Arwen felt his hand again at her low back as he escorted her into a small family-owned Italian restaurant. A sign on the door said closed for private function and she wrinkled her nose when he ignored it and encouraged her to enter behind his first bodyguard. The place was near empty except for the woman who greeted them at the door, a server who immediately poured them water as they were seated and whoever was in the kitchen cooking.
“What is this place?” she asked curiously.
“You made a comment about not enjoying Italian food in restaurants because it’s not as good as Fabiana’s. I knew you would not enjoy me taking you to a starred restaurant which gives tiny little pretty portions on dainty dishes with more attention paid to look than taste. This,” he waved around, “belongs to an old
