Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHASE
Two Weeks Later
The restaurant is called La Vedova, tucked into a corner of Tribeca with dim Edison bulbs casting warm shadows across exposed brick. Our booth is in the back, private and intimate, where conversations disappear into the low hum of other diners.
Noah has been quieter than usual tonight, not withdrawn but contemplative. His fingers trace the rim of his water glass with deep focus, his gaze occasionally drifting to the window where the city pulses beyond the glass.
"You're thinking about something, would you like to share?" I say, cutting into my steak.
He's quiet for a moment, then sets down his glass. "I want to get a second home in Los Angeles."
I pause mid-bite. "Los Angeles?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because I need a place to breathe, to reset away from all of this."
"All of what?"
"The constant social demands from either the clubhouse or those Kozlovs. It’s overwhelming, too many people and too much noise," he says as he takes a sip of his water.
I set down my fork, studying him. "You want to escape?"
"I want a sanctuary, a place where it's just you and me with no interference. It was always supposed to be just you and me.”
Something warm unfolds in my chest. "You want me to yourself."
"Completely, and this will be the best of both worlds, living between homes."
"Don’t you think we already have that here, where it’s just us?"
"No." His voice is firm. "Here, we're embedded with Marcus or Dima or your brother and the annoying gossip gang over there. I want you to myself. I’m not asking, Chase. I will kidnap you."
I lean back, and laugh. "Kidnap me, huh? So Los Angeles would be our getaway.”
“Yes. I’ve already found a place.”
"And when would we come back to New York?"
"Whenever the urges or mood hits. I don't want to be bossed by the businesses, they are too close by to ignore, Chase. I want to remain autonomous, a lone wolf who occasionally assists but never belongs."
"Living between cities."
"Yes."
"You're worried they'll trap you," I say quietly.
"No, I’m worried the routine will trap me, that it will become the norm." His hand finds mine over the table, his grip firm. "The more involved I become, the harder it is to maintain individuality. I need distance and control. I need you without anyone else having access to us."
"What would you want in LA?"
"Privacy, where I can watch you without interruption. Where we can exist exactly as we are without performance. Plus you can write anywhere in the world."
"That sounds..."
"Possessive?"
"Perfect."
His eyes darken with what appears to be a sense of achievement. "Good, because it’s happening."
I'm about to respond when movement catches my eye. A couple entering the restaurant, both tall, elegant, moving with the kind of confidence that comes from wealth and power. One of the men I recognize from the metal artpiece in our home, Leo.