But he said marriage. He can’t possibly mean like marriage-marriage, can he? I’m both incredibly nervous and curious to find out—but the most nerve-wracking thing of all is being alone with Luka.
I take an Uber to Wicker Park and resist calling Mateo as soon as I step inside the apartment and find that he’s gone. I know he’ll want all the details, and I’m too nervous to talk about it right now. Besides, tonight is the real substance of this whole thing. I’ll call him after my dinner with Luka so he can talk me off a ledge if need be.
After I change into yoga pants and a hoodie, I stop by Heart and Home’s main operations center to help sort donations and then make a Starbucks run for the admins who work so hard in the office. They’re used to seeing me pop in at random hours, especially since I’ve moved back to Chicago, and I’m happy for the distraction…although Luka is never far from my thoughts. Still a mix of giddy and anxious, I grab a quick lunch and then take a long walk in Humboldt Park to burn off some adrenaline, soaking up the weather and the dog-watching along the way. Then I head back home. Mateo’s still out. Time to get ready.
Even though I showered this morning, I’ve had the longest day ever, so I pull my hair up into a bun and take another. The hot water relaxes me and helps me center myself. Then I take my time doing my makeup and styling my hair. It probably doesn’t really matter what I look like for this meeting, but I can’t help fussing—it’s just my nature.
In the end, I opt for a nude look with a little bronzer on my already golden skin, some pale pink cheek tint, and a kiss of clear gloss on my lips. After getting frustrated with my inability to pull off a sexy-messy French twist, I decide to just let my hair fall however it wants, adding some Argon oil for shine, and then slip into a simple navy blue wrap dress. It shows just a little cleavage, but the hem falls past the knee, so it’s both sexy and professional—exactly what I’m going for. As much as I’d love to have Luka desire me so I can turn him down, I don’t want to give off a “sleep with me” vibe, either.
He’s already at Luciana’s when I arrive. The hostess leads me past a roped-off doorway to a private table on the patio, tucked into a corner with a green wrought iron fence behind it, towering hibiscus flowers blooming between the rails. I wonder if he paid the restaurant extra to keep the patio blocked off just for us tonight, or if they did it for him as a favor.
He stands as I approach, a gentlemanly touch I’m not expecting, and his smile is warm. Kind, even.
“Brooklyn Moss,” he says. “Glad you could make it.”
“Me too.” As if there was any chance I’d cop out.
Still, it doesn’t escape me the way he sweeps my body with a heated look that makes my nipples perk. I smile and sit quickly.
“Can I get you something to drink?” the hostess asks. “A waiter will be right with you.”
Spying a glass of something clear and fizzy with a lime twist in front of Luka, I ask for the same and settle into my seat.
God is he breathtaking. He skipped the suit jacket again and I’m glad that he did. He’s in a dark green dress shirt that complements his eyes, top buttons undone again, and dark, expensive-looking jeans. I love the no-tie look he’s got going on and the messy thing he does with his hair. It’s hard not to reach over and just run my fingers through it.
“Thank you for meeting me,” he says. “You look amazing, by the way.”
“Thanks.” I don’t compliment him in return. No matter what, I’m staying in control of this meeting. If he really, really wants me for this assignment, or whatever it is, he’s going to have to work a little for it. “Though something tells me you don’t seriously worry about people standing you up.”
His eyebrows lift and he shrugs nonchalantly, rather than reverting to “preening peacock” mode. Huh. This Luka really is different than the one I remember. He’s still intense and carries that air of self-aware, wealthy sex appeal, but this time around he seems calmer, quieter. More focused. Maybe the downfall of KZ Modeling has forced him to grow up in a big way.
“You might be surprised,” he says. “People don’t always react to me the way you’d think they would. Especially lately.”
He searches my face, maybe to see if I’ll acknowledge the elephant in the room. I will.
“Look,” I say, “I’m well aware that your family’s business has been through hell the last few months. Guilty or not, I don’t pretend to know all the details of whatever went down, but…as far as I’m concerned, you have a clean slate with me.” It’s only partially a lie.
I can see him visibly relax, some of the tension going out of his shoulders and a smile playing at his lips. “I appreciate that.”
“No problem. And for what it’s worth, I think this will work best if we’re both as open and upfront as possible, yeah?”
“Agreed.”
As gratifying as I thought it would be to make him squirm, I can’t help the warm fuzzies I’m getting now that I’ve established some good will between us. Maybe it’ll even give me the upper hand.
Our server arrives and sets down a breadbasket, a dish of olive oil and Italian herbs, and my drink. I take a sip and realize it isn’t a cocktail at all, but sparkling water. I hold back a grimace. I hate that stuff. I figured Luka would be having a drink-drink, but I guess not. We both order pasta, which I know will be fantastic since they make it in-house—carbonara for me, alfredo for him—and then we’re alone again.
“Shall we get down to business, or are we still trying for small talk?” I ask. “You know everything about me thanks to my ‘audition’ this morning, but I don’t know much about you.”Except that you’re a manwhore. I take a sip of my drink and force myself to swallow it.
He shrugs. “There’s not much to tell. If you don’t live in a cave, you’ve probably gotten some kind of impression of me from the media. Though I’d say it’s largely inaccurate.”
I half-snort without meaning to. “Inaccurate? I thought we were going to be honest with each other.”
Luka laughs, and his grin is sheepish. “Fair enough. I’ll admit I lived a privileged life of excess and hedonism for…well, a while. But like you said, there’s been a lot of turmoil in my family over the past few months, and it shook us all up. Watching your dad go to prison for sex trafficking kind of takes the flavor out of things. So, I don’t know. I’ve changed.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” I say, ripping a hot piece of crusty bread apart and letting it soak up some oil and herbs before popping it into my mouth. I close my eyes and stifle a moan. It’s perfection.
“You’re making that innocent bread look downright sinful,” Luka says, his eyes glued to me.
