7. Tori
TORI
Looking more like a statement than an eatery, Restaurant Steirereck was housed in a facade of huge geometric blocks. The building’s silver exterior reflected the streetlights back at us, and golden light spilled from wall-sized glass panels, revealing the diners within.
“Wait until you see the inside,” Stefan said.
As he led me through the door, I felt like I was stepping into a contemporary art museum. The walls were paneled with pale wood and the décor was nothing but white linens and stark furniture, all simple, clean lines. The whole place oozed luxury and glamour.
“It reminds me of a Japanese zen garden,” I said.
“Our garden is on the roof,” the hostess said by way of greeting. “You have reservations, yes?”
Steirereck was our first stop of the evening, before we went to the opera. The restaurant was one of the best in Vienna, Stefan had promised.
We were led toward a private corner of the restaurant, but as we crossed the crowded floor, it felt like every person we passed was pausing to take us in.
How could they not? We must have looked very important—Stefan in his expensive tux and me in my diamond necklace that kept catching the light and casting white flashes across the walls.
But when we reached our table, my heart sank. Because we weren’t eating alone.
An older man was sitting at our table, sophisticated in that effortless, European way, his attention on his phone. Noticing our approach, he immediately put it down and rose to greet us.
“Marco,” Stefan shook his hand. “This is Victoria. My wife.”
The word gave me a thrill, despite my disappointment at having unexpected company.
“Delighted to meet you,” Marco said, taking my hand and kissing my knuckles.
“You can call me Tori,” I told him.
“You’ll call her Victoria,” Stefan corrected, shooting both of us a look that didn’t allow room for argument.
I should have been annoyed at his controlling nature, but I liked it. I liked that he cared enough to be jealous. If that’s what this was.
Marco didn’t seem to mind the correction, giving me a wink as we were seated at the table.
It soon became clear that this would not be a romantic dinner at all, and was actually more of a business meeting in an expensive setting with even more expensive food.
Stefan even had an expensive wife, wearing an expensive necklace, at his side.
I fit right in.
Our food was good, though. In fact, it was incredible.
Unfortunately, it didn’t seem like Stefan or Marco even noticed, they were so focused on discussing KZM’s marketing platform. Was this who Stefan had been on the phone with all day?
I knew that business was important, but I couldn’t believe he could so easily turn off his attraction to me after seeing how turned on he had been watching me in the shower.
I wished I could do the same, but I couldn’t help reliving the electric brush of his fingers against my skin as he’d carefully fastened my necklace for me.
It might have been wishful thinking, but I could have sworn he’d taken his time with it.
The way he’d slid his thumbs softly up and down the nape of my neck until I had goosebumps.
I had to cross my legs and squeeze my thighs together to ease the ache building up.
“Did you know the word honeymoon was first used all the way back in the fifth century?” I interjected at a pause in the conversation. “It referred to the first month of marriage, the ‘moon,’ when newlyweds would drink mead.”
I received two stares, one mildly amused (Thank you, Marco) and one blank (Stefan).
I cleared my throat. “You know, because mead is made from…honey.”
Marco opened his mouth to respond, but Stefan cut him off. “So with Paris Fashion Week right on our heels I need you to send me stats and portfolios on…” he trailed off, drumming his fingers on the table, “at least twelve women and six men. Better to have options.”
Marco nodded. “I have a few leads.” He looked over and gave me an apologetic smile.
I smiled back and stood. “If you’ll just excuse me for a few minutes,” I said. “I’m just going to freshen up.”
They were back to their conversation before I even left the table.
I took my time in the bathroom, touching up my lips and re-pinning my hair. I doubted that either of them would notice how long I was gone, and I wasn’t in a hurry to hear more executive language. At least I had the opera to look forward to and, last I checked, we only had two tickets, not three.
But, threading my way across the room, I immediately noticed a change in Stefan’s demeanor. Before, he was relaxed and confident, his hands resting on the table. Now he was leaning forward, his hands tightened into fists, his expression stormy.
“—all the funds and resources I’ve given you, you’ve still failed.” His voice was sharp.
Marco held up his hands. “We’ve been all over the continent and into the Middle East, chased down any hint of a rumor,” he was saying. “We’ve followed every lead, but—”
“You will find her,” Stefan said, his voice steely and dangerous.
Marco leaned back, and then noticed me. A fake smile immediately spread across his face.
“Victoria!” he said, like my name was his life raft. He jumped to his feet.
Stefan rose as well, a scowl still darkening his features.
“Grab your coat. The opera will be starting soon.”
The Opera House was just as beautiful on the inside as it was on the outside.
Although I’d spent the car ride trying to find out what had happened with Marco, Stefan had only blown me off.
I wasn’t going to just let it go, but for the moment I was able to forget how distant he was acting, my attention completely focused on the breathtaking architecture.
It reminded me of a church with its ornate arches, elaborate balustrades, and a grand staircase carpeted in spring green.
Stefan had gotten us seats in a private balcony overlooking the stage. All of it was so breathtakingly romantic that when the lights went down and the music started, I reached for his hand.
He returned my grip and we held hands through the first aria before he gently released me.
I didn’t mind—by that point, I was so spellbound by the performance, I hardly noticed.
Judging by Stefan’s demeanor, he was just as riveted as I was.
Gazing down at the stage, he was the embodiment of Prince Charming, and I allowed myself to imagine that he really was.
When the opera finally ended, I couldn’t believe it was already over. I’d been completely swept away.
We returned to the hotel late.
Between the day of sightseeing, the jetlag, the rich, multi-course dinner and the Opera House, I was exhausted. But not exhausted enough to forget what had happened in the shower earlier, or how Stefan’s eyes had burned into me. I had a plan.
“Can you help me with this?” I asked when we were alone in our bedroom, turning my back to him and gesturing toward the clasp of the necklace.
I could have easily removed it myself, but I wanted his hands on me.
He did as I requested, his fingers brushing against the soft skin at the nape of my neck, just like they had earlier. I realized it had to be one of his hot spots, and I suppressed a smile. I was learning his tells.
I carefully put the necklace back in its box, enjoying the feel of the soft fabric against my fingertips.
“I’ll be right back,” I told him, dropping my voice to a more sultry register.
I had left my wedding night lingerie in the bathroom before we left, and I hurried to get it on, pulling the bobby pins out of my hair as I did.
It tumbled down to my shoulders in pale waves and I stood in front of the mirror to adjust myself as much as I could within the confines of the ungodly array of tiny hooks and ribbon laces.
Taking a deep breath, I headed back to the bedroom, tilting my head and arching my back against the doorjamb in what I hoped was a seductive pose.
Stefan was on his phone.
“Are you ready?” I asked, my voice more wobbly than I would have liked, but at least I got the question out without stumbling over my words.
Stefan didn’t even look up.
“I have to go out,” he said, grabbing his jacket. “Don’t wait up.”
He left.
I climbed onto the bed, completely stunned, not believing what had just happened.
Again. This was our honeymoon and he was going out?
Was this a game? Did he get off on humiliating me?
I knew I turned him on. So why was he avoiding me?
Was it something to do with the person he and Marco had been arguing about at dinner?
The “her” I wasn’t supposed to have heard them discussing?
He’d been more passionate during that small snippet of conversation than during any exchange he’d had with me.
Who was my husband looking for?
And what would happen to me when he found her?