Chapter 5 Annie
ANNIE
Itry not to think too hard about why it takes me twice as long to settle on an outfit to wear to my business meeting with Elio than for my date with Desmond.
Half the outfits I try on, I discard for being too formal, the other half, too sexy.
I don’t want him to get the wrong idea, but at the same time, I can’t help but want to look attractive.
After all these years, I can’t shake the desire for Elio to look at me and want me.
Finally, I settle on a sweaterdress in a smoky blue color with a wrap front and a shawl collar, low enough to show off my collarbones and the smallest hint of the space between my breasts—it can’t really be called cleavage.
I add a pearl drop necklace and a pair of pearl earrings topped with small diamond studs, a pearl tennis bracelet, and the delicate, thin stacks of golden rings I wear every day.
I curl the ends of my hair, fluffing it out, swipe on a bit of champagne eyeshadow and rose-tinted lipstick, and slip on knee-high dark brown leather boots.
Brushing off the urge to linger in front of the mirror and fuss with my appearance, I grab a blue embroidered leather clutch, my brown suede trenchcoat, and head out to where the car is waiting.
Leon is driving, with three other security in the Mercedes SUV with me.
I watch the view outside roll by as we drive, trying to smother the feeling of anticipation in my chest. This is a business meeting and nothing more—I have my large leather tote next to me filled with files and spreadsheets for Elio to look at—but the butterflies in my stomach feel like the nerves before a date.
It’s not that. That’s not why I asked. I bite my lip, forcing myself to run through the list of items I wrote down for us to go over, all of which are important and the point of this meeting. I just wanted a more pleasant atmosphere than my or Ronan’s office.
The last week has felt like torture. I’ve played it off well, I think, making sure that neither Elio nor Ronan catches on to the way my heart flutters every time he’s near or the way my breath catches when I catch a whiff of his cologne.
I swear I can smell the warmth of his skin under it every time we’re close to each other, smelling of sunwarmed grass and the outside breeze.
There have to be boundaries between us. Lines that neither of us can cross. Elio hasn’t crossed a single one, and I know that by asking him out to dinner, he might think that I’m trying to do just that. But I’m not.
Really. It’s just dinner.
It has nothing to do with the way electricity sparked over my skin when I accidentally brushed against him.
Leon winds down the busy streets of Boston, parking in front of Deuxave to hand the keys over to the valet. I step out of the car as the door is opened for me and head into the restaurant, knowing that Leon and the other security will be making their rounds of the restaurant as we have dinner.
Elio is waiting for me at the hostess stand. He’s wearing dark grey dress pants and a dark green wool sweater, his medium-length dark hair brushed back behind his ears and curling against his neck, and I try to ignore the way my lungs tighten as I see him.
When he sees me, he straightens, and I catch the slight widening of his eyes before he schools his expression back to neutral.
“Annie.” His voice has a slight rasp to it, and shivers run down my spine. “You look beautiful.”
Fuck. Just those three words send warmth blooming through me, my entire body alive from the compliment. I want to hear him say it over and over again, want to hear it with his body pressed against mine, his lips against my ear as he groans it out.
I have to stop this. I draw in a breath, pushing every thought out of my head that isn’t strictly about the business we’re here to discuss, and manage a smile. "Thank you. You clean up pretty well yourself."
“Nice choice,” Elio comments as the hostess leads us to our table, his voice low as if to make sure I know he’s talking only to me. “I’ve never been here, obviously, but I’ve heard about it.”
Shit. I hadn’t thought about the fact that I must seem like I’m showing off.
I’d wanted to impress him by suggesting one of the best restaurants in the city, but now I wonder if he thinks I’m a bitch for pointing out how accessible this kind of dining has always been for me, while he grew up very differently.
The hostess brings us to a table in a corner, dimly lit with a gorgeous view of the city beyond, glimmering with evening lights.
I wince slightly, immediately seeing how romantic this looks, how little this lends itself to actually doing work as we eat.
“Is there a more well-lit table?” I ask her, purposefully not looking at Elio as I ask—I don’t want to see the look on his face.
