Chapter 16
ELIZABETH
Adrian had suggested coffee after the interview wrapped, saying we both needed caffeine and a chance to decompress after the Liza Pizza whirlwind. And of course, he had to make a joke about my shitty coffee offerings this morning.
I was still riding the high of an interview that had actually gone well. I didn’t just survive, I thrived. I kicked ass. And I actually enjoyed it.
“This place has the best coffee,” he said.
“We’ll see,” I replied with just a hint of coyness.
We were standing in line, Adrian’s hand resting casually in the small of my back, when I noticed the first phone pointed in our direction. A teenage girl near the window, trying to be subtle but failing completely.
“Don’t look now,” Adrian murmured, “but I think we’ve been spotted.”
“What do we do?”
“Order coffee and act normal. She’s just a fan taking a quick photo.”
But by the time we reached the counter, three more phones had appeared. And by the time we’d placed our order, I could hear whispers spreading through the café like wildfire.
“Is that Adrian Blackwell?”
“Oh my God, and his fiancée!”
“I just saw them on Liza Pizza’s stream!”
A woman approached as we waited for our drinks, her phone already extended. “Excuse me, I’m so sorry to bother you, but could I get a quick picture? I’m such a huge fan.”
Adrian smiled politely. “Of course.”
The picture turned into five more. Then someone asked for an autograph.
Then a group of college students wanted a selfie with both of us.
People were appearing from nowhere, materializing out of the Manhattan crowds like they’d been summoned.
Which I was sure they had been. Social media was a blessing and a curse.
“We should probably get these to go,” Adrian said quietly. I could hear the tension creeping into his voice despite his calm exterior.
Our drinks appeared, and Adrian grabbed both of them, his other hand finding mine. “Excuse us,” he said to the growing crowd, his voice firm but not unkind. “We need to get going.”
But getting out was harder than it sounded. More people had gathered outside the café, some clearly having seen social media posts about our location. I felt hands reaching for me. It wasn’t aggressive, just enthusiastic.
It was overwhelming. Suffocating.
My breathing started to speed up, that familiar panic clawing at my chest. This was too much. Too many people. They were too close.
Adrian’s arm came around my waist. “Stay close to me,” he said, his mouth near my ear. “I’ve got you.”
He navigated us through the crowd, deflecting grabbing hands, politely declining more photo requests, moving us toward where his car was parked. When someone got too close he shifted to put his body between them and me.
A rock in a sea of madness. That’s what he was. Completely calm while I felt like I was drowning.
We finally made it to the car, and Adrian had me inside and buckled before I could fully process what had just happened. He slid into the driver’s seat, handed me my coffee, and pulled into traffic without skipping a beat.
“Holy shit,” I said, my hands shaking slightly around the cup. “Holy shit.”
“Yeah. That’s the price of fame.” He glanced at me. “You okay?”
“I don’t know. Maybe?” I took a sip of coffee, trying to ground myself. “That was intense.”
“That was mild, actually. Wait until Love Week starts. Crowds will be five times that size.”
The thought made my stomach drop. “How do you deal with it? You were so calm back there.”
“You get used to it. Or at least you figure out ways to navigate the world when everyone wants a picture or wants to touch you.” He turned down a quieter street, away from the main thoroughfares.
“You learn which places are going to be mobbed and which ones are safer. You learn to spot the exit routes. You learn to smile and be gracious even when you just want to be left alone.”
“That sounds exhausting.”
“I remind myself none of this is possible without fans.” He reached over and squeezed my knee. “I’m sorry. I should have anticipated that would happen after the interview went so well.”
“It’s not your fault.” I covered his hand with mine. “I knew it would be like this. You warned me. Everyone warned me. But it’s different when it’s actually happening.”
“I know.” He withdrew his hand to navigate a turn. I immediately missed the warmth of it. “Tell you what. To make it up to you, let me take you somewhere no one will bug us. A place I know where we can have an amazing dinner, and you won’t have to smile for any cameras or answer any questions.”
“That sounds perfect.”
“We should celebrate anyway. The interviews went well, you’re trending as America’s sweetheart, and the PR team is probably doing backflips right now.” He glanced at me with a smile. “You deserve a nice dinner.”
My heart did that stupid flutter thing it had been doing all day whenever he looked at me. “Okay. Yes. Let’s do it.”
Now that Adrian and I had gotten closer, it had been a dream to spend time with him. Sometimes I had to remind myself this was real.
