Page 57 of Ugly Truths (The Veiled Truths Trilogy #2)

Elena

T he hostess leads Silas and me through the chic interior of the upscale Italian restaurant and out onto the patio.

It's a strangely warm October evening. The sun is at just the right angle to let the overhead bistro lights and discreet patio heaters take over.

Everything is bathed in a warm, inviting glow.

It was impossible not to notice how the staff seemed to have been waiting for us, expectant smiles on their faces as Silas guided me inside. Ten seconds barely passed before they led us wordlessly to a table he undoubtedly selected when he made the reservation.

We are slightly removed from the cluster of other tables in a corner, but still in full view of the restaurant's interior through the expansive windows. Just on the walk outside, we’d encountered several familiar faces, and even more of Silas’s peers seem to be scattered on the patio with us.

Their eyes feel like needles in the side of my head, and my body grows hotter with each heartbeat.

Silas pulls out my chair, and I sit, carefully adjusting the blazer resting on my shoulders so it doesn’t slip off.

The weight of it feels almost protective against the hushed whispers rumbling across the dining area.

After months of blending in this spring, I suddenly feel starkly out of place.

But that’s exactly why we’re here, isn’t it ?

Since the funeral, and despite the media spinning our story into some fairytale romance, the people in Silas’s circles have been anything but welcoming.

Natalie has been keeping tabs on the reaction, and they feel betrayed.

Most are suspicious of me, and I suppose I don’t blame them.

Silas saw this coming, though. He insisted that hiding away now won’t do us any good.

If we act normal, they’ll get over their shock quicker, and we’ll be old news by the time the next scandal pops up.

We didn’t get the response we were hoping for from Peter, either. Davey’s sources have no updates on his reaction to my resurrection or whether he has set any new plans in motion. They believe that this might help provoke Peter, especially if he still has ears in Chicago.

Two birds, one stone, and all.

So this evening’s plan was born. A time and day of the week that was picked for peak visibility. Cillian, Lloyd, and Cora are just beyond the lattice patio walls in one of the SUVs. Silas’s belly band holster, carrying his preferred Glock 43, is perfectly concealed under his clothes.

Once I'm settled in my seat, Silas pulls out the chair on the opposite side, but he doesn’t sit.

He begins to rearrange the table, sliding his chair directly next to mine before moving the dinnerware in front of it.

I watch him curiously as he maneuvers the furniture and places his jacket over the back of his now adjacent seat, revealing a black sweater with the sleeves folded up his forearms, before sitting.

Without missing a beat, Silas reaches under me and pulls the leg of my chair.

The seat scrapes against the pavers, drawing even more attention from the guests around us.

Beneath the table, his hand finds the top calf of my crossed legs, lifting the fabric of my wide-leg trousers just enough to rest his hand on the bare skin of my calf.

My eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Silas, however, doesn’t bat an eye.

He picks up the wine menu, holding it out between us with his free hand.

“Do you have any preference on the wine?” he asks, flipping it over.

“I was thinking of getting a bottle of Barolo. It’s a good year for it.

” The way his thumb caresses back and forth under the table tells me his thoughts are on a very different subject.

My mouth is too dry.

I reach for the pre-filled crystal water goblet at my place setting. Though Silas doesn't turn his head, I can feel his gaze pressing on me over the top of his glasses as I take a long sip. I clear my throat and manage to murmur, “That sounds good.”

Silas nods once before setting the wine menu down, all the while, his thumb continues its slow strokes.

As if on cue, a waiter approaches us. “Mr. Wells, welcome back,” he says with a genuine smile.

“Jacob, it’s good to see you. How have you been?” Silas replies.

It shouldn’t surprise me that Silas remembered this waiter’s name, but seeing him act so painfully human still throws me for a loop.

Jacob, probably in his early twenties, brightens. “I'm hanging in there. Just counting the days till I'm out of Fluid Dynamics. It's a killer this semester.”

Silas chuckles. “I can imagine. Hang in there, you're halfway through,” he encourages before turning slightly to look at me, “This is my girlfriend, Elena.”

His words carry across the patio with a weight I'm unprepared for. I have to clamp down on my outward shock, and my ears burn. Jacob turns his smile towards me with a nod. “Nice to meet you, Elena.”

Recovering quickly, I return the gesture. “It's nice to meet you, too.”

Silas asks for the bottle of wine he mentioned previously. Jacob promises to return with it in a moment. As he walks away, I release a long, quiet breath in an attempt to settle the flutter of nerves in my stomach.

“Hey.”

I jump at the closeness of Silas’s voice. His fingers pause on my leg, prompting me to turn my face back toward his. “What’s wrong?”

My next inhale catches in my lungs while I search for the right words. “This is a little overwhelming.”

He offers me a small, understanding smile. “You’re doing great. ”

Not long after, Jacob returns carrying the bottle of Barolo. He presents it to Silas with practiced ease. Silas nods, and Jacob proceeds to open it, carefully pouring the red liquid into a decanter.

Jacob expertly fills two glasses, presenting one to Silas for approval. After a contemplative sip, Silas gives another appreciative nod. As Jacob sets down a glass in front of me, Silas leans closer. His proximity under Jacob's watchful eyes causes a warm flush to spread across my cheeks.