If it’s disappointment, I don’t know how I’ll feel, but if it’s relief…
“We’re booked out,” the hostess says regretfully. “But if you’d like to take a seat at the bar and wait for a table to open up, it could be about an hour.”
“No, no.” I shake my head quickly. “This is fine.”
We take a seat, and the hostess hands us menus and wine lists before walking away. I look at the wine list immediately, glancing at Elio.
“Do you have an opinion?”
He shrugs. “I prefer red, but if you’re going to get a bottle, I’m happy to share whatever you’d like.”
“How do you feel about French wine?”
“I’m partial to it.” Elio flashes me a smile, and my stomach erupts in a crowd of fluttering butterflies.
When the waiter appears, I order a bottle of French merlot and sparkling water. We open the menus as the waiter walks off, and I bite my lip, staring down at the descriptions of food rather than looking at Elio.
“Do you remember my Nonna Maria’s restaurant that we used to all go to? You and Ronan and Tristan and I?” His voice ripples over me, full of memory and nostalgia, and I swallow hard.
“I heard she closed it about five years ago.” I can’t look at him. “Something about being too old to deal with health inspectors and impossible customers."
“I was sorry to find that out.” Elio’s voice is soft. “I always loved going there, all of us.”
All of us. Why does part of me wish that he was saying I always loved going there with you? Why does it bother me that I’m just another O’Malley sibling, just part of our pack that doesn’t exist any longer.
“I miss it too.” I bite my lip, willing the conversation to end. “But things change. They end. That’s the way it is.”
In the corner of my vision, Elio shifts. “She said you were the only person who appreciated her cooking properly." His voice softens. "She asked about you, you know. When I went to see her after I got back."
The thought of his grandmother remembering me, asking about me after all these years, makes something warm unfurl in my chest. Elio didn’t see his family often, after he was sent to be the O’Malley ward, but going to dinner at his grandmother’s restaurant was a way for him to keep a connection to the one person in his family that he loved. "How is she?"
"Good. Stubborn as ever. Still living in the same apartment, still cooking enough food to feed an army even though it's just her now."
I stifle a laugh at that, finally looking up. “That sounds like her.”
“You should go see her sometime.” Elio is looking at me, and I quickly look back down at my menu, unable to meet his eyes. “She’ll want to feed you until you explode, then send you home with enough leftovers for a week."
“I should be so lucky.” I let out a puff of relieved breath as the waiter returns with our wine and a bottle of sparkling water.
We go through the motions of approving the wine, and I wait as the waiter pours us each a glass. “We’ll do the caviar service and the lobster gnocchi appetizer,” I tell the waiter, glancing at Elio. Elio shrugs.
“Sounds good to me.”
As the waiter leaves with our order, Elio raises his glass in a toast. “To business partnerships," he says with a smile, and I search his face, looking to see if there’s anything else there. Any of the longing that I remember so clearly.
I think I see a flicker of that heat in his eyes. But whatever he’s feeling, he’s keeping it carefully under wraps. And I know I shouldn’t try to uncover it, whatever it might be.
“To old friends.” I manage a smile, clinking my glass against his.
The wine is incredible—rich and complex with layers of flavor that unfold on my tongue as I take a sip.
Everything about this evening feels sophisticated, adult in a way that our teenage romance never was.
We're not kids anymore, stealing kisses in hidden corners and whispering secrets in empty rooms. We're grown-ups with real responsibilities and real consequences to our actions.
That last is what I need to remember. Whatever fantasies I might have buried, whatever feelings might have resurfaced, the consequences to acting on any of it would be real—for Elio more so than me.
And he walked away from me, I remind myself as I take out the files. This was over long ago. Whatever dregs of it are left, we can’t stir them up.
“How did you like Chicago?” I ask as I set the files on the edge of the table. “Do you think you’ll miss it?”
“Somewhat,” Elio says honestly. “It’s a beautiful city. Raw and honest. Rougher edges than Boston, and I think I liked that. I’ll miss the men I worked with, too—they were good men, and we had a good rapport. And everything here is more… personal.”
I feel a jolt in my chest, wondering what he means by that. "But you came back."
Elio nods, taking a sip of his wine. "I came back."
"Why?" The question slips out before I can stop it, and I see something flicker across his face.