The way he said it made me study him more closely. “Do you? Have people who care about you, I mean.”
He shrugged. “Liam. Dominic. A few others.”
“Not many, though.”
“Quality over quantity, Princess.”
Before I could ask what he meant, he pulled the car into a side street and parked.
“We’re here.” He killed the engine.
I peered out the window at the nondescript building. “And where is ‘here,’ exactly?”
“You’ll see.” He grinned, and my pulse quickened.
Griffin led me down a dimly lit alleyway, his hand at the small of my back, guiding me over uneven cobblestones. The passage was narrow, hemmed in by brick walls covered in ivy, the scent of damp stone and distant spices hanging in the air.
“If you’re planning to murder me,” I whispered, “this is certainly the place for it.”
He chuckled, leaning close enough that his breath tickled my ear. “If I wanted to kill you, Princess, I’d have done it after you reorganized my entire kitchen.”
“You needed organization.”
“I needed to be able to find my own bloody coffee.”
We reached a nondescript door at the end of the alley. No sign, no indication that it led anywhere special. Griffin knocked three times and the door swung open, revealing a smiling man in crisp chef’s whites.
“Mr. Michaels,” he said. “Right on time.”
“Chef Niran.” Griffin clasped the man’s hand. “This is Violet.”
The chef’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he bowed slightly. “A pleasure, Miss Violet. Please, follow me.”
He led us through his kitchen full of shouting staff and sizzling pans, and into the dining room proper. A dozen tables, maybe, tucked behind screens and curtains for privacy. He guided us past the lot of them to a table hidden behind heavy drapes, already set with more crystal and china than I’d seen outside my father’s formal dinners.
“Your private dining room,” Chef Niran said. “I will send Kamon with your menus momentarily.”
“How did you even find this place?” I asked Griffin once the chef left us.
He pulled out my chair, his fingers brushing my shoulder as I sat. “I know people who know people.”
“That’s not an answer.”
Griffin settled across from me, the candlelight catching the green of his eyes, turning them almost golden. “The owner’s son is a huge racing fan. I signed some merchandise for him a few years back, and Niran said I’d always have a table here.” He shrugged. “I’ve never taken him up on it until now.”
“Why now?”
His gaze locked with mine, suddenly serious. “Because I wanted somewhere special where we could just... be.”
I stared at him, something tight forming in my chest. He’d put thought into this. Real thought. My exes could barely bebothered to pick a restaurant, and Griffin had found us a hidden gem with a private table.
Thank God a waiter chose that moment to appear. I couldn’t have forced words past the emotion lodged in my throat. He presented menus with a flourish, giving me time to swallow down whatever was threatening to spill out.
“No menus necessary,” Griffin said, waving the menus off. “Chef’s choice. And the Riesling, please.”
The waiter nodded and disappeared.
“Presumptuous.” I bit my lip to hide my smile.
