Chapter 28 #3
I unlock the doors and glance down at her with a smirk. "It's not over yet."
She blinks, stopping in her tracks. "What?"
I just open her door for her. "Get in."
I pull out and drive us straight toward a local fast-food spot a few blocks away. I pull up to the drive-through speaker, turn to her, and ask, "What do you want?"
She gives me her order with a laugh, still looking at me like I've completely lost my mind, and I order it all without batting an eye.
"Where are we going now, Dominic?" she asks, leaning over the center console as I grab the warm brown paper bags from the window.
"You'll see," I repeat for the third time tonight.
Not much later, the scent of saltwater hits the air, and the sound of crashing waves echoes through the open windows. I turn off to the dirt path leading to the beach—completely secluded, bathed in moonlight, and entirely empty.
The second she realizes where we are, she squeals again, kicking off her heels before the car even comes to a complete stop.
I park the car right near the edge of the sand, kill the engine, and lean back against the leather seat, watching her practically bounce out of the car.
I am so fucking proud of myself right now. Well... thanks, Eleonora.
She races down to the shoreline, her bare feet sinking into the cool sand, before turning around and running back to the car.
She grabs the lapels of my jacket, and kisses me hard—a deep, laughing, breathless kiss that leaves my head spinning. We climb up onto the wide hood of the vehicle, popping open the greasy takeout bags between us.
The ocean breeze is cool, carry the heavy salt scent of the tide, but with her sitting flush against my side, sharing a greasy box of fries in the dark, I don't feel the chill at all.
“Dominic, this is a real date. I love it.”
To my horror, I feel my face heat. “I just wanted us to get to know each other more.”
"Okay," Rosalia says, wiping a stray drop of ketchup off her thumb with a napkin. "Since we're doing this whole getting to know each other thing properly... what was your absolute worst first date?"
I snort, leaning back on one elbow against the windshield. "Bold of you to assume I went on traditional dates before you."
She nudges my ribs with her elbow. "Don't dodge the question, Kane. Everyone has a terrible date story."
“I never did. I’ve never taken a girl out.”
She gapes at me. “I’m your first?”
“Very much so.” I shift uncomfortably.
Rosalia throws her head back, her melodic laugh ringing out over the sound of the crashing waves.
"Your turn," I say, pointing a fry at her. "What’s your favorite food? Because if I ask about your past dates, I might just find them and kill them.”
She laughs again. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Tell me. Favorite food. And don't give me some high-class bullshit—what do you actually eat when no one is watching?"
"Easy," she answers instantly, not a single second of hesitation. "Instant ramen with a ridiculous amount of hot sauce and melted American cheese slices stirred in at two in the morning."
I stare at her, deadpan. "That sounds like a hate crime against cuisine."
"It is an elite comfort meal and you will respect it!" she protests, swatting my arm while giggling. "What about music? What’s on Dominic Kane’s secret playlist when he isn't trying to look like a ruthless businessman?"
"Old-school jazz," I admit softly, looking out at the dark horizon. "Coltrane, Miles Davis. My mother used to play it on an old record player when the house was quiet."
Rosalia grows still beside me, her expression softening. She doesn't push or pry into the mention of my mother; she just leans her shoulder heavier into mine, letting the silence breathe for a second before shifting to something lighter.
"Stupid fears," she demands, her eyes twinkling under the moonlight. "Go."
I groan, running a hand over my face. "I am not telling you that."
"Dominic! I just confessed my trashy ramen habit to you. Equal exchange!"
I sigh, defeated. "Moths."
She blinks. "Moths?"
"They have no flight plan, Rosalia," I say, totally serious. "They just aggressive-bump into your face out of nowhere. It's erratic and unnatural."
She bursts into another fit of laughter, clutching her stomach against the hood of the car. "The terrifying mafia Don is afraid of tiny, confused butterflies!"
"You said stupid fears," I mutter, though a wide smirk tugs at my lips as I watch her.
We sit out there on the hood of the car for hours, trading pieces of ourselves like secrets in the dark.
We talk about childhood dreams—how she wanted to be a marine biologist before her family's reality locked her in, how I briefly wanted to build race cars before I was forced to take over the Kane enterprise.
For the first time since we walked down an aisle together, we aren't a political alliance, we aren't enemies playing a lethal game of chess, and we aren't damaged people walking on eggshells around our pasts.
We're just a man and a woman, sitting on the hood of a car in the middle of the night, slowly finding out we’ve fallen hard for each other.