He was more than just the gruff CEO of Blackwell Couture. He had a soft side, one he kept carefully hidden from the world but had started showing me. The patience he’d shown when I’d been struggling to adjust to this arrangement was evidence of an entirely different man beneath that surly exterior.
I no longer saw the icon when I looked at him. I saw the man.
And it turned out the man was so much better than the myth. Kinder. Funnier. More vulnerable than anyone would guess.
Adrian drove us away from the chaos that was Manhattan. I simply sat back and enjoyed the ride in his luxury car. Eventually, he pulled up in front of a tiny restaurant. The sign above the door read “Vesuvius” in faded red letters, and through the window I could see maybe six tables total.
“This is your secret spot?” I asked as Adrian opened my door.
“Trust me.” He offered his hand, and I took it, letting him help me out. “Looks can be deceiving.”
The moment we stepped inside, a round man with a shiny bald head and the warmest smile I’d ever seen rushed over. The guy couldn’t have been more than an inch or two over five foot, and he was as wide as he was tall.
“Adriano! Mio ragazzo!” He pulled Adrian into a hug that Adrian returned with obvious affection.
“Marco, it’s good to see you.” Adrian gestured to me. “This is Elizabeth.”
Marco’s eyes lit up as he took my hand and kissed it in a gesture that should have been cheesy but somehow wasn’t. “Bella! Welcome, welcome. Come, I have the perfect table for you.”
He led us through the main dining room with checkered tablecloths and old photographs covering the wall.
We went through a doorway hidden behind a curtain.
The room beyond was tiny, maybe ten by ten feet, with a single table set for two.
A candle flickered in the center next to a basket of bread that was still steaming.
The whole space felt like a hideout from the rest of the world.
“Your private room, as always,” Marco said with a flourish. “I’ll send Rosa with the wine.”
He disappeared before I could respond, leaving us alone in the intimate space.
“You have a private room here?” I asked as Adrian pulled out my chair.
“I’ve been coming here since I was a kid. I texted and asked him if he could accommodate us.”
“That’s so cool.” I grinned as I looked around.
“Marco’s good people. And the food here is incredible, Real Italian, not the fancy stuff you get in Midtown.”
A woman who must have been Rosa appeared with wine and water, filling our glasses before melting away again. Adrian raised his wine glass.
“To surviving Liza Pizza and the coffee-shop mob.”
I clinked my glass against his. “Cheers.”
We sipped our wine, and I tore off a piece of bread, still warm from the oven. I dipped it in some olive oil and the first bite was heaven.
“Oh my God,” I mumbled around the bread. “This is amazing.”
“I told you.” Adrian watched me with amusement. “Marco’s wife makes the bread fresh every few hours. It’s worth the trip alone.”
Adrian ordered for both of us in fluid Italian that made my stomach flip for entirely different reasons than the bread. Man, if he spoke like that in bed? There was something undeniably attractive about a man speaking another language, especially when he looked like Adrian.
“Show-off,” I said when Rosa left.
“Dad insisted we all learn Italian. Said you can’t be in fashion and not speak the language.” He leaned back in his chair, swirling his wine. “Though Sebastian’s the only one who’s actually fluent. The rest of us are passable at best.”
“It sounded good to me.”
“So, have you been working on any new designs?”
“A few actually,” I said, feeling shy all of a sudden. “But they’re just sketches.”
“Do you have anything you can show me? I’d really like to see what you’re working on now. What you’re passionate about.”
The request caught me off guard. “You really want to see?”
“I really do.”
“The last time didn’t go so well, but I’ll show you one of these days.”
“I’ll hold you to that.”
Rosa returned with our meals. Pasta was my greatest love, and my heart grew happy at the dishes she brought.
Elizabeth and I chatted while we ate. Eventually, the conversation turned toward the upcoming events.
“I’m heading over to the convention center tomorrow,” I said. “I want to check on the setup for opening night, see how the final prep is going.”
“That sounds stressful.”
“A little. But it’s also exciting, seeing everything come together.”
He paused and looked like he was debating whether to say what was on his mind. “Would you like to come with me? Maybe help finish off some of the dresses for the first night of Love Week?”
My heart stopped. “What?”
“I figured you might want to be part of the process. Get some hands-on experience with a major show. Only if you want to. No pressure.”
“Yes.” The word burst out of me. “Oh my God, yes. Adrian, are you serious?”
His smile was pure sin. “Completely serious.”
The rest of the dinner passed in a happy blur. The food was incredible, the wine was perfect, and the company was even better. By the time we finished dessert I felt full in a way that had nothing to do with food.
“Thank you,” I said.
“Thank you for making this whole thing bearable.”