Chapter 3: The Fake Date Might Be Real

The restaurant was called Mangiamo, and Emily had heard it was one of the best in the city. She caught a glimpse of fine crystal glasses and classical paintings. It looked so tempting. The only problem was, she was a junior designer, not a millionaire.

"Uh... do you mind if we choose something simpler?" she asked. "This is way out of my price range."

"Do I not look like a man to you? You would insult me if you even mention paying," Byron said sternly.

Well, that was quite a difference between him and the date she had earlier, who had been happy to split the bill with her, even though it was a first date and he might have at least tried to impress her by attempting to pay the whole thing.

"But it's 1 am already; it's closing," Emily said, noting the restaurant's hours clearly written in the front window.

"Not if I can help it," Byron said calmly, "Come on, Emily Danzi. I need a real Italian's opinion on the food here."

There were only a couple of customers inside, and they were already paying their bill. It was quiet, no music played. However, when the middle-aged man behind the bar saw Byron, he came to greet him with a happy exclamation.

"Amadeo!" Byron said as he was pulled into a strong hug, "Great to see you."

"Is everything okay, Byron?" Amadeo asked.

"I'm feeling hungry," Byron replied. "I know it's probably been a long night, but this ought to take care of your troubles."

He pulled out five or six hundred dollar bills and handed the money to the restaurant worker.

"No, no, no," Amadeo said, "If you're hungry, it's my pleasure to feed you."

"I insist," Byron said, pushing the older man's knobby fingers closed around the bills.

"Okay, if you insist, Byron," Amadeo then turned to Emily, "Have you been to our restaurant before, Miss?"

"No," she said.

"You're in for a treat!"

He hurried off into the kitchen, while Emily stood there stunned for a moment.

"Not to sound cheesy," she said, "but you come here often?"

Byron chuckled. "Yeah, I kind of have to because I own the place. So, choose any table you like."

Oh, so he was a restauranteur. That was a relief. Emily had really started to think he was a mobster.

She chose a table in the corner with a good view of the street and the beautiful landscape paintings on the restaurant's walls.

"What inspired you to get into the restaurant business?" Emily asked.

"I'm not really in the restaurant business," Byron replied, casting a casual eye over the menu, "but I've always wanted to own an Italian restaurant."

He said it in the same tone as someone might say they've always wanted to own a pair of Converse sneakers.

"Wine?" he asked, "or something stronger?"

"Definitely something stronger," Emily said.

"We've got some fine liqueurs I'm sure you'll enjoy."

She had been craving spaghetti ever since he had mentioned it, and they both ordered the same spaghetti dish and an aperitif.

Amadeo poured the drinks right away, and Emily felt warmth spreading through her body from the tasty liquor.

"So what happened with this character?" Byron asked. "Where did he get the idea that he could follow you around?"

Emily heaved a deep sigh before plunging into that darker side of her life.

Her history with Josh was so unpleasant and messy that she hardly ever told anyone about it. She felt somehow ashamed of it even though she hadn't done anything wrong. Her best friend Pam was the only one who knew all the details. But since Byron had been thrust into the middle of it, he deserved to know something of the story.

"When I was in high school, back in Toronto, Josh and I were in art class together, and he asked me out. At the time, I had no idea it would lead to all this. He seemed like a nice, cute guy, so I said yes. We went on a few dates, but I didn't really feel a connection. He was... emotionless. Maybe he didn't know how to express his feelings."

"If I had to guess," Byron said, "he was probably just terrified the whole time he was with you because he knew you were out of his league."

Emily laughed at this unexpected suggestion. "Or he might have been just terrified of my dad. Anyway, I could see it wasn't working, and I broke up with him. He would still come by my house, and I thought he was just being friendly, so I didn't say no to hanging out with him. But then he started talking about how I was 'the one' and that we were meant to be. Even when I started university and moved to campus residence, he still came by my parents' house."

"Wow! I hope he wasn't bothersome to your parents," Byron said, his face growing more and more somber as he listened to her tale.

"Thankfully, no. They thought he was just being friendly. But they knew I didn't want to see him, and they didn't tell him where I lived. I would still run into him at university and sometimes in the city. It seemed like more than coincidence. And more and more often, he would accuse me of teasing him, even though I clearly said I just wanted to be friends. Eventually, I just avoided him and didn't want to see him at all. I really became worried. And so you find me here, on the other side of the country. I wanted to have a fresh start, so I moved to the west coast."

"He followed you here?" Byron said, "That guy has some serious issues. Have you talked to the police about it?"

"No," she said, "I just didn't think getting a restraining order would do any good. It might provoke him."

"Some time in jail might make him rethink things," Byron said grimly.

Emily caught the scent of the food even before it arrived at the table. The aroma of garlic and harmonious mixture herbs held the promise of an extraordinary meal. When she took her first bite, she was sure it was the best food she had ever tasted.

"There is something unforgettable about you," Byron said, making her nearly choke on the spaghetti, "But that doesn't justify what he's doing."