45. Riley
FORTY-FIVE
The restaurant ison the bottom floor of a Miami boutique hotel, and I feel like I”ve been transported to another world when we walk in.
”Do you like it?” Gabriel murmurs into my ear as we step inside.
”It”s...”
Unbelievably stunning.
The restaurant is in the open-air courtyard that”s surrounded by the Mediterranean building on four sides. The warm spring breeze hits my bare arms and I shiver, from the ambience and the rarified air — and Gabriel”s touch. His fingers trail down my exposed skin, and I was glad I”d picked the backless dress that allowed easy access to his hands.
The host leads us to our table, and we wind our way through the room, which is packed with beautiful humans. Like supermodel gorgeous. Normally I”m a confident woman, but being in this crowd is more than a bit intimidating. Still, I notice that some people”s eyes shift to Gabriel as we make our way through, one of his bodyguards close at hand.
Apparently Gabriel comes to Miami often for business. It”s a four-hour drive from Tampa, but only a thirty minute flight. He”s here so often that he has a dedicated security team that lives here, a fact that kind of blows my mind.
Once we”re seated, with the bodyguard a few feet away at a different table, I allow myself to fully gape at the surroundings.
The entire courtyard is covered by a wooden pergola, and it appears that the tables and chairs were arranged around actual trees with verdant leaves. Hundreds of tiny bell jar lights hang from the branches, casting a magical glow around the romantic space.
”There”s something to focus on everywhere I look,” I tell Gabriel, feeling a little giddy. ”See the floor? The green tiles there are different from near the bar. And look at the tiles behind the bar. What are those? Spanish? Italian?”
”Probably Italian, since that”s what kind of food they serve.”
I”m now babbling about the tile selection here like I”m on one of those home renovation TV shows that I watch when I”m bored. I”ve never seen anything like this in real life, though.
”And, oh my God, Gabriel, would you look at that sofa? Do you know what that kind of sofa”s called? The one to your left. The white one.”
Smiling, he turns to stare at a long, white tufted sofa that doubles as restaurant seating. There are two tables pushed near it. ”I”m not up on my sofa designs.”
”It”s called a Chesterfield. Do you see how the rolled arms are the same height as the back? They”re often in leather, like that one, and are always tufted.”
He turns back to face me. ”I didn”t realize you had such an interest in interior design.”
I open my menu. ”All of my knowledge comes from that TV show, Champagne Taste on a Beer Budget. I”m sure you haven”t seen it. It”s not your kind of thing. But I love it.”
”I”ll have to check it out.”
I laugh, imagining Gabriel watching a program about turning discarded furniture into swank décor. My stomach is still jumpy from our conversation on the plane, but I”m trying hard to relax into the moment. It”s difficult, though, because every moment with Gabriel seems like I”m jumping off a cliff and plunging headfirst into a mysterious, unknown territory.
The waiter, a guy about my age wearing a white shirt and black pants, comes to our table. He looks like a Labrador retriever come to life, a cute guy with dark hair and blue eyes, seemingly eager to please. Gabriel orders wine and a charcuterie plate for us to share.
”Miss? Would you like anything special to start with?”
I look up from the menu. ”Ahh...”
The waiter winks at me. Oh dear. That”s weird. Did Gabriel see that? I look at him and spot the corner of his jaw twitching. Apparently he did.
”We”re fine for now. Please come back in a few moments to take our dinner orders,” Gabriel says in a clipped voice.
My chest tightens a little as I stare at him. The waiter nods and walks away.
Gabriel smiles tightly. ”What?”
”Nothing.” I turn back to the menu, trying to decide if Gabriel”s possessiveness is annoying or hot. A bit of both, truthfully. ”What are you getting for dinner?”
”Definitely the ravioli.”
”Hmm. I was thinking about that, too.” Mostly because I”m not sure what a lot of the stuff on the menu actually is. ”What is agnolotti? And gemelli?”
Gabriel explains the Italian food terms on the menu, and I decide on a beef Bolognese pasta, with the agnolotti (which is apparently similar to ravioli).
The waiter returns with our wine, and smiles at me but not Gabriel, who clears his throat then glares at the guy. I have to admit, no waiter has ever flirted with me like this one has, so I can sort of understand Gabriel”s annoyance.
After taking our order — and winking at me again — the waiter walks off. Probably because my father would fly off the handle in a millisecond and I”d learned to try to placate angry men from that, I immediately start talking before Gabriel has a chance to complain about the waiter.
”This isn”t my usual mid-week routine, you know. Normally I”d be home. This is usually my night for staying up late, because I don”t have to be in the office until three tomorrow.”
”How come?” Gabriel tilts his head, curious.
”I work the three-to-midnight shift. That”s when I usually go ride around with the cops and try to get interesting stories and information.” My shoulders sag a little. ”No more of that after tomorrow, though. I”ll be on the features beat.”
Gabriel nods, then folds the napkin on his lap in thirds and places it on the table. ”Excuse me. I”ll be right back.”
He leans over and kisses me on the forehead, then walks away. Maybe he has to make a phone call. I amuse myself by creating little stories in my head about one beautiful couple who walks in. They”re both in their mid-thirties, which is interesting because it seems like most of the couples here have large age gaps. Bigger than my ten years with Gabriel, even.
