Chapter Nine
Lily
I go home earlier than usual to get ready for dinner. I shower on autopilot as my nervousness threatens to overwhelm me.
‘Don’t let them see your fear.’
The problem is, I no longer feel the fear. Instead, something else has taken root, something more like excitement, and I can’t shake this feeling no matter how hard I try to reason with myself. I am excited to see him again, although nervous to be near him.
I realize with a jolt that I’ve been thinking all day about what to wear.
It bothers me that on some subconscious level I want to impress him.
He is probably used to being surrounded by beautiful and sophisticated women—women who know how to navigate this world, who have wealth, power and beauty.
What could he possibly want from me? The insignificant orphan who has nothing to offer?
No money, no connections, no power. As for looks, I’m miles away from the leggy models he seems to favor.
I admit, I might have stalked him a tiny bit on social media after that Saturday afternoon tea.
There are hundreds of pictures of him with beautiful women on his arm at events, speculative articles about his ties to the underworld and some articles painting him as a ruthless and successful businessman.
That man is living on another planet—hell, another galaxy—than me.
I decide with firm resolve that I am going to set him straight about this…this thing, whatever it is he thinks we have.
Surely, after tonight, he’ll see how ridiculous the whole situation is.
I carefully select my outfit to match my resolve—a simple, knee-length black dress.
It is not too bold, understated yet elegant.
The sleeves, made of black lace, are a subtle but nice detail, neither too revealing nor too flashy.
With nude heels and tiny diamond studs, I aim to look classic, unremarkable.
My pride protests, a quiet whisper in the back of my mind, but I silence it.
I have a battle to wage tonight, and this outfit is my armor.
At seven sharp, the guard on duty at the gate announces that a car is rolling up the driveway.
I approach and Lucas is there, holding the door open for me.
I thank him and slip in, relieved to find the backseat empty.
Damiano will probably join me at the restaurant.
Lucas closes the door for me once I am seated and goes back to the driver’s side.
Although everyone knows the demonic duo, we haven’t officially been introduced. So I ask him jokingly, having heard his stunt at the vet clinic, “Luke, huh?”
He laughs, glancing at me over his shoulder with a grin.
“Lucas. But you already know who I am.” He winks at me, a playful gleam in his eyes.
“Sure of yourself much?” I can’t help but grin back. His easygoing attitude is oddly refreshing.
“What can I say? The ladies want me and the men want to be me.” That makes me laugh out loud. We banter a little more, and I feel myself starting to relax. The tension I didn’t even realize I had been holding starts to dissipate.
But when the conversation eventually dies down, I glance out the window, wondering where we’re headed. I can feel his gaze on me, sharp but unreadable, reflected in the rearview mirror. His eyes are serious when he says, “He is a good man.”
I know of course who he is referring to. I snort. “Oh please, he is the effing head of the mafia.”
He laughs. “Yeah, I mean, he is not that bad if you get to know him.”
“How long have you known him?” I ask curiously.
“Since kindergarten. Our families sent us to the same schools and then boarding school.”
So the devil’s spawn was a kid at some point.
What kind of boy was he? Was he a sweet little boy with deep brown eyes and a cute mop of black hair?
Or was he already the broody and fearsome devil he is now?
Maybe this dark and dangerous thing is purely the side effect of him growing up, the harsh world shaping him into the monster he has become?
The car slowing pulls me back to reality. We stop in front of a well-renowned and very expensive restaurant. Lucas looks at me over his shoulder and softly says, “Give him a chance.” Before I can ask what he means, he is out and around, opening my door.
I am about to step out when a hand appears in my line of sight.
Damiano is there, holding out his hand. I take it and he pulls me out toward him.
I am unable to pull away. All my senses are hyperaware of him, of his unwavering gaze locked on mine, of his large hand encompassing mine.
I barely register Lucas circling back to the driver’s side before he drives off, leaving me alone with the devil.
“Hello, little flower,” Damiano greets me after a long silence and leans down to brush his lips over my cheek. I can only gape at him and give a curt nod. What game is he playing?
He gently guides me to the entrance with a warm hand resting on the small of my back.
It feels intimate and I have to fight the shivers running down my spine.
The ma?tre d’ escorts us to our table, and Damiano pulls out my chair, seating me before taking his place across from me.