“Are you okay with me ordering the carpaccio?” he murmurs, and I barely manage a nod before he orders.

Jacob bows his head in acknowledgment and heads back into the restaurant. Silas lifts his glass towards me, a soft smile playing on his lips. We clink them together in a quiet toast.

He shifts closer again, breath warm against my ear, “You look so goddamn beautiful.”

My heart swells and deflates just as quickly. For a moment, I forgot that this isn’t just a date. It's another maneuver in the endless game I've been forced to play for years.

I’m not sure there will ever be a time when there isn’t some small part of me that wonders if he will miss this if life ever becomes normal.

Will I lose all my appeal when we’re just two people existing together?

When all the adrenaline and drama fades, will he still treat me this way in public, even if it’s not to purposefully flaunt our relationship?

Despite the delicious wine and Silas’s warm eyes on me, bitterness lingers at the back of my throat.

Feeling a little desperate to break the spell he has me under, I ask softly, “Laying it on a little thick, aren't we?”

Silas finishes his own sip with a new sharpness in his gaze.

“What does that mean?”

Under his questioning stare, I want to take the impulsive words back. My neck heats as I shrug, averting my eyes back to the table. Silas, however, tenses his hand on my calf. Knowing he isn’t going to let the comment slide, I reluctantly look back up at him .

His eyes search my face. “I miss that smart mouth of yours quite a bit,” he admits, “I’d like to hear it now.”

I drum my nails on the tabletop, biting the inside of my lip. Why can't I just enjoy this for what it is?

Feeling defeated, I answer, “You don’t need to do all of this.”

Confusion washes over his face. “All of what?”

My eyes dart around the patio. Most people have returned to their own meals, though several still stare. Filled with a shameful awareness, I elaborate quietly, “I appreciate your attention, but just being here together has done what you wanted it to. Your plan worked.”

The intensity of his gaze is unsettling. He leans back in his seat, the hand on my leg falling away. I struggle not to let the loss of his warmth show on my face.

He doesn't take his eyes off me as he lifts his crystal water glass to his lips and says, somewhat bewildered, “You think I’m doing this for show.”

Before I can muster a response, Jacob arrives with our appetizer. The practiced smiles return like second nature, and we assure Jacob that we’ll need a few more minutes with the menu. He nods understandingly and leaves us once again.

The sun dips further below the buildings around us, casting shadows that I hope mask our strained expressions. I touch Silas’s inked forearm with a tentative smile.

“It’s okay,” I whisper. “I know what this dinner was meant to do, but this type of public affection,” I pause to clear the nerves from my throat, “makes it hard for me to keep my expectations in check.”

Silas looks down at the hand resting on his arm and then back up at me. The silence stretches, and I’m suddenly desperate to salvage the evening I just ruined.

“I–I made things weird. I’m sorry. Just forget I said anything.”

He doesn't respond, so I serve the carpaccio. My hands shake, utensils clattering as I transfer thin meat slices onto his plate.

When I'm about to retreat into the quiet task of arranging my own serving, Silas's fingers encircle my wrist, stopping me. I close my eyes, taking a deep breath before setting down my utensils. His gaze is all fire, and I want to shrink away.

“Do I treat you poorly in private?” he asks under his breath.

There’s a sudden pinch in my chest. “No.”

“Am I more affectionate with you in front of others than when we’re alone?”

I swallow. “No.”

“Do you not want to be seen in public with me?”

My head is shaking before the word leaves my mouth, “No.”

“Did I make tonight feel like a job?”

My teeth tear into the side of my cheek. “Yes,” I breathe.

Silas’s expression softens. Those dark brown eyes flick across my features while the gears turn in his head.

Gently, he lifts my hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to my wrist before holding my palm against his cheek. Each scrape of skin sends a tingle down my arm.

“I’ve been looking forward to this,” he confesses. “Doing something normal with you and not having to hide it.”

Heat explodes from my stomach and flows to the ends of my fingers and toes.

Silas exhales a soft sigh. “I'm sorry if that got lost in translation,” he continues, “I haven’t done a single thing tonight that I didn’t want to do.”

The warmth radiating from his hand and face seep into me, settling deep beneath my skin in a way that blurs where I end and he begins.

I search his face for doubt. Even as curious eyes glance our way across the patio, his focus stays fixed on me. He waits, patient and quiet, like he has nothing but time for me to believe him.

And I do.

The feeling of relief is almost physical as I sink more comfortably into my seat.

The corners of my lips curl up, and the moment Silas sees it, he answers with his own grin.

He lowers my hand and uses it to pull me over the armrest of my chair, lips finding mine in a slow, tender kiss that turns my insides molten.

Against me, he murmurs, “Can we start over and just have a nice dinner together?”

I nod, and he kisses me again before releasing my arm and straightening. “You better figure out what to order,” he says, switching his plate of carpaccio with my empty one and picking up his abandoned menu. “If we don’t order soon, Jacob's going to start to wonder if we know how to read.”

Laughing softly, I scan the specials. Silas's hand returns to my calf. Suddenly, all those curious eyes I’ve avoided since we arrived cease to exist.