He chuckled, low and warm. “Fair point. Mortals and their impatience.”
And just like that, the heaviness that had crept into me during the business talk melted away. We fell into that easy rhythm again – the kind that had become surprisingly natural between us. We debated Greek versus Roman interpretations, traded little historical facts, teased each other about favorite myths.
Hours passed like that. The jet soared over endless stretches of blue sky and pale clouds while our laughter and quiet conversation filled the cabin. I’d expected the flight to be long and tedious, but with Matteo, it slipped by like silk between fingers – effortless and bright.
Somewhere over the desert, with sunlight painting everything in warm honey tones, I realized I hadn’t thought about business once.
We landed in Vegas just after noon, the dry desert air greeting us like a wall of heat the second we steppedonto the tarmac. The sky was cloudless – a sharp, endless blue that made everything beneath it look brighter, louder, harsher than Hawaii’s lush greens.
By the time we slid into the back seat of the sleek black town car waiting for us, the city was already buzzing outside. Las Vegas in the early afternoon wasn’t as chaotic as it was at night, but there was a hum to it – an undercurrent of movement and decadence, of people chasing luck under the relentless sun.
Matteo sat beside me, one arm casually draped along the back of the leather seat, his sunglasses low on the bridge of his nose. I sat a little more upright, phone in hand, scrolling through a stream of emails that had piled up while I was too busy falling under Hawaii’s spell. The Bend awaited – our downtown business property that required my signature, my presence, my focus.
I was halfway through typing a curt reply to an accountant when Matteo’s smooth voice broke through my concentration.
“How about that brunch I promised? In a proper café.”
“I wish I could, but I’ve got my meeting in fifteen minutes.”
“Alright. Lunch then. You have to eat at some point,princesa.”
The car slowed to a stop in front of a tall building. I was already reaching for the door handle.
“Stuck in meetings all day. I’m sorry – ”
“Dinner.”
The single word made me pause. I turned slightly, phone lowering into my lap. His sunglasses were off now. His golden-brown eyes caught the light like honey.
“Let me take you out properly. No distractions. No one else. Just us.”
My fingers hovered on the door handle, caught between sense and temptation. It would be our first real dinner together – the first time it would actually feel like a date. We hadn’t kissed yet, but the tension between us had been building like a storm.
Matteo tilted his head slightly, a soft grin tugging at his mouth. “What do you say, Francesca? One more night with me. Good food, good wine… Better company.”
I exhaled slowly, and despite myself, I felt a smile bloom. “Yeah, okay. I’d like that.”
His grin widened, lighting up his face in a way that made my heart skip. “I’ll pick you up at seven from DeMone Tower. Good?”
“Good.” I nodded, still smiling.
“Good. I’m counting down the minutes.”
I laughed softly, feeling a blush.
I opened the car door, stepping out into the warm Vegas afternoon. The sun kissed my skin; the air smelled faintly of asphalt, heat, and money. I turned briefly as I reached the glass doors of the building. Matteo was still inside the car, watching.
He didn’t tell the driver to leave until I disappeared safely into the building.
And as the doors closed behind me, my pulse was still thrumming – not from business, but from the way he’d saiddinner. Like it wasn’t a question at all, but a promise.
The restaurant was draped in soft, golden light – warm and flattering, like candle flames caught in amber.Jazz curled through the air, low and rich, seeping from the small stage at the front where a band played something slow and old, all honeyed saxophones and lazy percussion. The murmur of elegant conversations floated around us, punctuated by the occasional clink of wine glasses.
Matteo and I sat in a curved booth, side by side rather than across from each other. The table in front of us was intimate, covered in a crisp white cloth, set with polished silver and wine glasses that gleamed like crystal in the dim light. To my right, rested a lush bouquet of red roses – deep crimson, velvety, impossibly romantic. He’d handed them to me when he picked me up earlier, just as the sun had started melting into the Vegas skyline.
“So… You just go on vacation whenever you want. Isn’t that…”
He nodded, urging me to continue. “Yes?”
