DARK DEEDS

44

SALVATORE PLACES LASAGNA LAYERED with pasta tossed in a rich meat sauce and mozzarella onto the table before me.

The aroma of it all dances in the air and intices me. More so when the chicken parmesan is placed on the table. Its crisp breaded chicken and parmesan cheese elicit a reaction as my stomach grumbles.

Fortunate for me, Salvatore does not hear it else I would be red on the face from the shame of it all. But can I be blamed? I have not eaten for more than 24 hours and dinner looks tantalizing.

It takes a lot in me not to ditch mannerisms and eat it all. When he places the roman herbed potato pizza before me, I start to picture a future with him. I even warm up to the idea of marriage, that is if each second with him will be like this.

So delicious. Colourful. Flavourous. Spiced up. Hot and sizzled. I want it to be like this. It warms me up under the dim florescence of his kitchen.

I watch him, my hand on my chin, like a lovesick cupid, as he twists the cork of a classic wine bottle. His hands so strong. The veins across his arms like tree stems spread out.

The cork pops out without a mess to it. Then, he presses a remote button and music mellows into the air. It is slow and soft. Not to mention romantic. It all feels like a dream. One I do not want to wake up from.

He comes to me, the bottle of wine in his hand. He places it on the table and lifts my chin before our eyes meet.

He kisses me; his lips soft on mine. Their touch as light as a feather. Then, he pulls from me and tells me — "Shall we eat?"

I nod. "Yes. I am starving."

He cuts out the pizza in perfect triangle slices and does the same for the lasagna as he cuts them in squares. I dish out the chicken parmesan onto the plate and slices of pizza and lasagna.

I take the 1st bite and it feels like a bite of heaven. A kind of heaven that melts onto my tongue in all its sweet, spiced up flavours — all nice and crisp on the crust but soft and juiced up on the core.

"This is delicious. Who taught you to cook like this?"

"My nonna." He responds. "I spent most of Freshman Year at her house because I could not cook & I hate fast food."

"At least. All Grandma did for me was shout. I learned most stuff from mom before —" I stop mid-sentence but attempt to make it look like I ended the sentence.

He notices before his hand reaches over on the table and squeezes it. "You can talk about it, Carina."

"Not now." I tell him. "I do not want to spoil our moment. I like it here. I like us like this."

He let out a breath. "Fine. Eat up. I have more planned out after this." He makes it known.

"More? This is so much more." I respond but still eat faster because I am starved for one. And I want to see what more he has planned.

I savour the flavour of the food. Salvatore pours me some wine. And more wine until the bottle is all done — the food is all done and I am full.

Salvatore stands from his seat. He is about to start to clear the table when I stop him. "I will do it."

"No. princess. I want to take care of you tonight." He tells me, my chest flooding with warmth for him. I love him.

I watch as he clears the table before he loads the dish washer.

I slide off the bar stool soon enough, saying, "I'll be right back. I want to change into something warmer."