Too late to change now.
Good luck. You’re going to need it.
I’m starting to think he’s right.
Elena comes back down exactly ten minutes later, and I forget how to breathe.
She’s changed into a black dress that hits just above her knees, simple and elegant. Her hair is down now, falling in waves around her shoulders. She’s added heels that make her legs look endless and a touch of lipstick that makes me want to kiss her until it’s smeared beyond recognition.
“Better?” she asks, doing a little spin.
“You’re stunning,” I manage.
She blushes. “You’re not so bad yourself. Very GQ. Very ‘I own a yacht and make business deals over scotch.’”
“I don’t own a yacht.”
“But you do make business deals over scotch?”
“Sometimes.”
She grabs a small purse and a coat. “Where are we going?”
“Canlis.”
Her eyes widen. “Canlis? Alessandro, that place is impossible to get into. How did you—never mind. Olive oil importing must pay really well.”
If she only knew.
Paulo is waiting by the car when we step outside. He opens the back door with perfect professional courtesy, not meeting my eyes. Smart man.
Elena stops dead when she sees him.
“You have a driver.”
“Yes.”
“You have a driver and a Mercedes and reservations at Canlis.” She looks at me, something between amusement and exasperation on her face. “This is a bit much, don’t you think?”
“I wanted to do this properly.”
“Properly would have been picking me up in your own car and taking me somewhere we could talk without seven forks and a sommelier.”
“There won’t be seven forks. Maybe five.”
“Alessandro.” She steps closer, lowering her voice. “I appreciate the gesture, I really do. But I don’t need all this. I only need you.”
The words hit me square in the chest. She doesn’t need the money or the power or the carefully constructed image I’ve spent years building. She just needs me.
The problem is, she doesn’t know what “me” actually entails.
“Get in the car,” I say softly. “Please. Let me do this. Let me try to make up for last night.”
She studies me for a long moment, then sighs. “Fine. But next time, we’re getting pizza. In jeans. Like normal people.”
“Deal.”
She slides into the car, and I follow, acutely aware of how close we are in the backseat. I can smell her perfume, it’s something light and floral with a hint of vanilla. It’s intoxicating.