The couple I”m studying are laughing a lot, and I concoct a story in my mind about how they met at a comedy club. She was probably onstage doing standup, and he was a...dishwasher.
I feel a hand on my back and I jump.
”I didn”t mean to startle you,” Gabriel says.
I relax into my chair. ”No, I was zoning out. You okay?”
Gabriel nods and grins. ”More than okay.”
”I figured you needed to make a call, or you were getting our waiter fired.” I look at Gabriel through my lashes and subtly flirt with him.
He tips his head back and laughs. ”I thought about it, but no. Figured it would make you uncomfortable if I did that.”
”See, you”re learning.” I lean in and hold his hand.
”You gotta admit, it”s terrible business for the waiter to flirt with a man”s date. And,” he sets down his glass, ”I don”t like to see any man coming on to you. I”m not going to apologize for it, that”s just who I am. Much like the thing we discussed on the jet, it”s something you”re going to have to get used to.”
”I guess I have to get used to a lot with you.”
He nods. ”I realize I”m a handful. I”m not everyone”s flavor. But I”ll always be honest with you. Well, about most things. There are some things I won”t talk about, because they don”t concern you. But if it has to do with our relationship, I”ll always be open.”
”That”s quite self-aware, actually. Strangely self-aware for someone who is so possessive.”
He shrugs. ”I am who I am. Not sorry.”
”But why?”
”Why what?”
”Why would you be so possessive when you clearly have my attention?”
He closes his eyes and smiles, then opens them again. ”Would you like to hear my interpretation, or my therapist”s?”
My jaw drops. ”You see a therapist? Like Tony Soprano? Why?” I hiss.
He laughs. ”I don”t anymore. I did, many years ago. It was useful, in many ways.”
This man is full of secrets and mysteries. ”Wow. Uh, I”ll take both interpretations, please.”
”To answer your question — why — it was when my mother passed away, three years ago. I had some unresolved issues since we didn”t get closure.”
Oh goodness. Didn”t get closure? Perhaps she died suddenly. Unable to help myself, I switch into reporter mode. ”Your mother is gone? How? I”m so sorry.” Now that I think about it, he”s never once talked about her. And from that one conversation we had early on, his father isn”t exactly a welcome subject, either.
Gabriel nods. ”She passed from cancer. But we”d had a complicated relationship long before her death. She left the family when I was eight.”
”What do you mean, she left? As in, she left you and your sister?”
”She decided that she didn”t want the family life, didn”t want to be with my father and his circle of business associates, and she went to Colorado. We”d visit her for a week in the summer and on Thanksgiving, and that was it.”
There”s a touch of bitterness in his tone, and I can”t blame him.
”That must have messed you up.”
He nods. ”The therapist thought that was why I have a possessive streak. That I”m afraid people will run away again, so I try to hold onto them.”
”Do you think that”s true?”
His glittering smile is back, and he shakes his head. ”It”s who I am. It”s baked in me from birth. It has nothing to do with my mother.”
As if on cue, the waiter returns, this time with a bottle of champagne. It”s a brand I recognize only because I used to read celebrity websites.
”This is from that couple over there,” the waiter says, pointing at the table for two, the people for whom I”d concocted a little backstory in my mind.
Gabriel turns and chuckles. The couple at the table beam, and the man climbs to his feet and walks in our direction.
As the waiter is opening a bottle of champagne, the man claps Gabriel on the shoulder, and he stands.
”Rafa, my God, you didn”t have to.”
”Of course, I did. You two look like you”re celebrating.”
I stand up and smile, and Gabriel reaches for my hand.
”This is Riley Murphy. Riley, this is Rafael Menendez. We go way back with some condo developments here in Miami. Rafael is a brilliant investor.”
”It”s good to meet you,” I say, and Rafael says something similar.
Gabriel and Rafael say something to each other in low tones, and then there are more masculine back claps. Rafael walks away, and the woman at his table waves. I wave back.
Gabriel sits and scoots in his chair. ”That man,” he says in a near-whisper, ”Is one of Florida”s richest people, and his wife works in the media, like you.”
I stifle a laugh. How wrong I am about these people with money, and maybe about Gabriel”s life and past, too...
I”m stuffed with wine,champagne, pasta and tiramisu, and I”m holding onto Gabriel”s arm as we walk out. Not because I”m drunk but because my feet are killing me in these new heels.
”I have another surprise for us.”
We walk out of the restaurant, and I expect to head to the front of the building where the car had dropped us off. Instead, Gabriel takes my elbow and steers me through a door.
We end up in the hotel”s lobby, which is decorated much like the restaurant, heavy on the quirky, tropical vibe. The same sensual music as the restaurant plays in the background, and I stop near a long, white sofa and steady myself by placing a hand on a nearby chair.
”What”s the surprise?” I”m praying it doesn”t involve walking. It”s doubtful I can make it a full block without whimpering in pain and can”t wait to get onto that jet so I can subtly slide these torture devices off.
I shift my weight from foot to foot and eye Gabriel, who is leaning against the sofa back and staring at me with that alluring half-smirk of his.
”Earlier, when I left the table? I got us a room for the night. I figured since you didn”t have to work until three tomorrow, we could enjoy ourselves here. Why fly all the way back when I can take you upstairs and get you out of that pretty little dress right now?”