Chapter 27 Cole
Cole
The waiter escorted us to a table in a quiet corner of the hotel restaurant. I held out Charlotte’s chair, but she was too busy gazing at the enormous crystal chandeliers to notice.
“How was your first day exploring?”
Freckles dusted her nose. Her eyes were full of awe as she sat.
“We went to the Colosseum, the Pantheon, and the Spanish Steps. Dad always used to talk about the Roman Forum, but it’s even more amazing than I’d imagined.
” She patted her stomach in contentment.
“And I’ve decided I need to eat gelato with every meal. ”
“And your head feels better?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“I still think you should have rested today. You took plenty of breaks?”
“Renata wouldn’t let me walk ten paces without stopping to drink water. It’s just as well. My feet are going to end up as hooves with all these cobbles.” She wrinkled her nose. “Renata is very nice, but she fusses over me even more than Elain.”
Good. Theo had found Renata for me. She was a professional bodyguard who just happened to know Rome like the back of her hand.
If my wife was walking around this city all day, then I wanted her safe.
Theo only had the best on his team, and I’d told Renata that if she wanted a big fat tip, then Charlotte didn’t need to know that she was anything other than a tour guide.
“Good. It’s hot out there. It sounds like your guide is just being cautious. ”
“It’s definitely hot. You should come with us tomorrow. Get some sunshine.”
“I’m up against it with work.”
She nodded sagely. “You keep telling me that. But I know the truth.”
An uneasy feeling crept over me. Was I making it too obvious?
If she accused me of having feelings for her, I’d have to deny it.
It had almost killed me last night to see her in those stockings.
Thank God for migraines, because otherwise I would have been on my knees begging her to let me spend the night worshipping her body.
I kept my face neutral, but braced myself. “What truth?”
She raised an amused eyebrow. “Vampires can’t risk direct sunlight. It’s too bright out there.”
The tension in my jaw relaxed. “True enough. That’s also why I ordered the risotto without garlic.”
She lowered her gaze to the menu and shot me a furtive glance. “There are no prices on here.”
“People who stay in places like this don’t talk about money.” I raised a sardonic eyebrow, so she’d know I didn’t take any of this stuff seriously. “It screams nouveau.”
“Also because it would give us plebs a nosebleed to see it in print. I’d have to sell a kidney to afford a crouton in here.”
A smart waiter appeared. He hovered with a pen in his white-gloved hand. “Good evening. It’s a pleasure to have you here again, Signor Thorner.”
“Ackroyd. It’s Signor Ackroyd now.”
It felt strange to speak it out loud. What would Roy have made of me taking his name?
He hadn’t wanted me anywhere near Charlotte in the end.
I could only hope I wasn’t pissing off his ghost. Charlotte shot me a charmed look.
Good that she was pleased. Even better when my dad heard I’d so easily ditched his legacy. Fuck being a Thorner. Fuck him.
The waiter inclined his head to Charlotte. “Signora, may I take your order?”
She scanned the menu again with an anxious look. “I might need a minute. My Italian is rusty.” She fiddled with the silver hoops in her ears and muttered under her breath, “And when I say rusty, I mean nonexistent.”
“Do you want me to order for both of us?”
Her shoulders relaxed a fraction. “If you don’t mind.”
I ordered way more than I would normally for two, but Charlotte deserved a treat. The waiter left, and I looked up to find her watching me.
She gave me a faint smile. “Italian, huh? You do it with the accent and everything.”
“We have a few offices over here.”
“Where else?”
“All over. Everywhere.”
“No wonder you’re always so busy. I’m flattered you tore yourself away from the screen for dinner.”
Busy. Busy. That’s me. At some point, I’d have to break my plans to the shareholders.
Maybe I could send Lucas in to soften the blow.
He could do these things in a genial way.
People trusted Lucas. It was the glasses and the single-dad thing.
Lucas would never have to pay a companion to make him look like a decent human being. Annoying.
I still had some things to finish up tonight, but I wanted to make sure Charlotte ate well after seeing her so ill yesterday.
The change of scene looked like it was doing her good.
We fell into companionable silence while the waiter poured the drinks, and I fought not to stare at the green flecks in Charlotte’s eyes.
The waiter offered me wine, but I declined.
Charlotte watched me over the rim of her wineglass. “I just realized something. I never see you drink alcohol.”
“Because I don’t.”
“What? Never? Not even beer?”
Mum’s decline had put me off alcohol for life. “Not even beer.”
Her eyes darted over my face as though trying to solve a puzzle. She frowned and shook her head, joining the dots. “I don’t have to drink if you’re not. I’ll get them to take it away.”
“You carry on. I’m not in recovery, if that’s what you’re thinking, I just like to keep a clear head.”
She nodded, but the uneasy wrinkle between her brows didn’t diminish.
“Tell me about Rome. What have you enjoyed most?”
I listened to Charlotte talking with animation about the Colosseum until the waiter returned with a host of trays and deposited plate after steaming plate.
The rich aroma wafted in the air. She ate a mouthful of risotto.
