Free Oxblood by AnnaLisa Grant

not cater to tourists. Every word on the menu was in Italian, and I couldn’t read a stitch of it.
    â€œI think you’re going to have to do some translating here,” I said sheepishly.
    â€œAre you a picky eater?” he asked, not looking up from his menu.
    â€œNot really. I’m not a fan of weird things, but I’m pretty open to almost anything.” French food had some adventurous dishes like escargot and foie gras, and most Scottish dishes were based on a dare. Italian food, though, seemed safe.
    â€œGood. I’ll just order for you,” he said. I nodded in agreement.
    When the waitress came back, she had a bottle of red wine and two glasses. She set the glasses down, poured each of us a glass, and left the bottle on the table. After a quick conversation with Ian, she walked back to the kitchen.
    â€œOkay,” I muttered.
    â€œSo,” Ian said before he took a sip of his wine.
    â€œSo?” I countered.
    â€œThe wine is good. You should have some,” he told me.
    â€œI’m not old enough,” I told him. Not that Tiffany and I hadn’t enjoyed a drink or two, or more, in my apartment. It’s just that I had never dared to drink out in the open.
    â€œYou don’t look under eighteen,” he said, taking another sip.
    â€œI’m twenty.”
    â€œThen have a sip, Victoria.”
    â€œIt’s Vic,” I corrected.
    Ian twisted his mouth as he considered my name. “I like Victoria better.”
    No one had called me Victoria since I was twelve years old. When I turned thirteen, I told my mother that Victoria was too proper, and Tori was too preppy, and from that point on, I wanted to be called Vic. To me it was a stronger, more commanding name.
    â€œWho are you?” I said as I took a sip of wine. It was better than any wine that Tiffany and I had ever had, which wasn’t saying much since the wine came in a box.
    Ian crossed his legs and sat sideways in his chair like an old movie star. He leaned on the table with his elbow and looked at me intently. I wanted to believe Ian was a good guy. Gil wouldn’t have worked with him if he didn’t trust him. If everything Ian had said was true, then he was my only hope of finding my brother.
    â€œWhat would you like to know, Victoria?” he asked slyly.
    â€œReally? You’re going to answer any question I ask? And answer it honestly?”
    â€œI didn’t say that. I asked you what you wanted to know. But if you’re really Gil’s sister, and you’re anything like him, I’m fairly sure I can trust you with the truth.”
    â€œThat’s not very guarded of you, Ian,” I said. He raised his eyebrows and wineglass to me before taking another sip.
    â€œMy job is to read people. I have to know within a matter of seconds whether I can trust them or not,” he explained.
    â€œSo at what point in time were you fairly sure you could trust me? Was it before or after you had a gun to my chest?”
    â€œIt was in the hotel room, when my gun didn’t stop you from asking questions, and every moment since then.”
    The waiter brought our food, giving me the perfect excuse to unlock our gaze and regain my composure. I had a sneaking suspicion that his endgame was to seduce me into jumping onto the first flight back to Miami. But if he thought that a cute accent and a gorgeous face was enough to make me leave the country without my brother, then it was time to look for another job, because he was reading me all wrong.
    But that could wait. On the table in front of me was possibly the most incredible-looking bowl of pasta ever made. Just the aroma wafting from the dish made my stomach growl with anticipation. A rich, meaty sauce on a bed of ribbons of pasta. It looked delicious, and I wanted to eat it more than I’d ever wanted to eat anything. I gaped in a carb-induced frenzy.
    â€œIt’s traditional Bolognese. Buon appetito