she sees him.”
“Is it bad? The scarring, I mean.” Does he look like Freddy Kruger or something? Although, somehow I doubt Isabelle would care because she’s in love with the man. I’m sure of that.
The waiter returns with our drinks, and we sit up straight. I take a sip, waiting for him to leave, but he asks, “Would you like to order?”
“The special?” Fabio asks. I don’t know what it is, but I nod anyway.
“Very good. Please let me know if you need anything.”
“Sorry about that. As for my brother, you know how it is. You’re your own worst critic. In fact, he has a few scars, most unseen, but he lets them win.” So he’s defeated, sad, and obviously longing for Isabelle.
“She doesn’t think I notice it, but Isabelle mentions him all the time,” I add, hoping to help them both.
“Well, we need to end this stalemate. I don’t think he’ll improve without her. The entire family’s worried.” My heart breaks for him and his family. They’ve been through so much over the past two years, and it has to be tragic that Franco has isolated himself out of fear of not being worthy.
“What do you want me to do?” If this makes them both happy, I’m all for it.