Page 155 of To Tango, with Desire

“I heard it’s a must-have in Persian cuisine.”

I grabbed her shoulders and kissed her. She’d cooked all of my favorite foods. It would have taken her hours of prep to make all this. All day even.

I remembered the first time Mom had been able to afford a full trolley of groceries. I remembered coming home to the smell of my mother’s cooking on the weekend. Kebabs, hummus, tabbouleh, lentils . . . a colorful feast.

Amira had made them all.

I rested my forehead against hers. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Help me take this stuff to the table.”

“Let’s eat in the kitchen, not the formal dining room. This meal is heart food.”

With the faint sound of Christmas songs crooning from the stereo and the air conditioner running, I sat beside my wife, plating up the food.

The first sample left me groaning in appreciation.

“Good?”

“The best. Shukran, Amira.”

“You’re very welcome. I wasn’t sure if I got it right or if it tasted like home. I know Lebanese and Persian dishes have some overlap, but a lot of subtlety goes into cuisines and that makes a difference.”

I reached over to squeeze her hand. “I’m one lucky man. You know that, right?”

Amira smiled, sampling some of the kotlet. “Not bad if I do say so myself.”

We ate, sharing stories about food and growing up with our own cultural customs. When I finished my second helping, I sat back, watching my wife.

And a rushing, overwhelming need to tell her how I felt came over me. It couldn’t wait until tomorrow.

I stood, drawing her to her feet.

“Where are we going?”

“I have something to show you.”

AMIRA

“Okay, you have me intrigued.”

We were in Zane’s study. Which at first I thought was an odd place to stash an early Christmas present. I’d been running around in a whirlwind the past few weeks, trying to get everything sorted before Christmas break. I was taking some time off for the holidays. We both were. And I was looking forward to doing nothing more than lazing by the pool and making love to my husband.

“This isn’t about business stuff, is it?”

I’d accepted his terms, deciding to expand on Amira Hadid Designs and take it to the next level. I was excited about it. Scared as hell, but ready to take that step. A collection. Runway shows. Everything I’d ever dreamed of was now on the horizon.

And I knew it was Zane’s faith in me that had helped me along.

It was with his encouragement that I would take this further than my wildest dreams. Pride aside, I was realizing that I was okay with that. Because my business was booming. Employing others had increased profits, so much so that I’d been able to buy my store. My agent had spoken to the owner, who’d been ready to sell. I’d made them an offer that the landlord couldn’t refuse.

I had done that. I had achieved that. Whatever was to come was just icing on that perfectly frosted cake.

“Not exactly,” Zane replied, opening his desk drawer.

“What’s that?” I pointed to the papers he held in his hands.

“Our contract.”