The waiter hands us the menus and I seize the moment to look down, trying to gather my scattered thoughts.
I sense his eyes on me like burning embers and it makes my skin tingle. I feel shy and flustered.
This kind of restaurant always reminds me of how out of place I am in this world and how ill at ease I am here. His unwavering attention only adds to the pressure, and I can’t bring myself to look up to meet his gaze.
When the waiter returns to take our order, I realize I haven’t registered a single word on the menu. I quickly settle on the safer choice, salmon with wild rice and asparagus.
Damiano orders the Wagyu beef, casually requesting a bottle of white and a bottle of red wine. Once the menus are gone, there is nothing left to hide behind and I have no other choice but to meet his gaze head on.
He looks undeniably handsome in his anthracite suit and crisp black shirt.
As expected, the suit jacket is impeccably tailored, clinging to his broad chest and even broader shoulders before tapering down to a trim waist. His tie, however, is slightly loosened, giving him a more relaxed, almost effortless look.
Swirls of ink creep out from under the collar of his shirt, tracing the tanned skin of his neck.
His black hair is perfectly brushed back, with a single lock falling over his forehead.
I suddenly remember my fingers running through its softness, pulling his head down toward me.
I am sure my blush gives away my thoughts, but if he sees it, he doesn’t comment.
“How was your day?” he asks when our wine is served, casual as anything.
This is safe. This, I can talk about. But something mischievous stirs in me, the kind of playfulness that pokes lions with sticks to see what happens.
“It was great, actually,” I say, swirling my wine. “Until two shady individuals strolled in and started intimidating all the clients.”
He smirks, predictably amused. “Is that so? Sounds serious. Tell me more about these brutes.”
I lean in a little, playing along. “Oh, very serious. Tall, dark, all ‘I’m-dangerous-and-I-brood-for-a-living’ energy. You know the type?”
He laughs—actually laughs!—and I can’t help but smile as I take a sip of my wine.
It’s crisp, smooth and entirely too easy to drink.
The warmth in my chest spreads faster than I’d like.
Shit. I should’ve eaten more at lunch. But I was too nervous, too distracted.
So I ran on coffee, water and sheer anxiety all day.
Not the best base for white wine and questionable flirting.
Wait, flirting? Nope, no way!
I am feeling bold all of a sudden. Maybe it’s the wine, or maybe it’s just him, sitting there looking unfairly good with that half-smile and those way-too-knowing eyes.
“Can I ask you something?”
He gestures with a tilt of his glass. “By all means.”
“Why the nickname? Besides the obvious, of course.”
Something flickers across his face, quick, dark and gone in a blink. I can’t tell if I imagined it.
Then he shrugs, casual again. “Because it suits you.”
I roll my eyes so hard they nearly take flight. He chuckles, low and warm.
“Well then,” I say, emboldened by the way his gaze lingers on me, “I’ve got an obvious nickname for you, too.”
He raises an eyebrow, that annoying little dimple making a surprise appearance and absolutely wrecking my concentration.
Gah! Focus, woman.
“I was going to go with Dark and Dangerous,” I admit, “but we can keep it simple. Just Dark.”
“Dark?” he repeats, pulling a mock-offended face. “Why?”
I grin, sipping my wine. “Because it suits you,” I sass back.
He leans back, eyes gleaming. “I don’t know why you’d say that.” We laugh again, and this time it’s easy, warm, like we’ve known each other longer than we have. Maybe this night won’t be so bad after all.
Our conversation flows unstilted and I am finally relaxed. My resolve to put a stop to whatever is going on between us, this attraction, is still in my mind, but I put it in the backseat for now. Maybe he will turn out to be a good friend?
Our plates are served and we eat in comfortable silence.
The salmon is exquisite, tender, melting in my mouth with each bite.
Damiano’s eyes never leave me, though, quiet, intense, as if he’s studying me.
The buzz from the wine makes me lightheaded, and I am acting unexpectedly audacious.
I stare right back at him, letting myself enjoy the view.
It is almost dizzying how at ease I feel, like we’ve created our own little bubble where the world outside doesn’t matter.
I haven’t felt this relaxed in a long time.
Soon, the plates are cleared, and the waiter asks for our dessert choice.