I’d been dating Bruno DeLuca exclusively for months. We had an extensive past; we’d even been engaged back in college, and we’d dated a lot, on and off, since then. He was smart, handsome, and one of the most talented mages around. When things were good between us, they were amazing. Unfortunately, things had been a little rocky lately. I hadn’t seen Bruno in days, hadn’t done more than text him a couple of times.
He was busy finishing his research and getting course materials ready for the classes he was teaching at the university in the fall, but that didn’t keep me from feeling just a wee bit neglected. Stupid, really. I’d been too busy myself to spend much time with him. But I’m willing to admit that logic and emotion don’t always coexist happily in my life. I wanted to talk to Bruno, to tell him about Ivy and to get his take on the situation with Chris and Dawna. Neither subject was exactly “text” material. I also wanted to be reassured about the upcoming family therapy session. I know it sounds needy, but everybody needs support sometimes, and I wanted his.
We had reservations at one of the nicest restaurants in the area. Antoine’s sits perched at the top of a steep cliff and has a wall of windows overlooking the ocean. The food is ridiculously expensive, but the view almost makes up for it.
It’s next to impossible to get a reservation there, particularly for Sunday brunch. We managed only because I knew the owner and chef. Once upon a time he’d worked in the kitchen at Birchwoods. He’d considered my condition the ultimate challenge. The Belgian waffles he made—which he somehow designed to go through a blender while maintaining their identity—were one of the best things I’ve ever tasted. I’d experienced his cooking again when he’d worked at a restaurant in L.A. Now he had his own place, and I couldn’t wait to see what he’d done with it.
I wanted to look my absolute best, so I spent a couple of minutes staring into my closet. There’s a fine line between being overdressed and underdressed. I finally decided on a short burgundy dress with a sweetheart neckline. The color was dark as a fine wine and looked great against the paleness of my skin. A short black jacket, black pumps, and a black picture hat would complete the ensemble. I kept my makeup understated, pulled my hair into a tight bun, and finished with garnet stud earrings.
I looked good, really good—elegant yet not overdone. Yeah, the hat was a bit much, but I needed to keep my face out of the sun. With the big sunglasses it gave me some old-Hollywood glamour, or at least that’s what I told myself.
So it’s no surprise that I was hurt and just a little annoyed when Bruno barely glanced at me when he arrived.
He wore a charcoal gray suit with a silver shirt and a black-and-silver-striped tie. The suit was expensive and tailored to fit him perfectly, showing off his athletic build to the best advantage. He’d cut his hair again. It was a little shorter than I like it, with just a hint of curl and a tiny dusting of silver at the temples. The only thing ruining his look was the sour expression on his face.
“What’s wrong?” he asked as I let myself into the car. Normally he gets out and opens the car door for me. Not today.
“Nothing,” I lied.
I’ll give Bruno this, he’s not stupid. He turned to give me the look that that particular comment deserved, and finally, finally noticed what I looked like. But instead of complimenting me, he sighed. “I’m sorry.”
I raised an eyebrow at that, high enough he could even see it over the sunglasses, but didn’t say a word.
“We need to talk.”
Uh-oh. I knew that tone of voice. “What?” I hadn’t meant to sound quite that suspicious, but there you go. The last time he used those words with that tone, he dumped me. Call me sensitive, but while I’ve forgiven him, I haven’t forgotten.
“I need to know if you’re deliberately insulting me or if you really are that clueless.”
“Excuse me?” I was pissed. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“You really don’t know?” His dark eyes were flashing, and I could feel the energy level rise to fill the enclosed space of the car.
“Not a clue.”
“Right.” His sarcastic tone left no doubt that he didn’t believe me. Without another word, he started the engine with a roar and pulled out of the drive, gaze locked on the road ahead. Considering the speed he was driving, it was probably best that he was paying attention.
After several long minutes of silence, I decided to grab the bull by the horns. “What the hell is the matter with you?”
“We’ve been back together for a while now,” he said, with that undercurrent of anger.
I nodded. “Yes.”
“And I think I’ve proved myself useful once or twice.”
“More than useful,” I said honestly. “You’ve been amazing.” He had been, which made this morning’s attitude that much harder for me to comprehend. I am not any easy woman to live with. I know that. But we’d been doing really well. At least I thought we had.
“Then why”—he slammed his palm onto the steering wheel for emphasis—“did you ask Dawna to partner with you instead of me? Why am I hearing that you’ve advertised for a mage for your company? Why haven’t we discussed one damned thing about your plans for the business?”
His face was rigid with barely controlled fury. And while it wasn’t sensible, or even remotely smart for me to get into an argument with him, I was too damned stressed myself to deal with his temper.
“First,” I snapped, “you made it clear that you don’t want to work in the private sector. You want to teach.” I met his gaze, completely unflinching. “Have you changed your mind?”
“No.” He practically spat out the word.
“So forgive me if I took you at your word and made other plans.”
There was a long moment of silence as he thought about that. He still wasn’t happy, but the level of tension in the car ratcheted down significantly.
Bruno gave me a long, level look. “What’s the other reason?” His voice was almost back to normal.
“What other reason?”
“You said ‘First.’”
Shit. I had, and he’d noticed. I closed my eyes. I so didn’t want to do this. “Bruno, I love you. But we’re too much alike to work with each other all the time. It’d be a constant power struggle, and that wouldn’t be good for our relationship or the company. I want my company to be my company.”
He opened his mouth to protest, then closed it, his expression thoughtful.
I continued. “You made the decision to join the university all by yourself, without consulting me or getting my advice. And that’s fine. You get to. But I’m going to be making my own career decisions, including who I’m going ask to be my business partner and who I’ll be hiring. You can’t ask me to butt out of your career and then expect to have input on mine. It’s not fair.”
He gave me a sour look but didn’t argue.
“I love you, Bruno. But you’ve made it very clear that you run your own life, and I can respect that. I expect you to respect me enough to let me run my own life as well. The road goes both ways.”
“And if I can’t, as you say, ‘butt out’?” He spoke quietly, but his face was flushed and he was so tense I could see the sinews in his neck.
“Oh, do not go there. Don’t even,” I snapped. “I have too damned much on my plate right now to play those kinds of games.”
“You think I’m playing games?” His anger was coming back. Unfortunately, my own ire was rising pretty damned quickly. All the stress, the lack of sleep, my grief over losing Ivy—everything combined until I just couldn’t handle it. I rounded on him, completely furious and totally heedless of any possible consequences.