4. Aileen
CHAPTER 4
AILEEN
T he doorman at Alinea bows so low I half expect his nose to touch his knees. "Mr. Varakian, welcome back."
"Table for two." Charles's hand stays locked with mine, that strange tingling warmth making my knees weak.
The ma?tre d' materializes from thin air. "Right this way, sir."
My jaw drops at the sight of the restaurant's interior. Crystal chandeliers drip from the ceiling like frozen rain. A statue of Venus towers in the center, marble flesh gleaming in the soft light. The air smells of truffle oil and money - lots of it.
"Oh my god." The words slip out as we pass a wall of wine bottles that probably cost more than Papa's entire inventory.
Charles's thumb traces another circle on my palm. "You approve?"
"It's..." Words fail me. Everything sparkles - the crystal glasses, the polished silverware, the perfectly pressed tablecloths.
The ma?tre d' leads us to a secluded corner table. Charles releases my hand to pull out my chair. His fingers brush my bare shoulder as he helps me sit, and electricity shoots down my spine. Those hands of his - they're massive, strong enough to span my entire shoulder. Heat floods my face as I imagine them sliding lower, exploring every inch of-
"Wine list, sir?"
I jerk back to reality, my cheeks burning. Charles settles into his seat across from me, and those amazing eyes bore into me. Does he know what I was just thinking about? Something in his smile makes me think he might.
"Do you have a wine preference?" Charles's eyes sparkle with interest as he studies the leather-bound list.
"I like sweet wines. Dry ones taste like somebody squeezed all the joy out of the grapes."
His lips twitch. "An astute observation. Perhaps..." He turns to the sommelier. "The Sauternes, I think. The 2010."
The sommelier's eyebrows rise appreciatively. "An excellent choice, sir."
My fingers fidget with the napkin in my lap. The weight of the crystal glasses, the gleam of sterling silver, the whispered conversations around us - it all feels like too much. Like I'm playing dress-up in someone else's life.
"Something troubles you." Charles leans forward, concern etching his perfect features.
"It's just..." I gesture at our surroundings. "The limo, this place, even the, um, flour bouquet. It's a lot for a first date. Are you sure I'm worth all this?"
His expression shifts, grows intense. "Worth it? Aileen..." He reaches across the table, his fingertips brushing mine. That strange electric tingle shoots up my arm again. "If anything, this barely scratches the surface of what you deserve. You are..." He pauses, searching for words. "Extraordinary. I only wish I could do more to show you how much I-" He catches himself, withdraws his hand. "How much I appreciate your company tonight."
The wine arrives, golden as sunset in the crystal glass. But I barely notice it, too caught up in the way Charles looks at me - like I'm the most fascinating creature he's ever seen.
"Oh come on." I wave my hand, dismissing his praise. "I work in my parent's restaurant, and that's all I've ever done. I can't be that fascinating."
Charles's perfect features twist into something that looks almost like pain. "It breaks my heart to disagree with you, Aileen, but you are incorrect. You are the most fascinating creature in all the galaxy."
My stomach does a little flip at his words. The wine must be getting to my head because for a moment I actually believe him. But then his choice of words registers.
The galaxy? Who talks like that?
"You talk about outer space a lot." I lean back, studying his too-perfect face. "You're not in one of those weirdo billionaire alien cults, are you?"
A strange expression flickers across his features - alarm? But it vanishes so fast I might have imagined it. His fingers tighten around his wine glass.
Charles's smile lights up his face, but something about it seems rehearsed, like he's practiced it in front of a mirror.
"I can assure you I am definitely not in a cult, weird or otherwise."
The words ring true, but that's not what bothers me. It's the careful way he speaks, like someone translating each word in their head before saying it out loud. My dad gets the same look when he's telling me the truth but not the whole truth - like when he swears he didn't eat the last cannoli but conveniently leaves out that he gave it to mom.
Time to dig deeper.
"So, Chuck," I say, deliberately using the nickname to see how he'll react. His eye twitches - score one for me. "How were things for you growing up?"
The wine glass freezes halfway to his lips. Just for a second, but I catch it. Got him.
His expression clouds over.
"I was born in the middle of a great war ravaging my..." A pause, barely noticeable. "Country. I vowed I would do anything I could to stop the devastation."
That darkness vanishes as quick as it appeared, replaced by that million-dollar smile. "I'm not much for talking about myself. I'm far more interested in you, Aileen. Tell me, what are your dreams and aspirations?"
Nice deflection there, buddy. But his eyes shine with genuine interest, and when was the last time a guy asked about my dreams? Usually they just want to know if I can get them free pizza.
"Well..." I trace the rim of my wine glass. "I used to want to be a music star when I was little girl. Then an astronaut..."
Charles's whole face lights up at that last word, like I just told him Christmas came early. Interesting. File that away for later.
"But now that I'm grown?" I shrug, the silk of mom's dress sliding against my skin. "I guess I just want to be happy. Though I have no idea what that looks like."
The sommelier presents the cork to Charles with a flourish. A snort escapes me.
"Something amusing?" The waiter's lips purse like he bit into a lemon.
"Sorry, it's just..." I gesture at the cork. "What's he supposed to do, make sure it's real cork and not plastic?"
Charles's eyes crinkle at the corners. "Actually, the ritual allows one to verify the wine hasn't been tainted. Though I admit, it does look rather pompous."
The wine pools golden in my glass. I take a sip, and sweetness explodes across my tongue. The warmth spreads through my chest, but who am I kidding? That giddy feeling started the moment Charles took my hand outside the limo.
"Tell me about your musical preferences." Charles leans forward, those strange golden eyes fixed on mine.
