Chapter 40 - Leftovers

Chapter 40: Chapter 40 - Leftovers

By the time Luca brought out the black truffle tagliatelle, Carrie had stopped sitting on the edge of her chair.

Jesse noticed it right away.

Her shoulders had come down from around her ears. Her hands weren’t twisting in her lap anymore. She was actually eating now, not just pushing food around her plate to look polite. She’d closed her eyes on the first bite of tagliatelle, and a tiny, involuntary sound had escaped her throat. Something halfway between a sigh and a moan.

When the lobster risotto arrived, rich and golden and studded with sweet chunks of lobster tail, she’d practically lit up.

Jesse watched her take another forkful and smiled.

"You like it?"

Carrie looked up, a little startled, like she’d forgotten he was there. Then she nodded, covering her mouth with her napkin as she swallowed.

"Yes. It’s... honestly, it’s incredible."

"I told you you’d love it."

A small, reluctant smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. The first real one he’d seen from her all night.

"Well," she said. "You were right."

They ate in silence for a while. But it wasn’t the tense, suffocating silence from the car. It was easier, softer. The candles flickered. The string trio drifted up from the main dining room below.

Every so often, Carrie glanced up from her plate at Jesse.

And every single time, he was already looking at her.

She’d quickly look back down at her risotto, her cheeks going pink. A minute later, she’d glance up again, and there he’d be. Still watching her.

Jesse couldn’t help it.

In the candlelight, with her red curls spilling over her bare shoulders and the gold silk shimmering every time she moved, Carrie was breathtaking. She had a softness to her face, the big grey eyes and the freckles and the full lips, but there was something sultry underneath it too, something that came out when she wasn’t trying. She looked like someone had taken Amy Adams and Scarlett Johansson, mixed them together and somehow gotten the best of both.

He felt himself relaxing. Leaning in. Letting his guard slip, little by little, with every bite and every glance and every pink-cheeked smile.

He caught himself.

’No,’ he thought sharply. ’Don’t you dare.’

He thought about Tatiana. Two years of giving her everything he had. His food, his home, his money, his heart. And she’d let Andrew Hyland have her in his bed and smiled while Andrew called him a slave.

He’d been a fool for a pretty face once.

’Never again,’ Jesse told himself. ’I don’t care how pretty they are. That’s never happening to me again.’

He was still lost in that thought, staring down at his osso buco without seeing it, when Carrie’s voice broke through.

"What happened to your nose?"

Jesse looked up.

"What?"

"Your nose," Carrie said softly. She hesitated, clearly worried she’d crossed a line, but she pushed on anyway. "It looks like it was broken more than once. Maybe a long time ago. I noticed it at the bar last night." She paused. "What happened to it?"

Jesse looked at her for a long moment.

The cafeteria. The bathroom on the third floor. The rush of water. Rudy Mazer’s laughter echoing off the tiles, and the guys who took it upon themselves beat the shit out of him every chance they got.

"I don’t like talking about it," he said quietly. "Especially not tonight."

Carrie searched his face. Then she nodded.

"Okay."

She didn’t push. She just picked up her fork and went back to her risotto.

Jesse was strangely grateful for that.

Dessert came out a little while later. A deconstructed tiramisu, layered in a glass with espresso-soaked ladyfingers, mascarpone and shaved dark chocolate, with a single gold leaf balanced on top. Carrie ate every last bite and then looked at the empty glass with open regret.

Luca reappeared through the velvet curtain with a slim leather folder.

"I hope everything was to your satisfaction this evening."

"It was perfect," Jesse said. "Thank you."

Luca smiled and set the folder on the edge of the table. "With the wine pairings and the private dining room, your total comes to just over ten thousand dollars."

Carrie nearly choked on her water.

Ten thousand dollars. For dinner. For one dinner.

"Luca," Jesse said. "Before we settle up, could we get two takeaway orders? The same thing she had. Burrata, tagliatelle, lobster risotto and the tiramisu. Two of each."

"Of course, sir." Luca pulled a small notepad from his apron and scribbled quickly. "The takeaways, along with the lady’s portion of tonight’s dinner, would bring her side of the bill to roughly twenty thousand. With your portion, the full total would come to around thirty thousand."

Carrie stared at him.

Thirty thousand dollars.

She’d just told this man she made six hundred dollars a week. And he was about to spend thirty thousand on food.

"That’s fine," Jesse said. "Bring the card machine, please. And the takeaways."

"Right away, sir."

Luca disappeared.

Carrie leaned across the table, her voice dropping to an urgent whisper.

"Jesse. I didn’t ask for takeaway."

"Did you like the food?"

"Yes, but—"

"Then you’ll like it tomorrow too."

"That’s not the point!" She glanced at the curtain, then back at him. "That’s so much money. Twenty thousand dollars. On leftovers! You already spent seven hundred thousand dollars at the boutique tonight. Seven hundred thousand. I saw the screen." She shook her head. "That’s insane. That’s more money than I’ll make in my entire life. You can’t just keep throwing it around like this."

Jesse looked at her.

She wasn’t putting on a show. She wasn’t fishing for more. She was genuinely worried. About him. About his money.

The woman who’d watched Angus drain his bank account to zero last night was sitting across from him, upset because he was spending too much on her.

"Don’t worry about it," Jesse said.

"But—"

"Carrie." He smiled. "Just enjoy the ride."

She opened her mouth to argue. Then closed it again.

"The two takeaways are for you," he went on. "And whoever you feel like giving them to."