Chapter 9 #2
Theo rests the helmet against his hip. “You could. But it’s Saturday night. The I-4 is probably already a parking lot, and finding parking near the restaurant will be a nightmare.”
Nope. That argument still isn’t convincing enough. “That’s what my maps app is for,” I counter.
“Your app won’t magic away traffic,” he says calmly. “Dinner’s twenty minutes on the bike. In a car? Closer to an hour, given the construction on the bypass.”
My stomach chooses that exact moment to betray me with a low, audible growl.
You traitor, I think, mentally scolding my own midsection.
I grimace, looking everywhere but at Theo. “I don’t do motorcycles. I’ll just grab something nearby from Original Jorge’s or Mamma Lina’s.”
I glance across the street. Both places have lines snaking out the door. Jorge’s is shorter, but I’m not in the mood for bar food. Mamma Lina’s is easily an hour or more wait.
“Or I’ll just hit the supermarket,” I mutter, the image of a sad, plastic-wrapped grocery-store sandwich becoming a depressing reality.
“Minami,” Theo says, gentler now. “What’s really putting you off?”
I hesitate, then admit, “Motorcycles aren’t like cars. They’re harder to see. One distracted driver and—”
He exhales once. “I wouldn’t suggest it—especially to you—if I didn’t think it was safe. I ride defensively. I don’t lane-split or pull stunts.” His gaze holds mine. “You know me. I don’t cut corners on safety.” He holds the helmet out again. “Do you trust me?”
Her Imperial Highness, Kaori, the Princess Sorahino of Japan, doesn’t do anything ostentatious like climb onto the back of motorcycles. She dresses in muted, conservative suits and rides around in chauffeured cars with tinted windows, or on a train with her protection officers.
But I’m not in Japan. I’m in America. I’m not wearing my Princess Sorahino persona right now. I’m Kaori Minami, the junior engineer who is beyond starving.
“Okay,” I say before I can process what a terrible idea this is.
Theo nods once. “Good. Hold on tight and keep your feet in when we pull away. I’ll handle the rest.”
Before I can respond, he drapes his heavy leather jacket over my shoulders. The weight of it is immediate, smelling of sea salt and old wood.
“No. This is where I draw the line,” I protest, trying to shrug the sleeves off. “It’s ninety degrees, with about a hundred percent humidity. I’m not wearing a jacket, Theo. I’ll melt before we hit the first stoplight.”
“You will wear it. It’s nonnegotiable,” he says, his voice dropping into that authoritative “lead engineer” tone that brooks no argument.
He doesn’t wait for me to agree. He reaches out and tugs the zipper up halfway.
His knuckles brush against my collarbone in a feather-light touch that feels like a low-voltage spark through the heavy leather.
I reach for the helmet myself, determined to reclaim some shred of my autonomy.
I pull it over my head and manage to click the chin strap into place on the first try, despite my hands shaking.
I look at him through the visor, expecting a critique on my form.
Instead, his brow quirks, and a look of genuine amusement dances in his eyes.
He doesn’t say anything about it, only directs me to climb on.
I do as I’m told, sliding onto the seat.
It’s narrower than I expect—a sliver of leather that feels entirely too small to be safe.
For a split second, I’m convinced one wrong shift will send us toppling onto the asphalt.
Then Theo swings one leg over and settles in front of me, the bike steadying instantly beneath his weight like a ship finding its anchor.
“Lean forward,” he instructs, voice calm through the helmet. “And don’t let go.”
Instincts take over as I wrap my arms around his midsection, my fingertips grazing the edge of his soft shirt. “Come on, Minami, you’ll fall off if you hold me like that. I’m not made of porcelain. I won’t break.”
Flames rocket up my cheeks. I scoot closer. The seat leaves me no choice but to press against him and tighten my grip.
His body is solid under my arms. For a man who works the hours he does, I can’t help but wonder, when does he find the time to work out? And just what is he hiding under that dress shirt?
Whoa. Get it together, Kaori. Where did a thought like that even come from?
I need to remember the hierarchy here. He’s the big boss. I know how this works. He’s off-limits. My current train of thought is a one-way ticket to an awkward HR meeting. I worked too hard to get here. I’m not about to jeopardize it all.
My thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the engine growling to life. The vibration rolls through his body and straight into mine, up my arms and into my chest, until I can’t tell whether the pounding in my ears is the motorcycle or my own heartbeat. My grip tightens.