Heat creeps up my neck. I cover my face with my hands and peek through my fingers. "Promise not to laugh?"
"I would never."
"I'm totally into disco. Like, embarrassingly into it. The Bee Gees, ABBA, KC and the Sunshine Band..."
"Disco?" His perfect eyebrows arch up. "The dance music popular in the nineteen seventies?"
"I know, I know. It's not sophisticated like jazz or whatever. But something about those beats just makes me want to move."
"Indeed?" A slow smile spreads across his face. "As it happens, there's an establishment nearby that specializes in historical music events. Tonight's theme centers on that particular decade. Would you care to visit?"
My heart skips at the thought of dancing to ABBA. But then reality crashes in as I tug at mom's borrowed dress.
"I'd love to, but..." My voice breaks nervously. "This skirt's kind of short. One wrong move and everyone gets a free show."
Charles goes still. Those golden eyes fix on me with an intensity that makes my breath catch.
"Aileen, stand up."
"What? I don't-"
"Stand up." His voice drops lower, softer, but there's steel underneath. The kind that makes my knees weak and my pulse race.
I push back my chair and rise on shaky legs, fighting the urge to yank the hemline down. The silk whispers against my thighs.
"Turn around." One finger traces a circle in the air.
The command sends electricity down my spine. I pivot slowly, face burning as I feel his gaze travel over me. What game is he playing? Checking out just how short this dress really is?
My skin prickles under his scrutiny. The air feels thick, charged, like right before a summer storm breaks.
"Excellent." Charles motions to my chair. "Be seated."
My legs feel like jelly as I sink back into my seat. What was that about? The way he looked at me during that little fashion show - like he wanted to devour me whole.
His phone appears in his hand - one of those sleek models that probably costs more than my car. The screen bathes his perfect features in blue light as his fingers dance across it.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm solving the problem." His smile holds secrets, promises. "You have astonishingly magnificent legs, Aileen."
My heart hammers against my ribs like it's trying to escape. Heat floods my face, spreads down my neck. No guy has ever looked at me the way Charles does - like I'm some priceless treasure he can't believe he found.
"Um, thank you." The words come out barely above a whisper. I stare at my wine glass, unable to meet those intense golden eyes. What do you even say when a billionaire compliments your legs?
Charles beckons a waiter over with a graceful flick of his wrist. The man appears at our table so fast I wonder if he teleported.
"There will be a drone delivery arriving at your front door in approximately two minutes." Charles slides a crisp hundred dollar bill across the pristine tablecloth. "Retrieve it and bring it here."
The waiter's eyes widen at the bill. He pockets it with a quick bow and hurries toward the entrance.
My attention drifts to the floor-to-ceiling windows. A strange light catches my eye - red and blue dots blinking against the night sky. The drone hovers like a mechanical hummingbird, its rotors whirring almost silently as it descends to the sidewalk.
"Is that...legal?" I press my nose against the glass. The drone deposits a small cardboard box and zips away into the darkness.
The waiter scoops up the package and brings it to our table with the same reverence he showed the wine.
"Give it to my lovely date." Charles's gaze entraps me, intense enough to make my toes curl inside my shoes. "A gift, for you."
My fingers tremble as I lift the lid off the sleek black box. Inside, nestled in tissue paper, lies a pair of impossibly fine black tights. The fabric feels like liquid silk against my skin.
"You can wear these under your dress." Charles's voice drops to that low tone that makes my insides melt. "I guessed your size, but they will fit."
A laugh bubbles up from my chest - half nervous, half delighted. Who orders emergency tights by drone in the middle of dinner? Only Charles Varakian, apparently.
"How can you be so sure they'll fit?"
"Height five foot six, waist twenty-eight inches, hips thirty-eight, inseam-"
"Okay, okay!" Heat floods my face. The measurements are exact - down to the quarter inch.
My fingers tighten around the box. Most guys can barely remember my birthday, let alone my exact proportions. But Charles... those golden eyes miss nothing. The way he looked at me when he made me turn around - like he was memorizing every curve, every detail.
A shiver runs down my spine that has nothing to do with the restaurant's air conditioning. Well. He's very... observant.
Dinner is delicious, fabulous. I barely notice it going down, because the company is so amazing. Charles is attentive, thoughtful, and interested in what I have to say. In other words, the perfect date. Maybe too perfect, but he has a way of sneaking past all of the alarms I've put up over the years.
He holds my hand from the restaurant outside to the waiting car. The night air feels good on my skin. It's almost ten at night but I don't feel tired. I'm possessed of an energy that's simply indescribable.
The limo door clicks shut behind us, leather seats creaking as we settle in. My fingers toy with the box of tights in my lap.
"Should I close my eyes while you put those on?" Charles asks, ever the gentleman.
A wicked impulse strikes me. Maybe it's the wine, or maybe it's the way he's looked at me all evening.
I kick off my heels, the plush carpet tickling my bare feet.
His golden eyes widen as I unfold the tights. The silk whispers against my skin as I roll them up my legs, taking my sweet time about it. The hem of mom's dress rides up my thighs, and Charles's breath catches audibly.
His nostrils flare, fingers gripping the leather seat tight enough to leave marks. The intensity of his gaze sends electricity dancing across my skin.
The tights slide on like a second skin, smoother than anything I've ever worn. They must have cost a fortune, but right now I'm more interested in the way Charles tracks every movement of my hands.
Feeling bold, I extend one leg into the air, pointing my toes like a ballerina. "How do I look?"
"Perfect." The word comes out rough, almost reverent. His eyes burn into mine with such raw sincerity that a shiver runs down my spine.
Oh my God, where is this going to lead?