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Enzo’s mouth lifts in this special smile of his that has a way of making the beholder feel comfortable, and noticed, and valued, and I want to reach over all the fancy place settings and pull his handsome face toward me.
“When you look at me like that, Chari—”
“Pardon me.” The waiter opened the door to speak to us, and the full force of the bustling kitchen sounds reach us. It’s so strange. From silence to a sneak peek behind the scenes. I wonder what Enzo was about to say.
“Moscato d’Asti maybe?”
I realize the man standing with our waiter is talking to me.
“I know you don’t typically drink wine, but do you want to try something light?” Enzo asks.
I can’t actually imagine ordering a beer here. I could drink vodka, but what the hell? “Sure, I’ll try it.”
“May I suggest Ca’ d’Gal Vigna Vecchia for Ms. Atwood?”
It’s still freaking me out that everyone knows my name. This must be the sommelier. I nod, and Enzo orders a drink for himself too. The minute the door closes, I wait anxiously for Enzo to finish. But he seems to have forgotten what he was going to say.
“How exactly was I looking at you?” I prod, knowing the answer full well.
Enzo sits up straight and leans forward. Something about him has shifted. This isn’t the man I knew in childhood anymore. This is the confident billionaire who feels comfortable in a restaurant like this. And weirdly enough, he’s no less sexy or desirable. I’m not even sure which one I like better.
“You were looking at me the same way, I imagine, that I’ve been looking at you since last Friday.”
I swallow, unable to respond to him.
“And when you look at me like that, Chari, I forget for a second that you’re Devon’s little sister.”
Here we go.
“And is that such a bad thing?”
Our conversation staggers to a halt again when the sommelier brings our wine. He shows me the bottle. I nod, realizing he’s waiting for a response. And when he pours a bit in the glass, I take the hint and sip it. It’s really good, actually. Another nod and he fills my glass.
Enzo goes through the same dance, and when the sommelier leaves, Enzo raises his glass. So I do the same.
“Maybe it’s not such a bad thing. To a night in New York with . . . not my friend’s sister, but the kind, beautiful woman whom I’ve wanted to get alone since we were reacquainted last week.”
Each of his words stirs something in me, and I meet his eyes as I clink my glass to his, then drink.
Is it me or does this not taste like wine? I don’t like wine, and this is delicious. Though not as delicious as what he said, and what it promised. He’s waiting for a response, so I give one.
“That makes two of us, Enzo.” I lift my glass again for a second toast. “Cheers.”
11
Enzo
“I’ll take that.”
Closing the door behind us, I lay our jackets down and make my way behind the bar.
“Nightcap?”
Chari reaches down to peel off one heel, and then the second. Two sets of perfectly manicured toes wiggle around, and for the millionth time in my life, I thank the fashion gods I don’t have to wear those things.
“Are they that bad?”
Her shoulders sag in answer.
