I watch as we exit the harbor area and into the open river. Smaller boats sail past, and birds dip and dart over the surface of the water. The sun is beginning to sink lower in the sky, casting muted pastel colors along the horizon. I realize that Armani is watching me as I return my attention to the table.
“First time on a boat?” he asks.
“No, but it is my first time on a boat like this.”
“You look nervous.”
I take a sip from my glass. “It’s a big boat. What if we sink?”
Armani leans back in his chair. “Don’t tell me you can’t swim.”
His teasing voice makes me feel warm. I like this side of him.
“Oh, I can swim. I made the varsity team as a freshman in college.”
“UC San Francisco, right?” he asks. When I nod, he adds, “Impressive.”
I shrug. “I didn’t end up sticking with it. I loved swimming in high school, but at the college level it was just too competitive. It wasn’t fun for me anymore.”
“No? But you’re the competitive type, aren’t you?”
“Mmm. Sometimes,” I admit. “But not when it comes to extracurriculars or hobbies. If I’m doing something because it gives me pleasure, it should help take my mind off of things. Not stress me out even more.”
“And what else gives you pleasure?” he asks, a wicked smile lighting up his face.
My cheeks flame. Damn. I walked right into this, didn’t I?
“That’s something you’ll have to work to find out,” I say coyly, but my pulse is kicking hard as I attempt to maintain eye contact with him.
“Seems I have a lot to learn about you,” Armani says, setting down his glass.
Good luck, I think to myself.
Armani asks if I’m ready to eat, and then he serves both of us from the covered dishes prepared by his chef. There’s lemon risotto, broccoli rabe, roasted lobster tails with butter and thyme, and the best Italian bread I have ever eaten. Apparently, the Bellantis’ chef bakes everything from scratch. Maybe moving in with Armani wouldn’t be such a burden, after all.
Water rushes beneath the boat as we pick up speed, the last rays of the sunset painting the sky. A slight, balmy breeze ruffles my hair, and the faint scent of the flowers on the table wafts over me. It feels a little magical.
“How about this?” I suggest, breaking the lull that’s fallen between us. “Ask me about something you don’t already know about me.”
I wonder if he’s done a detailed background check on me. It would be classic Armani Bellanti to do investigative research on a potential date before stepping out with her, but exactly how deeply would he dig into my past? How much would he find out? I take another gulp of champagne and try to push down a flicker of worry.
“What’s your dream travel destination?” he says.
“Giza, Egypt.”
“Favorite color?”
I indicate my dress. “Green.”
He leans back in his chair, smiling broadly. “Is that your natural hair color?”
I mock-gasp at him. “A lady never tells. But yes.”
We banter back and forth over a hundred surface-level questions about me while we eat, but as the questions start to get a little more personal, I decide it’s time to turn the tables.
“Okay, okay. It’s my turn to learn something about you.”
“Good luck.”
