Chapter 114: Chapter 114
Elias smiled, cleared his throat, and changed the angle of the conversation.
"Not much of a story," he said, jumping into his Italian roots she wanted to know about. "I was born in Naples. My family’s old, and traditional. I grew up hearing more Italian than English at home. Food, culture, arguments, and love is all in my blood."
Amara tilted her head, her gaze steady. She was skeptical but intrigued. Her lips curved faintly, not into a smile, but something he couldn’t name. "Is that so?"
He leaned forward, resting his elbows lightly on the table, closing the space between them just enough for intimacy but not pressure. "That’s so," he echoed, his eyes catching hers with deliberate weight. "And if I ever slip again, if I speak in Italian without thinking, it’s not because I’m hiding anything. It’s because it’s who I am."
She studied him.
She really studied him, like she was peeling back layers of skin to test if his bones were made of steel or lies. "So what you’re saying," she murmured, "is that you didn’t slip."
Her mind flashedbback to Celeste worries.
He chuckled, though his jaw was tight beneath it. "No, Bella. I just... let you see something real for a second."
Her brows furrowed at the word, and at the warmth in his tone. "Bella?" that surely wasn’t her name.
His lips curved slowly. "Beautiful."
Amara rolled her eyes, though the heat that prickled along her skin betrayed her. "You don’t get to charm your way out of every suspicious thing you do, Elias."
He lifted one shoulder lazily, as though the stakes weren’t what they were, as though he wasn’t sitting across from the very woman he was planted to watch. "Maybe not." He smiled. "But it works sometimes."
Elias glanced at Amara as she took another bite from her pasta. He was watching her reaction as if her every shift, and every blink mattered. He couldn’t afford to lose control here. One misstep, and she’d know.
"What’s good?" she asked, her tone casual, though he could tell she was testing him again.
"Everything," he said with conviction, flipping open his own menu. "But if you want a real taste, order the gnocchi. Handmade. Fluffy, soft. Just like Nonna used to make."
Amara raised her brow again, her lips twitching. "Nonna?"
"My grandmother," he explained smoothly. "The matriarch of my family. She ruled the kitchen, and the rest of us with an iron spoon."
Amara smiled, food slipping off the corners of her mouth. Elias stretched forward, and wiped it off.
"I’m alive when you speak." He murmured genuinely. For a moment, he shut the voices in his head, and just fell into the magic of her eyes.
Amara froze at the unexpected brush of his thumb. His touch was gentle, and fleeting, but it carried an intimacy that tightened her chest.
She pulled back slightly, her brows knitting as if she wanted to question him but couldn’t quite form the words.
"Don’t say things like that," she muttered, warning him for the 100th time, as she set her fork down with a soft clink. Her voice was firmer than she felt. "You make it sound... dangerous."
Elias leaned back in his chair, a half-smile curving his mouth, though his eyes didn’t let her go. "Maybe it is."
Amara’s gaze lingered on him, searching again. She was dissecting every syllable. She couldn’t tell if he was teasing her, testing her, or bleeding truth without realizing it. He was good.... too good. She had to remind herself of that a man like him never spoke without purpose.
"Naples, huh?" she said finally, deciding to steer it back, if only to ground herself. She took another sip of wine, though the dryness stuck in her throat. "So tell me, what does Naples taste like?"
His lips curved in a softer smile this time, almost nostalgic. "Like sun on your skin. Like lemons so sharp they bite back. Like tomatoes so sweet you’d think sugar kissed them." His voice dropped, lower, steady, tugging her into his memory whether she wanted to follow or not. "And pasta," he blew raspberry. "Its always pasta. On Sundays, the whole family gathered. Nonna would curse, shout, laugh, and feed us until we couldn’t move."
Something in his tone made Amara’s chest ache. She hated that.
"You really miss it?" she asked quietly.
Elias’s smile faltered for just a breath. His eyes darkened, shadows slipping in before he masked them again. "Sometimes," he admitted. "But sometimes, it feels like another lifetime. Like I dreamed it all, and woke up here."
The way he said here made her stomach twist. She hated that she wanted to ask what here meant to him. With her? In this city? In this life he didn’t seem to belong to?
Instead, she lifted her fork again, buying time. "You’re good at this, you know," she said, aiming for lightness but not quite landing it.
His brow quirked. "Good at what?"
"Talking and spinning." She gestured with her fork. "Making me forget you’re supposed to be suspicious."
He chuckled, low and warm. "And yet, you remind me."
"Somebody has to." Her eyes narrowed, though her lips tugged at the corner. "Otherwise, who knows what else you’ll slip."
Elias’s smirk thinned, just barely. He looked down at his plate, pushing pasta around with his fork, though his mind was far away. One crack, he reminded himself. One more crack and_
He looked back at Amara, and when he saw the sharpness of her eyes softened by the faintest trace of curiosity, he couldn’t stop himself from smiling again.
"You keep waiting for me to trip," he said softly, leaning closer again. "But what if I told you I’d rather fall?"
Amara’s breath caught.
So she did the only thing she could. She rolled her eyes and picked up her wine. "You’re a dreamer."
"And you’re my reality." he countered, voice silk and gravel all at once.
For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. The restaurant faded to a hum around them. Amara’s pulse ticked fast in her throat, and Elias... Elias let himself breathe her in like she was the only thing keeping him tethered.
And maybe she was.
Fuck, he hated this!