Chapter 17 #2
“I’ll never make that mistake again. I promise.” He tucks me into his side and turns us as one so he can open the car door for me.
“Take Melinda’s car and meet us at Luminara,” he tells Logan.
“Yes sir,” Logan answers. He’s strutting off toward the parking garage before I have the chance to say goodbye. I’ve never been to Luminara but I’ve heard about it plenty from my brother. It’s on his very long restaurant bucket list.
“My brother is going to be jealous,” I tell Cassius once the car starts moving.
“Why?” Cassius puts his arm around my shoulders and tugs me across the small console and into him. I snuggle my head in his chest and breathe him in. I can’t believe how much I hated him being gone.
“He’s a chef and Luminara has been on his bucket list for a while now. I keep telling him to visit and I’ll take him, but he’s busy opening a new restaurant in Boston.”
“Nathan, right?”
“How do you know that?”
“I know a lot of things about you. Not as much about your brother.”
“I think I should be offended,” I say. His chuckle vibrates against my cheek where it rests on his chest.
“No reason to be offended, darling,” he assures me, his eyes twinkling with a mix of mischief and affection. “In my world, knowing everything about you is essential. As for your brother, it’s enough for me to know he’s important to you.”
“He's going to demand every single detail,” I say.
Cassius kisses the top of my head, “Then we'll make sure you have plenty to tell him.”
I could press him for every detail about the way he already has all of mine. The files, the watching, the quiet competence that makes doors open and rooms rearrange around him. I should ask how far his knowing everything about me goes. But Caleb’s voice from breakfast keeps looping in my head.
He’ll carry the dark.
In the window of a passing boutique, a stranger slips into the reflection.
Not one I’ve seen before. His shirt is soaked where there’s no rain.
Alley stink clings to him. Wet concrete, hot metal.
One eye is filmed over. Beneath his jaw a thin red seam sits too neat to be anything but final.
He doesn’t blink. He only tips his head, curious.
I know, without knowing how I know, that Cassius put that line there.
We step into Luminara. The shift from the bustling Vegas streets to the restaurant's serene interior is palpable.
The atmosphere is a blend of subtle elegance and contemporary chic, the lighting soft and inviting, casting a warm glow over the rich mahogany furnishings and sleek, modern decor.
Music weaves through the space, a gentle melody that complements the restaurant's sophisticated vibe.
The walls are adorned with abstract art, their vibrant color pulled into lean lines.
We cross the threshold and the room tilts toward him. The host straightens, a manager materializes out of nowhere, and suddenly we’re not waiting like everyone else.
“Mr. Ashenheart,” the manager says, already turning.
Menus appear in my hand I don’t remember reaching for.
We glide past the podium, past the full tables, to a corner pressed to glass.
Floor-to-ceiling windows and the city pours out beneath us.
It isn’t celebrity fussing; it’s quiet, trained deference.
For a second, it’s like Vegas belongs to him. Maybe it does.
A shape slides onto the end barstool. Not the grocery-store creep.
Not the kitchen man in the Bolo-Hat. It’s the man from the window.
He’s not transparent. It’s more like the light refuses to land on him.
A handprint bruise sits crooked over the neat cut at his throat.
His mouth shapes words only I can hear: He’s not your savior.
He’s not looking at me. He’s looking at Cassius.
Two fingers lift in a lazy salute to my husband.
Then the ghost drags his thumb across his own throat and tips his chin at me.
I blink and the stool is empty, just a damp ring left over on the wood.
Cassius orders for us both, choosing dishes that showcase the restaurant's culinary flair—seared scallops with a delicate lemon butter sauce for me, and for himself, a perfectly cooked ribeye steak, accompanied by a bold red wine. I line my knife with the edge of my plate, breathe in fives. Letting him choose for me should upset me, shouldn’t it?
Instead it settles something, and that unsettles something else.
The presentation is impeccable, each plate a small universe. I snap a photo and fire it to Nathan.
Guess where?
Nathan:
If that’s Luminara I am disowning you.
Close-up on the scallops. I want to see the crust.
I send a zoom.
