“Just show me the way,ma belle[LXXIV].”
Her smile turns dangerous. “Oh, I’ll guide more than just the way,mon chéri[LXXV].”
The four of us talk for a while longer, until Aurélie finally stands and says she needs to head out.
When her brother gets up to walk her to the car, I slide into the seat beside Cecily and ask, keeping my tone neutral, “So... Aurélie. She really is single?”
She frowns. “Yeah. Alexander says she doesn’t date. She’s never introduced a boyfriend to him.”
The last traces of doubt dissipate, but I keep the relief to myself.
“But why—” She cuts herself off, her eyes drifting toward the door where Alex and his sister just disappeared. They widen just a touch. “You—You two?”
I laugh.
“Cecily, my dear,” I say lightly, “the same way I have no interest in the details ofthatpart of your life, I’m pretty sure you don’t want a breakdown of mine.”
She shakes her head, smiling at me. “Just be careful, okay?”
“Always.” I hold her gaze for a second longer. “By the way—your hot Italian stallion earned my seal of approval. Let’s see if he keeps it.”
Cecily smiles. I kiss her cheek and slide back to my side of the booth. Alexander returns a few minutes later, and we exchange a few more words. Not long after, I stand up and tell the happy couple I’m officially done third-wheeling them.
We say our goodbyes, and just before I step out, I glance back once more. I catch him pulling Cecily to her feet and against his chest, the two of them joining the few couples swaying to the mellow jazz drifting from the corner stage.
“You deserve this, Cecily,” I murmur, a smile tugging at my lips. “This... and everything I see in his eyes when he looks at you. Everything he wants to give.”
I head out of the bar, knowing the night is going to be good. And nowhere near over.
Alexander
“Keep your eyes closed. I’m opening the door now,” I whisper into her ear, my hands tightening at her waist.
I trace my nose along the graceful line of her neck, breathing her in. Her back arches instinctively, pressing closer to my chest, and it takes real effort to pull away.
I step back, enter the code, and the lock clicks open. Taking her hand, I guide her inside and close the door behind us.
“You can open them now,” I murmur, my body close enough for her to feel me at her back.
Cecilia blinks, her long lashes fluttering as her eyes adjust to the light. I retreat only a single step, giving her space to take it in while staying close enough to catch every subtle shift in her expression.
We’re standing in the center of the living room. The Victorian ceiling reaches high, the original plaster moldings restored to a vivid white. Against it, the modern glass-globe chandelier appears suspended—a clean intersection between the history of the house and the modern energy of the restoration.
She takes a tentative step onto the pale rug, and I see the exact moment her attention is caught by the couch.
“It’s beautiful...” she whispers, her hand tracing the deep emerald green velvet upholstery.
“I heard it’s your favorite color,” I say, moving to stand beside her. “And it became one of mine, too. After seeing you wear it, anyway.”
Cecilia looks at me, a mischievous smile lighting up her face. Then her eyes move to the mirrors propped by the wall to our right. The ornate frames hold our reflection, catching the late afternoon light pouring in from the floor-to-ceiling window.
“I wanted this place to feel like it’s a part of you, too,” I say. “Even when you’re not here.”
Before she can answer, I guide her gaze toward the floor-to-ceiling window.
“But my favorite part is the view,” I add, almost too casually.
Through the glass, across the street, her house stands in a direct line of sight.
