Then she laughs.
The sound fills the empty theater. Bright and so fucking beautiful.
She doesn't argue. Doesn't demand. Just shakes her head.
I pick up her purse and hand it to her.
"Come." I offer her my arm. "We have a reservation."
"A reservation?" She loops her hand through my elbow. "Where?"
"Tsuki to Umi."
Vittoria stops walking.
I turn to look at her. The stage lights catch the gold in her earrings, the flush still lingering on her cheeks.
"That's my favorite restaurant," she says quietly.
"I know."
"You're terrifying," she whispers.
"You keep saying that. And yet." I gesture between us. "Here you are."
She doesn't deny it. Just starts walking again, her hand tightening on my arm.
We exit through the side door where my car waits. Yuri stands beside the Mercedes, his face carefully blank as he opens the back door.
She tells Elio where they're heading to. He nods and gets in his own car.
I help Vittoria inside. Slide in after her. The leather seats are warm from the heater. She settles against the cushion, and I watch her wince slightly.
The chair was too hard.
I make a mental note. Next time, cushions. Blankets. Something soft beneath her.
"You should know something," Vittoria says as the car pulls away from the curb.
"Tell me."
"If you keep spoiling me with Japanese food, you're going to regret it."
"Why would I regret it?"
She turns to face me. The streetlights flash across her features as we drive. Light. Dark. Light. Dark.
"Because I'll want it every single day." Her lips curve into a smile. "Every. Single. Day. Breakfast, lunch, dinner. Miso soup and sashimi and those little rice balls with the?—"
"Onigiri."
"Yes. Those." She pokes my chest. "You'll be sick of raw fish within a week."
I catch her hand. Press it flat against my heart.
"Would you be there?" I ask.
She blinks. "What?"
