8. ENZO
8
ENZO
My fingers tap across the hardwood of the table in front of me. I glance at my watch. It has been over half an hour since I sent the courier upstairs to Quinn’s room.
Can the courier have messed up during the delivery?
The other possibility, of course, is much bleaker. That Quinn simply decided not to respond.
She has to. I kept the letter short and to the point. A simple no from her side would suffice if she didn’t want to come see me.
So, what’s taking her so long?
It’s the courier’s fault. It has to be. I’ll have a few choice words for him as soon as—
A tap on my shoulder pulls me out of my head.
“Sir, the letter.”
I snatch it eagerly from his hands, waving my hand to dismiss him before tearing it open.
See you downstairs, Mr. Marchetti.
Anticipation swirls inside of me as I re-read the reply over a few times.
I have grown tired of being consumed by thoughts of Quinn. This has gone on for too long, and I need to know for sure where exactly it can lead me once and for all.
I fold the paper neatly, stuffing it into the pockets of my coat. Nervousness swells inside of me, as I realize that she’ll be coming down at any moment now.
We have a lot in common.
She is unlike others in the group. She actually cares about winemaking with a passion that almost rivals my own. It’s not every day that I meet a woman like that. In fact, the last time I did, I ended up marrying her.
Guilt gnaws at my chest at the thought of Valentina. It almost feels wrong to pursue someone new, even though she’s not here anymore.
But I comfort myself with the reminder that Valentina would have never wanted me to hold myself back. She’d encourage me to go after someone I wanted, if anything.
That was one of the first things that had attracted me to her in the first place. Her free spirit—never wanting to control me and tie me down. My commitment to her was out of my own will.
But then, another worry popped into my head.
Luciana.
My daughter’s opinion is something I value a lot in this world. I cannot imagine what her reaction will be when she discovers that her father is pursuing women half his age.
I’ve taken great care to not let my children see me with other women after my wife passed. Sure, there has been the odd one-night stand after a particular bout of loneliness. But there has been no one whom I wanted to introduce to my children.
What if my daughter doesn’t accept that I’m willing to move on now? Hell, it’s hard enough for me to accept it.
Yet, despite everything, I know that I’ll regret it forever if I at least don’t try something with Quinn.
There’s something just… different about her.
The image of her in a tight little sundress flashes in front of my eyes, and I gulp down a swig of wine from my glass, relishing the memory.
She had looked so damn good.
It makes it even harder for me to resist, now that I know what her mouth tastes like.
It’s futile to ignore the pull she has on me, and I’m finally ready to let the moment guide me.
“Waiting for someone?”
I turn around to find a pair of bright blue eyes looking back at me.
“Quinn,” I manage to utter, unable to tear my gaze away from her.
“Enzo.” She smiles, oblivious to the effect she’s having on me. “I was told that you wanted to talk to me?”
“Indeed.” I nod, straightening my posture. “But not here. We’re going out for dinner.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize…” She smoothes out a nonexistent crease in her dress. “I would have dressed up if I knew we were leaving the hotel.”
“Trust me, you look fine.”
What I want to say is that she looks like a damn treat in that blue figure-hugging dress she has on. But I refrain, not wanting to sound too eager.
She bites on her lip, “Well, lead the way.”
The valet hands me the keys to my Aston Martin, and I keep the top down as we begin to drive to the five-star restaurant I’ve gotten reservations for.
Sure, maybe I am trying to impress her tonight.
The drive is short, and I ask her to put on some music. I’m anticipating some generic Top Ten pop track, but she surprises me by playing classical rock.
She seems to have a knack for doing that.
At the restaurant, we’re seated at a private table, tucked away in a secluded corner.
Her eyes widen slightly when she takes in just how fancy the place is, but she doesn’t comment.
Maybe I’m not the only one trying to play it cool tonight.
“Well…” She turns to me when we’ve finally placed our orders. “Should we get right into it, then?”
I get the feeling that she’s waiting for me to spell out some kind of plan for her—an agenda for our meeting. But frankly, all I want to do is get to know her a little better.
“Do you always misconstrue dinner plans as networking opportunities?” I laugh.
“Is that not what this is?” Her confused look is just as gorgeous as all the other sides I’ve seen of her. Even cuter if possible.
I shrug. “We’re just having a conversation, Quinn.”
A part of me wants to state what I want this to be: a date. But I’ve decided to take things slow tonight and gauge her reaction. Considering our age gap, the last thing I want her to think is that I’m some old horndog chasing after someone younger.
“Hmm, that’s more my style anyway.” She nods and glances down to the glass of wine in front of her. “I noticed that this is your product.”
“I’m surprised you can tell.” I laugh. “But yes. We’re one of the suppliers to this place.”
“Of course, I can. If you haven’t been able to figure it out already, I know my wines.”
“You know, you might be one of the few Americans I know that are this knowledgeable about the craft,” I reply, observing her with a fascination that I’ve come to expect by now.
“Representing my home country. I hope I’ve made my way a little bit closer to the top of the list,” she jokes.
“Not quite first place but close.” I shake my head, “That spot would still be reserved for one of my best friends back in Chicago. But he’s got more than a couple of years on you if that helps you feel better.”
“You don’t know me well enough to know it doesn’t.” She smiles
“It’s not for lack of trying,” I murmur, taking a sip of my glass.
Our eyes lock for a moment, and there is tension in the air.
She bites down on her lower lip and tears her gaze away. “I would hope that I know a thing or two about wine. It’s my bread and butter, after all.”
“I have to say. I’m still fascinated by your career change story.”
“I don’t blame you. It looks like quite a drastic change—going from corporate to independent. Especially to taste wine.” She nods. “I don’t judge you for thinking I’m just a little bit crazy.”
“Not at all. It’s admirable, if anything.” I hold her gaze again before she inevitably looks away, blushing this time.
“Thanks. It’s been quite the ride.” Her tone falters for a moment. “A bumpy one.”
“What was your journey like?” I find myself leaning forward, genuinely curious.
“Well, there were some people around me that didn’t quite understand why I’d want to give up the security of a stable career for something as unpredictable as making a living as an influencer.”
“High risk, high rewards, right?” I wink.
She pauses for a moment. “High risk indeed. My job was what ultimately led my divorce.”
“Oh.” As my chin almost hits the floor, the hurt in her eyes awakens a protective beast inside me. “I didn’t know that. I’m sorry.”
She waves her hand in the air. “What’s the math like? One divorce, every thirteen seconds in America? My marriage was just collateral, at that point.”
She smiles at me, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. The hurt there shows me she’s hiding how she really feels behind a facade of nonchalance.
Instinctively, I get the urge to make her feel better.
“Hey.” I nudge her. “Maybe second time’s the charm.”
That elicits a laugh out of her. “God forbid. I don’t even want to think about that.”
“You’re in the right place, then,” I joke.
Her divorce is a shock to me. She’s too young and judging by her ambition, I didn’t take her to be the type that marries young. But the last thing I want to do tonight is discuss another guy.
“So, tell me more about you.” We’ve moved closer in the booth now, and our knees are brushing against each other.
As the three-Michelin star course is delicious, the conversation is the highlight of the night.
We get to talking about everything, and it astounds me how easy it is.
Why didn’t I ask her out sooner?
The whole night is just magical, and I’m left in a daze, hoping she feels the same way. This is the best date I’ve had… maybe ever.
A small silence settles in between us. Neither of us want to be the one to end the night here.
“I feel like we haven’t even scratched the surface yet,” she admits, an uncharacteristic shyness eclipsing her features. “How about we continue this somewhere else?”