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Rae
That afternoon, I’m busy with work, but I take some time to go shopping.
When I show up for dinner, I’m feeling more relaxed despite the awful news this morning and the tense conversation at the villa after.
The restaurant is exclusive, and when I check in at the front, they immediately show me past the other patrons, up the stairs, and out to a lone table on the roof.
My breath catches. The scene is beautiful and romantic. Tiny fairy lights drape around the single slim railing that would keep patrons from falling off, if there was anyone up here but me.
Any man can be the grand-gesture type, but this is a precise gesture. A place that sets the stage for a meaningful conversation, not one so grand as to stifle it.
“Would señorita like a drink?”
“Thank you.” I opt for a glass of wine to take the edge off.
I’m waiting a while, self-conscious in the silver dress I bought today that dips low in the back and ends partway down my thighs. Ash promised it was a ten when I sent him a picture, but now I smooth a hand down my straightened hair and hope Harrison likes what he sees.
I’m starting to get nervous when a throat clearing behind me makes me turn.
Harrison’s there, tall and imposing in a dark suit, his shirt open at the collar.
His nostrils flare as he takes in my appearance, his gaze dragging down to my wedge sandals and back up over every curve to linger on my face. “You’re stunning.”
I blow out a breath. “And if you were any other guy, I’d say you took your time getting ready. But this is faster than pulling on a T-shirt.”
He walks to me, tipping my chin up and brushing a soft kiss over my lips that leaves me tingling. “I thought about the T-shirt. I’m saving it for our anniversary.”
My heart skips. “Our what?”
“Mhmm. Last year, you tried to paint a picture of what our future could be. I walked away.” His expression clouds. “This time, I will make it up to you.”
“With incentives?” I tease, off balance.
“Correct. This, in a way, is our one-year anniversary. On our second, I’ll accompany you in a T-shirt—“
“That’s not much of a promise.”
“—to the Casino de Monte-Carlo in Monaco.”
“They have a dress code.”
“I’ll break it.”
I suck in a breath. That does sound promising.
He shows me to the table, holding my chair while I take a seat.
The waiter brings our menus, and I read down the list, freezing.
Sandwiches, like the one I made him on his mother’s birthday after he got drunk the first night we bonded.
Tacos, like we had on the beach in LA.
Paella, like we made after I lost a gig.
“I can’t believe you even remembered all of these.”
He sets his menu on the table, staring calmly at me. “Raegan, I remember everything.”
