Benicio looks pained by the statement yet unable to object.
“The roots of my refusal begin with the notes I’ve made about you.”
“Che cosa?” His brow doesn’t miss beat to furrow. “What? What notes?”
“I make notes about everything,” I mutter more to myself than him. “And at the moment, I primarily just have observation ones regarding your behavior.” Deleting the details of my personal fantasies being woven in there is easy. “You carry yourself in such a way that informs me you don’t request anything, you expect. You expect your demands to be met. You expect to be told yes. You expect someone to come when you call and leave when you’re finished. You expect a very one-sided scenario that I’m, again, not interested in.” My fingers twitch to return to playing with my hair. “What you’ve tried to label as pickiness and a search for a hypothetical better suited match is easy to read for what it really is, Benicio. You don’t make time or give effort to building relationships with women because, like everything else in your life, you expect it to be delivered to you when you deem necessary and wait in the background to be beckoned again when you don’t. You aren’t interested in sharing or compromising or sacrificing for someone else, and I don’t want to waste my time mistakenly falling for someone who isn’t capable or even willing to try to reciprocate what they’re given.”
Another long, stark span of silence is passed between us.
Maybe my honesty was too much for him.
Maybe he didn’t like having the truth outlined for him and detailed in the margins.
Whatever he’s feeling, I won’t say I’m sorry for making him feel that way.
I was brought up to be open and honest and unapologetic once I crossed that threshold. Dad, as well as my aunt and uncle, taught me if someone asks you for the truth, give it to them. That there’s nothing to feel guilty about when someone has requested the information in a civilian situation, and you choose to not waste your time with lies because that’s what lies typically are. They raised me on the principle that you should really only ask questions you want the actual answers to.
It was a hard lesson to learn growing up.
I made the mistake of asking where babies came from at four and got a scarring anatomy lesson.
I wish I could say that’s where the out-of-the-box teachings stopped.
Then again, if they had, I wouldn’t have the relationship I do with my father, and I wouldn’t trade that shit for anything in the world.
Just like I wouldn’t trade the one I had with his brother and the woman who died just weeks after him, like she truly couldn’t go on without him.
All of a sudden, the vehicle comes to a smooth stop, stirring up a new set of thoughts.
Where are we?
We’ve been in this car for…how long?
How much will the rest of our night change now that my proclamation is out there?
I prepare to ask about our location when Benicio quietly informs, “I will not put words in your mouth, mia bella, but it would be in your best interest not to put them in mine, either.”
My mouth slightly cracks open.
“Observations are not always accurate; however, assumptions are always dangerous. It might be wise for you to remember that.”
The second cold comment is proceeded by the door beside me being opened by Miko. Benicio motions his hand for me to exit, and I take the assistance being offered.
His levity immediately makes another presentation despite the fact I don’t know what the words mean. “Dovrei essere preoccupato che mi taglierai la mano per questo?”
Benicio’s sour mood is impossible to miss. “No.”
“Cosa c'è che non va?” Miko swiftly inquires at the same time he shuts the door. “Sembri…irritato.”
“Irritated,” I invade the conversation. “That’s what you’re wondering, right? If he’s irritated?”
His blue stare swings to me.
“I’m not irritated.”
Folding my arms across my chest, I argue, “Your clipped tone, ticking jaw, and tie fidgeting, indicate something else.”
“Non ti stanchi di fare osservazioni e ipotesi?”
When Benicio makes no effort to translate, I look at Miko for an explanation.
“He asked ‘do you not get tired of making observations and assumptions?’.” Intrigue waltzes around Miko’s expression. “What have you been observing and assuming about the boss? Besides the obvious fact he takes everything in life a little too seriously.”
“Non ora, Miko. Non sono in vena.”
He tips his head towards the man in charge. “See.”
I exchange the urge to smile at Miko’s antics to address Benicio myself, “I’m not going to apologize for coming to a conclusion made on the information I’ve been given up until this point.”
His hazel eyes instantly narrow in the aforementioned annoyance.
“But,” my voice and volume take on an unexpected silence, “I’m willing to give you a chance to change my mind.” Seeing hope widen his gaze and lift his brow prompts me to add, “It’s up to you whether you decide to take it or not.” A small shrug bounces my shoulders. “Either way, you promised me dinner, and I’m starving.”
At that, the man I wish I wasn’t as interested in as I am, smirks. “I did.” He bends his arm for me to take. “Lo facciamo?”
It’s pretty easy to gather the meaning “shall we” when paired with the action.
I simply nod and accept it, hoping these will be the first steps towards a slightly less tense night.
Benicio wordlessly leads us away from the parking lot and towards the beautiful beach dead ahead. The pleasant surprise sends a wide smile to my face and a sassy question off my lips, “You mean to tell me you’ve never taken another female to eat on the beach?”
“I’ve never taken another woman where I’m planning to take you.” Our eyes meet. “I’m rising to the first challenge, will rise to the next, and perhaps you yourself will accept the one of having a more opened mind when it comes to me.”
My glossy lips press together to poorly hide my embarrassment.
His victorious grin is proceeded by him peering over his shoulder to speak to Miko, “Distanza.”
“How much?”
“Enough.”
“Is that more than a little but less than a lot?”
I snicker at the same time he shoots his second his middle finger.