Chapter 45
forty-five
In case I didn’t believe him, Marco makes sure to prove his point an hour later when he informs me that we are not actually eating at Le Coucou.
Instead, he leads me to our true dinner destination.
At first, when he parks his insanely sexy sports car under an unfamiliar condo building, I think maybe we are going to a party of some sort. He notices my nerves, of course, and gives me a warm smile while we ride up in a clean, quiet elevator. “Just the two of us,” he assures me.
Suddenly, I can’t wait one more second to touch him. The three glasses of wine have my libido purring… and a big, sexy man who knows me so well and seems to find my social anxiety endearing is just too much for me to take.
I throw myself at him, and he catches me as if he’s secretly been waiting to haul me into his arms all night. Our lips brush together, settling into a lush kiss. He angles his mouth over mine to lick deep, cupping the back of my skull in one enormous hand like it holds a delicate treasure.
The elevator dings, and he surges forward, striding out of the vestibule as if I weigh nothing. Like he walks around with a fully plus-sized woman clinging to his neck all day, every day. His mouth doesn’t even leave mine until a bracing gust of wind sweeps around us, distracting me.
Are we… outside?
I break away, frowning in bemusement while I turn my head. Still plastered to his front, I can only see the elevator and a wall behind him. We are definitely outdoors, though, standing on a rooftop? In the cold nighttime air.
With a wry little smile, Marco sets me down and slowly turns me, pressing his chest into my back. “I thought we’d have a special meal tonight.”
Every bit of breath quivers out of my body. My muscles lock up, frozen in absolute awe.
Because it’s… perfect. A dream.
My dream.
We are on a private rooftop with a modern glass fence gating the platform, offering completely unobstructed views of Manhattan in all her glory.
Across the open space, a sumptuous table for two glitters—a champagne tablecloth with flickering candles and rose-gold place-settings.
Strings of warm fairy lights sway in the open air above us, luminous and romantic.
Two restaurant-style space heaters flank the arrangement. They’ll make the table perfectly comfortable, I realize—and they’re probably keeping the exotic floral arrangement laid in its center from shrinking in the chilly air.
“Marco…”
I can’t move. Can’t speak. I am sure the second I do, it will all disappear. And I’ll wake up, alone in my bed, listening to Tris have a four-way down the hall. Underscoring just how lonely I truly am.
How lonely I used to be.
The heat of Marco’s body slides against my side, pressing into my hip as if to reassure me. Like he knows I can’t believe this is happening. His lips skim my temple while he gestures to our table. “After you, darling.”