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“To never-ending dreams,” I say, clinking my glass to hers.
“To never-ending dreams,” she repeats, her words filling my chest, flooding me with something like hope.
22
Chari
One month ago, I didn’t drink wine. And now I’ve graduated all the way to red.
One month ago, I had forgotten that Enzo DeLuca existed. And now, as he makes his way back to the table, my insides vibrate.
One month ago, I thought I’d been in love before, and now I’m not so sure. No one has ever made me feel their loss so keenly. And it’s only been five minutes.
“Miss me?”
If only he knew how much.
“Hardly noticed you were gone,” I lie. “Just taking in the view.”
The restaurant isn’t huge, but it’s extremely elegant. Waiters and waitresses dressed to the nines, sparkling crystal and extra shiny silverware everywhere. Our table is one of four arranged next to the floor-to-ceiling window. Though we can’t see the lake now that it’s dark out, lights twinkle from across it. Thanks to Enzo, I know those lights are actually in France. For some reason, that still amazes me, to be sitting in one country with a view of another.
“Really?” he asks, sitting. “It seemed to me you were looking my way.”
I was, of course.
“You were watching me,” I deflect. More than five hours of drinking, on and off, have had their effect. We were careful not to imbibe too much at the winery, Enzo telling me it was just the beginning of our night. After that, we took a pause for a drive through the countryside of Montreux and a stop at a delightful chocolatier. But we’ve sat in this restaurant for nearly the past two hours. Eating the most delicious Italian food I’ve ever had. Talking. Drinking. Laughing.
“Always,” he says, and the intensity in his eyes deepens, if possible.
When Enzo looks at me this way, I’m just glad I don’t need to answer any difficult questions. Like,What’s your name?
“Can I show you the dessert menu?” the waiter seemingly comes from nowhere.
We exchange a glance.
“Do you want dessert?” Enzo asks.
I shake my head and the waiter leaves us.
“The only thing more I want to taste tonight,” Enzo whispers across the table, “is you.”
And oh God, how am I supposed to make it back to the hotel?
The anticipation has grown more unbearable with each stop on this incredible date. The best part of all is that his focus has been totally on me, other than one call he had to take at the winery.
On the way to the restaurant, I asked him how he’d managed to arrange all of this. Did his assistant do it?
Enzo insisted it was all him, with Hayden’s help. Which makes it even more special.
But it’s finally, blessedly time to leave. As we walk through the elegant Michelin-starred restaurant, I wonder how I ended up here. Nothing about it feels real. Except for Enzo’s lips on mine the minute we slide into the back seat of the car.
I love kissing Enzo, but I want more. To feel his skin next to mine. To know him as intimately as two people can know each other. By the time we get to the elevator in the hotel, something snaps between us.
As soon as the door slides closed, Enzo claims me, his tongue tangling with mine. I can’t wait any longer to feel him. I pull the shirt under his sweater out, needing to feel skin. Needing an anchor. I groan as I find the ridges attesting to his hours in the gym.
Enzo’s hands cup both of my ass cheeks, squeezing and pressing me toward him, trapping my hand in his sweater. The ding of the elevator door barely penetrates the cloud of pleasure surrounding us. I jump back, realizing we could easily be caught. But no one is there.
I don’t even know how we make it to the door of our room, but we do. I’m about to pull him back to me when I see it out of the corner of my eye.
