I look back at Petals & Pines one more time as we drive away. Elena is visible through the window, helping the young couple, completely unaware someone might be watching her.
Completely unaware I’ve probably painted a target on her back by showing interest.
Marco was right. There’s no happy ending here. The smart thing would be to cancel tomorrow, to stay away from her, to let her live her life free from the violence that follows me like a shadow.
But I’m not going to do the smart thing.
I’m going to show up at six-fifteen tomorrow, and I’m going to take her for coffee, and I’m going to pretend, for a little while, I’m the kind of man who gets to have normal things like dates and conversations and maybe, eventually, something more.
And I’m going to make damn sure whoever was watching her shop today knows that Elena Harper is under my protection now.
Even if she doesn’t know it yet.
Chapter Three
Elena Harper
Florist
Only fifteen minutes to get ready, and it still turns into four outfit changes before Alessandro arrives.
This is ridiculous. I’m twenty-six years old, not some teenager getting ready for prom. But I can’t help it, there’s something about Alessandro De Luca that makes me feel like I’m standing on the edge of something big, terrifying and wonderful all at once.
I finally settle on dark jeans, ankle boots, and a soft burgundy sweater my best friend Mira swears makes my eyes look “like liquid gold.” I leave my hair down in loose waves, add a touch of mascara and lip gloss, and try to ignore the butterflies doing acrobatics in my stomach.
At exactly six-fifteen and I mean exactly, like he was watching the clock, there’s a knock on the shop door.
I practically trip over my own feet racing down the stairs from my apartment.
He’s standing outside in the rain, and oh my God, he looks even better than I remembered. Black coat, charcoal suit underneath, his dark hair slightly damp from the weather. But it’s his eyes that catch me, dark, intense, and fixed on me through the glass like I’m the only thing in the world worth looking at.
I unlock the door and let him in, and immediately the shop feels smaller. Not in a bad way, just in a way that makes me hyperaware of every breath, every movement, every charged inch of space between us.
“Hi,” I say, suddenly shy.
“Hello.” His voice is rough velvet, and I feel it in places that are definitely not appropriate for a first date. “You look beautiful.”
I feel my cheeks heat. “Thank you. You clean up pretty well yourself.”
The corner of his mouth twitches, not quite a smile, but close. “I try.”
We stand there for a moment, looking at each other, and I realize I have no idea what happens next. I’ve been on dates before, obviously, but none of them have felt like this. Like the air itself is electric.
“So,” I say, tucking my hair behind my ear. “I was thinking about our coffee date, and I realized something.”
“Oh?” He looks concerned, like he’s bracing for me to cancel.
“Every coffee shop in the area is going to be packed on a Friday night. Loud music, no place to sit, people everywhere.” I bite my lip, second-guessing myself even as the words come out. “Would you maybe want to come upstairs? To my apartment? I make really good coffee. And it’s quiet. We could talk without having to shout at each other or read lips.”
The moment the invitation leaves my mouth, I realize how it sounds. I just invited a man I barely know up to my apartment on our first date. My mother would have a heart attack. Mira would give me a lecture about stranger danger.
But Alessandro doesn’t feel like a stranger. He feels like something inevitable.
“You’re inviting me to your apartment.” He says it slowly, carefully, like he’s testing the words.
“I am. But if that’s too forward, or if you’d rather go somewhere public, I completely understand—”
“I’d love to.”
