The word makes Cecily’s smile glow.
They separate, and Cecily makes the introductions. Aurélie extends her hand for a polite shake.
I have other plans. I intercept it smoothly, turn her palm down, and press a kiss to her knuckles without breaking eye contact.
“Enchanté.”[LXXIII]
One perfectly groomed brow lifts. Amused. “Are you trying to impress me?”
“And if I am?” I say with a smirk. “Though I should warn you—I grew up in New Orleans, so...”
That does it. She starts talking about how much she loves New Orleans as we head toward our table.
When we reach the table, I catch Alexander shifting, already gearing up to play the gracious host and give up his seat beside Cecily. I stop him with a gesture.
“Sit with your girl, Alexander. I’ll take the seat next to your sister,” I say, then turn to Aurélie, lowering my voice just a notch. “If you don’t mind.”
Her smile turns downright dangerous. “Not at all.”
Alexander shoots me a look of gratitude. We take our seats and order before the waiter even has a chance to ask.
On our way out of the restaurant, Aurélie notices a bar where a jazz trio is playing—upright bass, drums, muted trumpet—and suggests we keep the night going a little longer. And here we are.
Alexander and I leave the women at the table and head to the bar to order drinks.
Dinner was great. The food was impeccable, and the company surpassed every expectation I had. But the real payoff was watching, up close, exactly why my friend fell so hard for the charms of this smooth Italian.
He respects her autonomy. It shows in his words and all those small gestures—he’s devoted without being stifling, looking after her without hovering or imposing his own ego on the night.
They’re always tuned into each other, moving with the natural ease of a couple shaped by years, not months. It’s even more striking because they spent most of that time as only friends.
I’ve never seen her this happy. And there’s something deeply right about this version of her. Especially when, for a while,I wasn’t sure I’d ever see her let herself love again. Not after everything.
We stop at the bar, and while we wait to be served, I study him as his eyes scan the room. I already know everything I need to know about him. That doesn’t mean I’ll stop paying attention. If he ever turns out to be a selfish asshole, I’ll see it coming. And if that day arrives, there are always ways to teach him a lesson or two.
“I know it was you,” I say, my voice loud enough for him to hear.
He turns toward me, and I continue.
“I know you’re the one who took down that disgusting site.”
He smiles.
“And I know you bought that rag and turned it into a support platform for women in toxic relationships. With actual funding, enough to help a lot of them start over when they otherwise couldn’t.”
He nods. There isn’t a hint of bragging or performance in his expression.
“And Cecily doesn’t know,” I say.
He shakes his head. “No. I didn’t tell her because I didn’t do it to impress her. I did it to protect her. But I will tell her. I don’t want secrets between us.”
I hold his gaze for a beat.
Good answer.I smile at him.
“I’m guessing that’s not all you know about me,” he says calmly. “Cecily’s told me about you—about what you’re good at, and how much you’ve helped her. With everything. And for that, I feel like I owe you a thank-you.”
I shake my head.