Okay, okay—hard sear, just-kissed center. Is that Meyer lemon beurre monté? Tell me there’s fennel pollen.
You need to calm down.
Nathan:
Never. Order the bread.
Cedric:
Tell your mystery man thanks for feeding my husband new material.
I’ll call you soon. I have news.
Nathan:
Good news or I’m flying to Vegas news?
Good news.
Nathan:
Terrified/thrilled. Proud of you. Eat one of everything for me.
“Would you like to go to Mirage after work tonight,” Cassius asks. I set my phone face down “I have something I want to talk to you about.”
“Aren't you too tired for another outing?” I ask, hinting at the exhaustion that must cling to the edges of his adrenaline. I’m thrilled he’s home and would be just as happy spending the night at home together.
He smiles, a shadow of weariness in his eyes. “For you, I’ll muster up the energy. Besides, Mirage is waiting for us.”
Mirage. The name sends a thrill through me, mixed with a pang of guilt for loving the place so much, for wanting to go even though I know he has to be exhausted.
Part of me yearns to peel back the layers of his world, to understand the man I'm increasingly drawn to, yet I'm fearful of what I might find.
It's a delicate dance between desire and denial, between knowing him wholly and preserving the sanctity of my ignorance.
“I’d love to go,” I say. The smile Cassius gives me makes my stomach flip.
Our meal concludes with a shared dessert, a decadent chocolate mousse that melts on the tongue, a sweet counterpoint to the savory complexity of our lunch.
As we linger over the last spoonfuls, Cassius notices the change in my demeanor, his gaze questioning.
I meet his eyes, a tumult of emotions swirling within me.
“Earlier, texting my brother, I realized I haven't told my family we're married.”
His hand finds mine across the table. “We can do that together,” he assures me, voice steady and sure. “Are you ready to tell them or would you like to wait?”
“I don’t see the point of waiting. I don’t plan to get unmarried,” I answer. “Do you?”
“No,” Cassius says, and squeezes my fingers before bringing them to his lips. He kisses them gently before adding, “I never plan to get unmarried. You’re it for me. I can’t imagine not having you now that you’re mine.”
“Let’s call them tomorrow then,” I say. Somewhere in the reflective dark of the window, Gideon touches two fingers to his brim. Good luck, kid. I pretend I don’t see him.
“Do you think they’ll take it well?”
“I think they’ll be shocked and have a lot of questions, but ultimately they’ll support me, support us.”
As we exit Luminara, Cassius' hand on my back is a steady presence. I suddenly realize something else amidst the whirl of lunch and confessions. “I didn't see Logan anywhere. Wasn't he supposed to meet us?” I ask, scanning the area as if expecting to find him lurking nearby.
Cassius opens the car door for me before answering, “He was there, keeping a discreet eye on things and giving us privacy.”
I nod, reassured yet slightly amused at the thought of Logan shadowing us unseen. “I hope he managed to grab something to eat, at least,” I muse, slipping into the car seat.
“Logan’s job is to keep you safe. He doesn’t need you worrying over him.” He starts the engine, voice dropping. “Save that for me.”
“I always worry about you.” I can’t help the smile—big, scary killer, hoarding my attention.
“Only me,” he says, satisfied.
A laugh slips out of me that’s loud, helpless, and entirely his fault.
As Cassius pulls up to my office building, the reality of returning to my daily routine after an hour of him is surreal.
“Thank you for lunch,” I say, my hand on the door handle.
Cassius reaches out, his hand covering mine. “Can I drive your car home? I’ll pick you up once you're done at work. When I’m home I’d like to drive you back and forth.”
“Are you sure?” That seems like a lot of unnecessary back and forth on his end when I have my own car.
“I’m positive,” Cassius says. “My fear of scaring you away forced me to suppress a lot.”
“A lot of what?”
“Possessive tendencies.”
“Give me everything you got.”
“Remember, I'm just a call away if you need anything.”
He kisses my knuckles and is gone, taillights sliding into daylight. In the glass doors I catch myself alone and not alone. Wyatt leans beside my reflection. Gideon waits behind my shoulder. I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, left, right. Tuck it a third time and step inside.