Chapter 59 Michael
Michael
“Do I look elegant enough?” Elisa asks me as we’re leaving the hotel. “I had to buy an evening gown on the fly.”
“Don’t worry,” I say, opening the door for her. “I know the owner. He won’t make a fuss.”
“I really hope so with what this thing cost me!” There’s a bright, cheerful note in her voice, with no edge to it.
“You didn’t have to dress up,” I reassure her. “That ‘Pianigiani Award-Winning Charcuterie’ apron suits you just fine.”
“We had a great day at the fair today. A few visitors were interested in our wines, and one of them put in a pretty big order. Nothing crazy, but it’s a good sign.
I wanted to celebrate with something nice for myself .
. . it’s been years since I bought a dress worthy of its name, as opposed to whatever’s on sale. ”
“Just know this: You’re making it very hard for me to keep my eyes on the road.
” Elisa is wearing a simple dress made of a shiny black fabric, a kind of silk woven with thin silver threads, high-necked and floor-length, but with a slit that goes up past her mid-thigh and exposes her leg, which is mere inches from my hand resting on the gearshift.
“Really? Am I that distracting?”
“I could pull over, but I fear we’d never reach our destination.”
“Absolutely not! This could be the only Tom Ford dress I ever own in my life, and I intend to show it off as much as I can. Plus I’d really like to immerse myself in the London that matters and see what your world is like here.”
“Tonight might not be the right one for that. I have a special plan in mind, but I’ll be happy to show you more of London tomorrow.”
“I’m very curious.”
“Your curiosity will soon be satisfied . . . and not only that, I hope.”
She gives me a smile, the kind she gave me yesterday, and I take it as a green light. I don’t want to risk bold moves, but I bring her hand to my lips and kiss it.
We arrive at the city center, where the fog obscures Park Lane up to Brook Street, and I park the car in Grosvenor Square.
“What an elegant neighborhood,” observes Elisa, as I help her out of the car. “I don’t see any restaurants, though.”
“You have to know where they are.” I offer her my arm, accompanying her toward the entrance of one of the ancient buildings that surrounds the square.
“Here?” she asks me doubtfully.
“Right here.”
“Are we going straight to the chef’s house?”
“More or less. Ladies first.”