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Bianca and menus.

He’d almost forgotten what that was like. Her almost-compulsive, drive-everybody-crazy attention to menu details.

Yes, but tonight that would be a good thing.

She’d come up with something, take five minutes to ask questions, another five to question the answers to the questions, and that was fine.

It was Bianca.

And it would give him time to get his head together.

“Bianca,” he said briskly, “what would you like?”

At first he thought she hadn’t heard him. Then she closed the menu, folded her hands neatly on top of it and raised her face to his.

“You order for me, Chayton,” she said softly. “I know I’ll be happy with anything you choose.”

Chay looked at her. This made it twice. First, the wine. But that might have been because she was still embarrassed by what she’d said. What she’d seemed to say.

Now, this.

His Bianca. Ceding control. Trusting him. Trusting herself to him.

Later, he’d think back and realize that he should have known his life would never be the same again.

• • •

After dinner, they walked to a little place she knew on Fifth Avenue.

The night was still soft and warm, and since this was New York, the evening was just beginning.

Bianca wanted to sit at a sidewalk table.

Reality intruded when Chay realized that it was the last place he want

ed to sit.

It was too exposed.

His time in those faraway mountains had taught him all about survival. So had the experiences of today. But he couldn’t bring himself to tell her that or deny her such a simple pleasure, so they sat outside, drank coffee and shared a slice of New York cheesecake.

Once again, they talked about everything and anything, from music—she was a secret Frank Sinatra fan, which made him roll his eyes—to which was the more exciting sport, American football or European football. She told him about the cliffs in Sicily and how she’d loved climbing down them to the sea, and he told her that the sea had always been important to him, too, and somehow he found himself telling her about all those sea stories, Moby Dick, the Hornblower novels…

But Chay began to feel uneasy.

He felt the change coming over him, that almost subliminal contact with what was happening around them.

“… always wanted a dog,” Bianca was saying, “but Mama said dogs were too much…”

“Honey?” Chay pushed back his chair and got to his feet. “It’s getting late. We should head back.”

His Bianca was smart. Too smart. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said.

He could tell that she didn’t believe him, but, thank God, she didn’t argue. She stood up and he put his arm around her and they walked swiftly in the direction of their hotel. They were almost there when he tugged her into the doorway of a closed shop.

“Chayton?” she whispered. “Please. What’s the matter?”