Tori
Chapter 7
Looking more like a statement than an eatery, Restaurant Steirereck was housed in a façade of huge geometric blocks. The building’s silver exterior reflected the streetlights back at us, and golden light spilled from wall-sized glass panels, revealing the diners within.
“Wait until you see the inside,” Stefan said.
As he led me through the door, I felt like I was stepping into a contemporary art museum. The walls were paneled with pale wood and the décor was nothing but white linens and stark furniture, all simple, clean lines. The whole place oozed luxury and glamour.
“It reminds me of a Japanese zen garden,” I said.
“Our garden is on the roof,” the hostess said by way of greeting. “You have reservations, yes?”
Steirereck was our first stop of the evening, before we went to the opera. The restaurant was one of the best in Vienna, Stefan had promised.
We were led toward a private corner of the restaurant, but as we crossed the crowded floor, it felt like every person we passed was pausing to take us in. How could they not? We must have looked very important—Stefan in his expensive tux and me in my diamond necklace that kept catching the light and casting white flashes across the walls.
But when we reached our table, my heart sank. Because we weren’t eating alone.
An older man was sitting at our table, sophisticated in that effortless, European way, his attention on his phone. Noticing our approach, he immediately put it down and rose to greet us.
“Marco,” Stefan shook his hand. “This is Victoria. My wife.”
The word gave me a thrill, despite my disappointment at having unexpected company.
“Delighted to meet you,” Marco said, taking my hand and kissing my knuckles.
“You can call me Tori,” I told him.
“You’ll call her Victoria,” Stefan corrected, shooting both of us a look that didn’t allow room for argument.
I should have been annoyed at his controlling nature, but I liked it. I liked that he cared enough to be jealous. If that’s what this was.
Marco didn’t seem to mind the correction, giving me a wink as we were seated at the table. It soon became clear that this would not be a romantic dinner at all, and was actually more of a business meeting in an expensive setting with even more expensive food. Stefan even had an expensive wife, wearing an expensive necklace, at his side.
I fit right in.
Our food was good, though. In fact, it was incredible.
Unfortunately, it didn’t seem like Stefan or Marco even noticed, they were so focused on discussing KZM’s marketing platform. Was this who Stefan had been on the phone with all day?
I knew that business was important, but I couldn’t believe he could so easily turn off his attraction to me after seeing how turned on he had been watching me in the shower.
I wished I could do the same, but I couldn’t help reliving the electric brush of his fingers against my skin as he’d carefully fastened my necklace for me. It might have been wishful thinking, but I could have sworn he’d taken his time with it. The way he’d slid his thumbs softly up and down the nape of my neck until I had goosebumps.
I had to cross my legs and squeeze my thighs together to ease the ache building up.
“Did you know the word honeymoon was first used all the way back in the fifth century?” I interjected at a pause in the conversation. “It referred to the first month of marriage, the ‘moon,’ when newlyweds would drink mead.”
I received two stares, one mildly amused (Thank you, Marco) and one blank (Stefan).
I cleared my throat. “You know, because mead is made from…honey.”
Marco opened his mouth to respond, but Stefan cut him off. “So with Paris Fashion Week right on our heels I need you to send me stats and portfolios on…” he trailed off, drumming his fingers on the table, “at least twelve women and six men. Better to have options.”
Marco nodded. “I have a few leads.” He looked over and gave me an apologetic smile.
I smiled back and stood. “If you’ll just excuse me for a few minutes,” I said. “I’m just going to freshen up.”