“Here we go,” Theo calls back.
The motorcycle surges forward. A twinge of fear shoots through me, followed by sparks of exhilaration that spread like wildfire. Because this isn’t at all what I expected.
It feels like . . . I’m riding a coaster.
The hum of the engine becomes the click-click of a chain lift.
The lean of the bike into each turn becomes a perfect banked curve.
My pulse doesn’t race from panic, but from thrill-seeking adrenaline.
For the first time since I met Theo Riverton, I’m not bracing myself against him. I’m moving with him.
The city blurs into streaks of neon and headlights.
I hold on tighter as we peel off the highway and thread through surface streets.
As the wind softens against my cheeks, I recognize where we are—the Disney resort area.
The pastel hotels, palm-lined boulevards, and carefully sculpted lawns are impossible to mistake.
It’s the one part of Florida I’d visited a few times before moving here.
Theo navigates a maze of resort signs and restaurant turnoffs before finally pulling into a private garage beneath a high-rise hotel. The engine cuts off. I remove the helmet, and my hair springs free in a staticky mess. My legs wobble slightly as I climb off.
“How was it?” he asks, climbing off and taking the helmet from my hands.
My heart is still performing a frantic percussion set against my ribs, and my skin feels like it’s humming. I want to tell him it was the most terrifyingly amazing thing I’ve ever done. For the past twenty minutes, I felt limitless. But I decide instead to play it cool. “It was . . . good.”
“Brilliant.” He nods. “Come on. This way.”
We step inside the elevator, and when the doors open, all I can manage is “oh.”
The rooftop is an oasis. It is strung with butterfly-shaped lanterns that sway gently in the evening breeze, each casting a pool of warm gold light over the white linens of a table below it.
Beyond the glass railing, the silhouette of Cinderella’s Castle glows softly against the velvet-black sky, its spires looking like a dream made of light.
I’m impressed. Okay, that’s not accurate enough. I’m floored. This place is ahhhhhhmazing. My inner Disney nerd is currently doing backflips.
I grew up in a palace. I’ve visited quite a few other castles and equally impressive estates during my life.
But there is something about seeing Cinderella’s Castle that is on another level entirely.
Real palaces are built for defense or ceremony, but this is a fairy-tale castle.
It’s engineered magic, if that makes any sense.
“Hello and welcome,” a hostess says from behind a polished wood podium. “I’m afraid we’re fully booked for—”
“We have a standing reservation,” Theo cuts in. “Excelsior Parks.”
Recognition flickers across her face, followed by a faint flush. “Of course, Mr. Riverton. I’m so sorry, I didn’t recognize you.” She reaches beneath the podium and produces a small key. “Here’s the key to the executive terrace. I’ll let the ma?tre’ d know you’ve arrived. Would you like an escort?”
“That won’t be necessary. We know the way.” He takes the key and turns to me, nodding toward a quieter corridor off to the side. “Come on, Minami. We don’t have much time before it starts.”
“It?” I echo, hurrying after him as we pass floor-to-ceiling windows framing candlelit tables and glasses of wine.
“The fireworks.”
Right on cue, faint bursts of color bloom on the horizon. I can’t help it, I squeal in delight and freeze in place, taking it all in.
Theo glances back and places a hand on my shoulder. “There’s a better place to watch. Come on, then.”
The hallway opens onto a private terrace tucked neatly into the corner of the rooftop. A single table waits there, draped in crisp white linen and ringed with softly glowing lanterns.
“We can pipe music in from my phone if you want,” Theo says, pulling out a chair for me. “But I rather like the quiet.”
“No, this is perfect,” I manage, my voice coming out embarrassingly small as I sit.
He takes the chair across from me. As he reaches for his napkin, I study him, trying to reconcile the man who has just brought me to a private rooftop terrace overlooking Disney fireworks for dinner.
He looks up and catches me staring. “If you don’t like this,” he says evenly, “we can go inside. Or find somewhere else. I just thought you might enjoy this. Most people do.”
“No, I love it.”
Together, we watch the show. Unsurprisingly, it’s brilliant. It’s almost like being inside the theme park. Pulses of violet, red, green, gold, and crimson paint the night sky like shimmering pieces of Christmas-tree tinsel, drifting slowly toward the dark horizon before vanishing.
When the last echo of the finale fades and the sky returns to velvet-black, I find my voice. “I can’t remember the last time I got to enjoy fireworks. Thank you.”