Chapter 10 Annie
ANNIE
Three days after the party, I’m still thinking about Elio standing so close to me that I could touch him, his hand hovering above my cheek, looking at me as if he’s been dying to kiss me for the last eleven years.
I can’t stop thinking about it. He’s in my dreams, in my waking thoughts, in every moment that I’m not occupied—which means I’ve thrown myself into work more than usual, trying to be as occupied as possible so that I can get him out of my head.
Him and the sound of Gia calling his name. The way he reacted to it. Every time I remember that, it feels like a piece of my heart being carved out of my chest.
I know I don’t have any ground to stand on. Not when I’m seeing someone, too. But it hurts all the same.
As if I summoned him with that last thought, my phone buzzes, and I see a text from Desmond. I open it, hoping that plans with him will help distract me from my merry-go-round spiraling about Elio.
Desmond: I was thinking we should take our relationship to the next level.
I frown at my phone, unsure what that means, exactly. I type back quickly: Want to clarify???
Desmond: Dinner at Sorellina. Dancing at The Grand. And then maybe a nightcap at my place?
I bite my lip, staring at the message. Sorellina sounds perfect—it’s a restaurant I haven’t been to yet but always wanted to try.
The Grand, I’m less sure about. I’m not really a nightclub kind of girl.
I’d rather dance at a jazz club or do some ballroom dancing somewhere, even though I’m not great at either.
It's definitely not the type of venue for innocent dancing.
My stomach does a little flip at the implication.
But maybe this is exactly what I need. Maybe losing myself in Desmond's arms will finally burn Elio out of my system once and for all.
Sounds perfect, I text back, surprising myself with how quickly I respond. When?
Desmond: Tonight? Let’s meet at seven. Wear something that will make every man in the room jealous they're not me.
The possessiveness in his message sends a shiver through me—part anticipation, part something that gives me a little pause.
I probably shouldn’t accept his offer of a nightcap at his place, either.
I can just imagine what Leon would say about that, especially since I wouldn’t want it to get back to Ronan. Not yet, anyway.
I can worry about that later, I tell myself. I’ll see how the night goes and how I feel, and go from there. If I don’t want to go home with Desmond, I’ll just head back to my place after we’re tired out from dancing.
I glance at the clock on my computer screen.
It's already four-thirty, which gives me just enough time to get home, shower, and find something appropriately seductive to wear. I’m not sure what that would be, exactly—my closet isn’t exactly filled with nightclub-wear.
I should borrow something from Leila, I think idly.
I’m working at my office at the mansion today, I could go find her and ask.
But then she’d have all kinds of questions, and Leila isn’t the type to let go of what seems like good gossip between girlfriends easily.
As soon as I gave the slightest inclination that I wanted to keep it a secret, she’d dig in even harder.
See you at seven, I reply, then immediately start packing up my desk.
The drive home passes in a blur of traffic.
By the time I'm standing in front of my walk-in closet, I'm already questioning again whether or not the date Desmond has planned is really my speed. There’s an uneasy feeling in my gut, one that suggests that if he really wants me, he should be trying to find out what kind of dates I’d prefer.
Not just trying to impress me with the fanciest restaurants and the clubs with the most expensive bottle service.
At the same time—he’s probably just doing what he thinks I expect.
What other girls would want or have wanted in the past. And we have time to get to know each other better, for him to figure out that I’d rather go browse through a museum and get a fancy lunch or go out to dinner and a show than what he planned tonight.
And if this is his idea of a fun night out—shouldn’t I want to find that out, too?
I need a distraction. I know that. And this is as good of a way to distract myself as any. If I want to know if this relationship has potential, I’ve got to explore it. Not sit at home, running myself ragged trying not to think about Elio and failing.
I need to stop wanting something I can't have and focus on what's right in front of me.
I spend nearly an hour choosing the perfect outfit, trying on and discarding dress after dress until I find the one that I think will suit what Desmond has planned this evening.
It's a deep emerald silk that fits me like a glove, with a plunging neckline that comes down to the middle of my scant cleavage and a hem that barely skims my mid-thigh.
The color makes my eyes pop and complements my copper hair perfectly.
I pair it with strappy black, red-bottomed heels that add four inches to my height and make my legs look impossibly long.