Her face melted in pleasure, and a low moan escaped her lips.
Chatter from the other part of the restaurant faded.
I couldn’t drag my eyes away from her mouth.
I wanted to taste her. It wasn’t enough to feel her come on my fingers.
I wanted to feel my pretty wife come on my tongue. Heat spread through me.
“Is this what food actually tastes like? Why did no one tell me? I could get used to all this. Beautiful sights. Sunshine. Incredible food. The Italians are winning at life.” She licked her lips and waved her fork over the rice. “What do they put in this stuff? Crack?”
“Truffles. Crack would be cheaper.”
She chuckled. “You know, I forgot how funny you are.”
I raised a brow. “I’m not funny.”
“You are when you’re relaxed. You used to always make me laugh.” She swirled her wine in her glass and took a sip. “Can I ask you something that’s been bugging me?”
I nodded.
She glanced over her shoulder and lowered her voice. “Why me? You could have hired a professional. An escort or an actress. I’m sure you’re surrounded by women a hundred times more elegant and refined than me.”
“I don’t need elegant and refined.”
She flinched. The words had been careless. I hadn’t meant them to sound bad, but she had to know what I meant.
“I just mean to say that this is about weaving a narrative. You represent my life before I became the Cole Thorner that the world knows. You’re a normal person from a normal place.
Unfiltered and authentic. You have that accent.
You open your mouth and, no matter what you say, it sounds homey and trustworthy.
A good girl like you will impress the people I need to impress. ”
She swirled a finger around the rim of her wineglass. “A good girl? Is that how you see me?”
“I remember when you hyperventilated after I stole a pick-and-mix from the cinema. When all the other kids were sneaking out to get drunk in the park, you were doing watercolor sessions for the old people at the nursing home.”
“So you married me because I’m just the right level of uncool? I see.”
Her face dropped. That was the thing about Charlotte.
She could never keep anything from her face.
Every emotion played out so clearly. She’d be a terrible poker player.
That was one of the first things Philip had taught me.
Never show your hand. Never let anyone know what you’re thinking.
Everyone is out to manipulate you. Don’t let them.
The chink of silverware drifted to us. “I didn’t say that. It doesn’t matter either way. I married you because you’re exactly what I need.”
“And how do you know I’m still a good girl? You haven’t known me for years.” Her eyes held a glint of goading.
Was she flirting with me? Too much wine.
“That’s true. You’ll have to tell me. Are you still a good girl, Charlotte?”
Her cheeks pinked, and her brow furrowed.
I watched her throat bob as she swallowed.
My cock stiffened, all too interested in a conversation it had no business being involved in.
Her squirming only served to give me a raging hard-on.
I couldn’t get the image of her in that white lingerie out of my mind, or the way she’d trembled when I’d slipped her stockings down her tempting thighs.
There were a million ways I’d enjoy making Charlotte Ackroyd blush.
I’d spent years rehearsing them in my head with a fist around my cock.
Get a grip. This wasn’t about flirting. There was no reason to be using a low voice.
No reason to be leaning so close. I cleared my throat and sat upright in my chair.
She picked up the seafood fork. The silver glinted in the light as she studied it. “I’m not a saint.”
“That makes two of us.”
“I keep thinking about . . .” She bit her lip and whispered, “After the ball. What happened between us . . .”
Definitely tipsy. She thought about it too? Her orgasm face had blazed into my brain. “You said it couldn’t happen again.”
“I don’t think it should, but that doesn’t mean I have to stop thinking about it. So, no, I’m not a good girl. I signed up for a year of celibacy and now all I can think about is what we can’t do together.”
Her cheeks flushed a brighter red. She glanced over at the bar. “Anyway, maybe I’ll get lucky and meet some handsome Italian stranger on this trip. No strings.”
Drunk and horny. “Is that what you want?”
Her eyes met mine. “People have physical needs. It’s not unreasonable. You said you wouldn’t have a problem with it if I’m discreet.”
My hand tightened around my fork. I’d changed my mind. I’d definitely have a fucking problem with it. Also, it was impossible to be discreet here. I wanted to buy this place. What if word got back that my wife was fucking the bellhop on the honeymoon?
“I told you, I’m happy to facilitate your physical needs.”
Her face clouded with uneasiness. “I don’t want you to. It’s too messy between us.”
“So you’d rather fuck a stranger?”
A tired look passed over her face. “It’s easier.”
It wouldn’t do. This couldn’t get too deep, but that didn’t mean some prick got to put his hands all over my wife. She’d signed the contract. She couldn’t seriously be thinking about hooking up with someone already? I kept my voice low and composed.
“I’m sure you can wait until we get home. Consider letting the ink dry on the marriage certificate before you spread your legs for some random.”
Her swift recoil was as though I’d slapped her. She stood.
“Sit down,” I said calmly. “People are looking.”
“Tell them I’ve lost my appetite.”
I couldn’t take my eyes off her ass in that dress as she stormed away, because she was so fucking sexy even when she looked like she wanted to punch me.