Chapter Twenty-Seven Ella
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Ella
Ihave to face it. My defenses are crumbling. Fast.
What will be left of them by the end of the night?
Maybe I should give this a chance. Tiero wants me. That much is clear.
A reckless part of me leans toward him. Another part whispers caution.
Both are getting harder to hear over the sound of my pulse.
Santino and Mauro leave the rooftop, having finished their sweep, just as a server appears with our champagne.
Liquid courage. Perfect.
Tiero and I clink glasses, and I take a generous sip.
I’m such a lightweight. The champagne goes straight to my head, warmth spreading through my limbs, softening the sharp edges of my nerves. I welcome it.
Tiero watches me over the rim of his glass, faintly amused.
I inhale slowly, then smile at him as I exhale.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Why do I make you so nervous, princess?” he asks, going straight for the kill.
My pulse stumbles.
How am I supposed to answer that?
Because you’re the most dangerously attractive man I’ve ever met? Because you radiate power and confidence like it’s stitched into your skin? Because I sense there’s far more beneath the surface than you let anyone see? Because I don’t understand why you’re interested in me?
What do I say?
I rest my hands in my lap, twisting my fingers together before I can stop myself. He notices. Of course he does. He seems to be aware of everything at all times.
He reaches across the table and lifts one of my hands, placing it gently between us. His thumb strokes slow circles over my skin, deliberate and unhurried. My eyes follow the movement, mesmerized.
My heart is pounding so hard I’m certain he can see it.
I’m absolutely blowing this date.
“Angel, look at me,” he says softly, his thumb stilling against my skin.
I force my gaze up.
There is no mockery there. No arrogance. Just warmth and tenderness.
“Tell me,” he murmurs.
I grip the fabric of my skirt with my free hand.
“I’ve never met anyone like you,” I admit quietly. “You intimidate me. The way you make me feel… it’s nothing I’ve experienced before. It unnerves me. I don’t know how to be around you.”
“How do I make you feel?”
His fingers tighten around mine, just slightly.
I swallow, dropping my gaze to our joined hands.
I could lie. I don’t.
“You short-circuit my brain,” I whisper. “And set the rest of me on fire.”
A slow exhale leaves him, the corner of his mouth lifting almost imperceptibly.
“How do you know it isn’t the same for me?”
That catches me off guard.
“Because you’re always composed. Nothing seems to rattle you. Not even when someone tries to run you over.”
The tension in his face eases. “Ducks look calm on the surface. Underwater, their feet are working furiously.”
A laugh escapes me. “You? A duck? Impossible. You live up to your middle name. You’re far more lion than waterfowl.”
Still, I know he’s telling the truth. I felt it that night, when I rested my head on his chest after the spider incident. His heart had been racing beneath my ear, even while he appeared calm and in control.
I affect him.
I’m not the only one losing ground.
Something tight inside me relaxes. I smile at him, my resistance melting another degree.
He must sense the shift. The smile he gives me in return is tender.
Never taking his eyes off mine, he lifts my hand and presses a lingering kiss to my knuckles. My stomach dips, butterflies bursting into flight once more. Unable to look away, I sink into his hazel-brown depths.
The rooftop door swings open, breaking the spell. Servers step out carrying our first course. Still, his eyes stay on me.
“I hope you don’t mind. I ordered the chef’s specials when I made the reservation,” he says. “It’s a tasting of his best dishes. I never know exactly what he’ll serve, but he never disappoints. And don’t worry, I told them you don’t like eggplant.”
He lifts my hand and brushes his lips over it once more before releasing me as the servers place the first course in front of us.
“Red prawn carpaccio dressed with citrus oil and sea salt flakes,” the server announces.
The delicate citrus aroma makes my mouth water, and I eagerly take a bite.
The food melts on my tongue.
I close my eyes briefly. “Oh my god.”
Tiero’s gaze lingers on my face. “That good?”
“Hmm,” is my only response as the citrus and sea salt bloom across my tongue.
A flicker of amusement, and something darker, passes through his eyes.
Between courses, he asks about my time in Austria.
“You lived there until you were eight?”
I nod. “Yes, in a small mountain town. I loved it.”
His expression shifts, interested. “You miss it?”
“Sometimes.” I trace the rim of my glass. “Austria gave me the mountains. I think that’s where my love for quiet came from. The kind that isn’t empty. Just… still.”
“And Ireland?”
“My father moved us there after his father died. He needed to look after Granny.” I shrug lightly. “It wasn’t really a choice.”
His gaze sharpens. “Did you resent him for it?”
“At the time? Absolutely.” I smile faintly. “I thought he’d ruined my life.”
“And now?”
“Now I know it was the best thing he could’ve done.” I glance up at him. “We moved next door to Rhia. We’ve been inseparable ever since.”
“Ah,” he says, his face turning thoughtful. “So fate intervened.”
“Or chaos,” I counter. “She hasn’t stopped talking. Not once.”
That earns a low chuckle.
He listens when I talk about that first major change in my life. About switching languages mid-sentence and feeling foreign for a while. Ireland eventually felt like home, not because it replaced Austria, but because it added to it.
“You didn’t choose either place,” he says.
“No.”
His thumb brushes my knuckles. “But they shaped you anyway.”
There’s something in the way he says it that feels… measured.
I hold his gaze. “You don’t get to choose your beginnings…”
His eyes don’t leave mine. The night air feels thinner suddenly.
“But you can choose what you do with them,” I finish.
His expression darkens slightly at that.
Our knees brush beneath the table. Neither of us pulls away.
The next course arrives, porcelain sliding softly against linen.
“Have you considered moving back to Austria?”
“I have. But Dublin is home now,” I say. “The mountains will always be a part of me. But Ireland made me who I am.”
“And who is that?” he asks quietly.
I hesitate for half a breath.
Do I really want to hand him that piece of me?
He’s probably already worked it out. He saw it the night of our first date, when I freaked out as he tried to kiss me.
But we’ve been honest all evening. And something in me wants to keep it that way.
“Someone who usually thinks before she jumps.”
His mouth curves faintly. “You don’t strike me as someone who jumps lightly.”
“No,” I agree. “I’m kind of risk-averse. If I jump, it’s because I’ve calculated the fall and its consequences.”
He studies me for a long moment, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.
“And if you miscalculate?”
My pulse ticks up. “Then I find a way to live with it.” What else is there to do?
Conversation flows easily after that. He doesn’t dominate. He draws me out instead. Small questions that open doors I didn’t realize I wanted to open. Laughter that feels natural. His fingers brushing mine beneath the table as if the contact is inevitable.
As the candles burn lower, my awareness of him hums under my skin.
For the first time since I met him, I’m not thinking about whether this ends or how.
I’m just here. Relaxed. Opening to see what comes next.