My makeup is more dramatic than usual—smoky eyes in deep brown shades that bring out the blue, and a few of those individual false lashes that make my eyes look much bigger. I add a nude lip and run some texture wax through my curls, giving them a more edgy style than what I normally wear.
I look like the kind of woman who would go to a nightclub and dance with a man she’s planning to seduce later. If I look the part, maybe I’ll feel more confident about it all, I tell myself as I grab my clutch and head downstairs.
Leon glances at me oddly as I head out to the car—not in a leering way, but in a way that says he’s noticed the change in my look and is unsure as to what exactly is going on. I pause before I get into the Mercedes, biting my lip.
“I still want to keep this quiet,” I tell him. “I’ll tell Ronan I’m seeing someone when I’m ready.”
He blows out a sharp breath. “I don’t like this, Annie,” he says quietly. “You remember what happened after Siobhan—”
“That was his wife. I’m my own person. I should get to decide when I tell my brother I’m dating someone.” My jaw tightens. “Plus, I’m not going to get myself killed, Leon, and I’m not asking you to not shadow me tonight. Just don’t blab about my love life to my brother yet, okay?”
Leon sighs heavily. “Alright.” He opens the door for me, and I slide into the car, feeling my pulse beat faster than usual.
Tonight feels different. I can feel a tension building as we drive toward the restaurant where I’m meeting Desmond. When I see him, I hope that it’ll dissipate, but it only winds tighter as I walk into Sorellina and see him standing by the hostess’ desk, waiting for me.
He's wearing a perfectly tailored black suit that emphasizes his broad shoulders and narrow waist, his copper hair styled sleekly back. He looks like he stepped out of a magazine—all model-handsomeness and expensive taste.
"Christ, Annie," he breathes, his eyes traveling slowly from my heels to my face. "You're going to kill me tonight."
I bite my lip, feeling a little self-conscious. “I don’t own a lot of nightclub outfits. I’m glad you like it.
He steps closer, close enough that I can smell his expensive cologne, and his hand comes up to trace my jawline, thumb brushing across my lower lip.
The touch is possessive, blatant, and too intimate for where we’re standing, in front of other restaurant guests filing in and the hostess standing there awkwardly.
"I've been thinking about this all day," he murmurs, his voice low and rough. "About you, about tonight, about all the things I want to do to you."
I swallow hard. I have no idea what to say to that. I don’t feel that kind of raw need toward Desmond, but is it so bad if he feels it for me? It would feel good to be wanted by someone who isn’t so wholly off-limits, someone who I can actually have.
Fortunately, he doesn’t seem to expect a response.
He steps back, glancing arrogantly at the hostess, who doesn’t seem to know what to do in the face of that very public display of affection.
“We’re ready to be seated,” he says, and she stammers quickly, grabbing menus and wine lists and gesturing for us to follow her.
We end up in a very private corner booth, a dimly lit, intimate spot that makes the dinner feel very romantic.
Desmond orders starters for us both without pausing to let me peruse the menu for long—the most expensive bottle of wine on the menu, oysters, and yellowfin tartare.
I start to protest and then bite it back.
That all sounds good to me, so why not? He’s taking charge, showing me that he knows what he wants. It should be sexy. If Elio did that—
But he wouldn’t. And I have to stop fucking thinking about Elio.
The sommelier makes a show of presenting and opening it, but I barely pay attention.
I'm too focused on the way Desmond is looking at me, like I'm the most fascinating thing in the room. There’s such blatant heat in his eyes, more so than any of the other nights out we’ve had, and I can tell he’s planning something tonight.
We should take our relationship to the next level. I can’t pretend that I don’t know what he might have meant by that. What I truly don’t know is how I feel about the possibility of going further with him. If I’m ready for that.
If I want to give him something, I once only ever wanted to give Elio.
"You're staring," I tell him, taking a sip of my wine. It’s delicious, the flavors intricate and dry, and I have to admit that he has good taste, even if he did order without asking me.
"Can you blame me?" His foot finds mine under the table, sliding up my calf and making me catch my breath. "You're absolutely stunning tonight, Annie. Every man in this restaurant is wondering what they have to do to trade places with me."