“I’m just rusty. And your car goes too fast. I’m not used to it.”

“Right.” I’m glad she can’t see the expression on my face. “This is my favorite Italian place in the city,” I say, changing the subject as we round the corner and I push the door to the tiny restaurant open.

“I’ve never even seen this place and I must walk by here four times a day,” she says once we’re inside.

I smile. It’s loud in the restaurant, even though there are only seven tables. Italians are loud though, and everyone here is Italian.

“It’s a well-kept secret,” I say, hanging my coat on the rack by the door before helping her get hers off.

The owner nods his greeting from behind the bar where he’s pouring two glasses of wine.

“This way,” I say, my hand at Natalie’s low back as I lead her to a table at the back corner. I pull out her chair then take mine. My back’s to the wall so I can see who comes and goes. But this place is safe.

“Do people always stare at you when you go places?” she asks. “Are they going to start staring at me now?”

“If they’re staring at you it’s because you’re fucking beautiful.”

“I wonder if you’ll still be thinking that when I get big and fat with this baby.” She picks up her menu so she’s not looking at me.

I take her hand to make her look at me. “I don’t care if you weigh four-hundred pounds. You will always be beautiful.”

She rolls her eyes but is smiling.

“I’ll order for us, if you don’t mind,” I say.

“I can decide for myself, thank you,” she says.

“It’s not an infringement on your rights, you know. It’s just dinner, especially considering—”

“No, thank you,” she says.

“Suit yourself.”

The owner walks over with an open bottle of Chianti and a bottle of water. “Sergio. It’s always good to see you here.”

“Good to see you, too. How are things?”

“Quiet. Thank you.”

I nod. He raises the bottle to pour for Natalie but she stops him. “Just water for me, please.”

He looks at me and I give him a nod so he pours a glass of wine for me and water for Natalie.

“Usual?” he asks in his broken English, setting both bottles down on the table.

“Natalie?” I say.

“Um,” she’s still looking at the menu, which by now she’s realized is in Italian and I know she can’t understand a word. “This one.” She points to something.

He reads out what she ordered and I have to grin. I can’t wait to see her face when her meal arrives. After handing her menu over, she clears her throat and sits back.

“Usual for me,” I say.