She insisted on doing my makeup, chatting the entire time about everything and nothing. Her easy demeanor made me feel like I’d known her forever, and I almost forgot about the marriage bond, The Below, and all the tangled threads of my current life.
Eva stepped back to admire her work and smiled. “Perfect. The necklace ties it all together. I’m assuming it was a gift from my brother?”
I touched the diamond choker absently, its cold weight a reminder of what it really was. “Yeah, something like that,” I said, keeping my voice light while internally cringing. I quickly decided not to tell Eva that the necklace was just another way forher precious brother to control me. Eva seemed like such a kind person. It wasn’t worth it to cause more turmoil between her and Raffaele. “It definitely looks great with the dress.”
If Eva noticed my hesitation, she didn’t comment. She handed me the fur wrap and practically shoved me out the door, grinning as she said, “Knock him dead.”
When I returned to Raffaele’s apartment, he was at the windows, his back to me. He turned around, and I swallowed hard. His eyes roamed over me slowly, and for the first time since I’d met him, he looked completely speechless.
“Well?” I asked, suddenly self-conscious under his scrutiny.
“You look…” He trailed off, his brow furrowing slightly as though he couldn’t find the right word. “Beautiful.”
Heat crept up my neck, and I was grateful for the dim lighting. “You don’t look so bad yourself,” I said, eyeing his fitted suit and tie. The man cleaned up well, but he didn’t need me to tell him that.
He extended his arm, that infuriating smirk returning. “Shall we?”
I slipped my arm through his, my heart fluttering unexpectedly. “Let’s.”
The restaurant was understatedelegance at its finest. The kind of place where the maître d’ didn’t just greet you but seemed to size up your worth with a single glance.
“Gallanti,” Raffaele said smoothly, barely sparing the man a glance. His hand grazed my lower back as he guided me forward.
“Of course, Mr. Gallanti,” the maître d’ replied, his polished demeanor giving no hint of the obvious respect—fear?—he held for the man next to me. He led us to a corner booth thatoverlooked Manhattan, the city lights glittering like stars against the night sky.
As soon as I slid into the leather seat, I felt out of place. A single steak here probably cost more than my rent back in Jersey. I swallowed hard, glancing at Raffaele as he casually unbuttoned his suit jacket and leaned back in his seat, entirely at ease.
His lips curved as he picked up the menu. “You look nervous.”
“I’m not nervous,” I lied, reaching for the menu with a hand that wasn’t quite steady. The heavy, glossy pages were embossed with gold lettering that screamed wealth and exclusivity. My stomach twisted as I scanned the items, realizing there weren’t even prices listed.
Raffaele chuckled softly, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement. “Relax, Vivian. It’s only dinner.”
I shot him a look. “Forgive me if I’m not used to dining like royalty.”
The waiter appeared before I could say more, and Raffaele handed him the menu without even glancing at me. “Two filet mignons, medium rare. And a bottle of your best cabernet.”
I raised an eyebrow. “No input from me?”
“You’ll thank me later,” he said with maddening confidence, cocking an eyebrow as if daring me to argue.
When the steaks arrived, I had to admit, he was right. One bite of the perfectly seared, tender meat, and an involuntary moan escaped my lips. My eyes widened in horror, but Raffaele’s low laugh cut through my embarrassment.
“I told you. Best steak in the city.”
“Fine,” I muttered, spearing another piece with my fork. “You win this round.”
He chuckled again, the sound rich and warm. It was disarming, this lighter version of him, and I found myselfleaning into it despite my better judgment. The conversation flowed easily as we ate, his sharp wit drawing out laughter I didn’t know I still had in me.
At some point, the wine kicked in, softening my nerves. I told him about NexusCore, about my dreams for it, and to my surprise, he seemed genuinely intrigued. And for some fucked-up reason, I trusted his intentions. Our bond radiated with pride and compassion.
“It’s ambitious,” he said, swirling his wine in his glass. “But then, so are you.”
I blinked in shock at the offhanded compliment. “I don’t know if that’s a good thing.”
“It is. Ambition is necessary for survival.”
“Is that how you see it?” I asked, tilting my head. “Everything as a means of survival?”
