5. Chapter 5 The Pink Dress #2
No doubt into one of those shapeless dresses she likes to wear. Unlike most women, Juliana does not take a lot of time to primp, and the thirty minutes in our schedule should be ample time for her to change and re-braid her hair.
"Any objections?" Expecting wholesale acceptance, I’m unprepared for the way she tenses.
"Um…"
"What is the matter? Do you not like their food?"
"I’ve never eaten there."
That is surprising. Her father recommended the place.
"It will be my pleasure to experience it for the first time with you as well."
She makes a noncommittal sound.
"Juliana, do you not wish to eat dinner with me?" I find that hard to believe.
Except for her weekly dinner date with her friend, DeeDee, Juliana has been only too willing to give me her evenings since our first meeting nearly two weeks ago.
She even cancelled her usual dinner with her parents. I had hoped she would invite me to accompany her, but no joy. I should have expected it because her father believes Juliana does not date which shows she’s been careful in the past to keep her parents in the dark about her social life.
It may not be active, but it is not so nonexistent as her father believes.
"It’s just…" Her voice trails off and then she sighs, almost resignedly. "You're right. I’ll have to go home and change. I can’t go there dressed like this."
"You can if you wish to," I assure her.
She shakes her head vehemently. "No. It will be bad enough without being underdressed."
"Explain this bad enough," I order. "Surely having dinner with me is not so onerous a task."
"It’s not that." Her shoulders hunch. "It’s just I’m not great at eating out in places like that."
"Restaurants?" But this would not be the first time we had dinner together in one.
"No, of course not. But restaurants like that one."
"I fear you will have to further elucidate."
"Places where people go to be seen." She huffs out a breath. "I spend the whole time thinking everyone’s looking at me and wondering why I’m there. And then I feel stupid for thinking that, and it snowballs, and I can’t taste my food, and I go home exhausted."
"You speak as if from experience."
"My mother…she's a patron of the arts and into the whole elite social scene. She insists that I attend a few fundraising events every year to show my support."
And those social obligations are not something she looks forward to.
"This is a private dinner. Just us. And you would be there because I am there," I point out.
"That only makes it worse. Everyone will be wondering what you’re doing with me."
"And this matters to you?" I do not deny there will be a certain amount of speculation about us.
It is inevitable. I may not be an American celebrity, but I am a prince and I have done business in Santa Fe often enough on behalf of the mining concerns I oversee for our country that I am well known in the city.
Looking away from me, she shrugs.
"We will not go out then." I change my strategy for the night. "We will order in. No one there to make the food turn to ash in your mouth. Just you and me."
Her eyes widen. "At my apartment?"
"Yes."
"Wouldn’t you rather go to your suite? I mean I assume you are staying in a suite. For all I know, you have a corporate apartment here in Santa Fe."
"You want to come to my suite?" I ask, surprised.
Her eyes widen as she blushes. "That’s not what I meant. I’m not inviting myself. I just thought you’d be more comfortable there."
"It would please me for you to share your home with me." And initiating intimacy in her personal space will imbue that act with an additional emotional connection for her.
"Oh, well, um…" She licks her lips. "Okay, then."
Her apartment is small.
I expected that. I have seen the photographs in Hawk’s report. I got a glimpse of the small entry hall when I picked her up for our dates.
What I did not expect was how books and rocks would dominate the space.
Fully open concept, the main living area is comprised of a kitchen that would not be oversized for a hotel suite, a compact dining area delineated by a colorful rug with a square table and two chairs against the wall.
The rest of the space is dedicated to what might be called a living room.
However, it resembles a library more than an entertainment living space.
An entire wall is taken up by overflowing, custom floor-to-ceiling wooden bookcases that attach to a shallow curio cabinet that covers the next wall.
The top half is made up of lighted glass shelves displaying her rock and crystal collection behind glass doors set in thin wood frames.
The bottom half is comprised of drawers which I have no doubt are filled with more of the same.
The remaining open space is occupied by an oversized chair with matching ottoman beside a small table and standing reading lamp. The matching loveseat is clearly meant for company, but I cannot see Juliana’s father willingly spending an evening sitting on it.
Has he ever even been to her apartment?
"I don’t do a lot of entertaining," she says, hovering in the archway leading to the small entry and hall that must lead to the two bedrooms and bathroom.
"Good." The thought of her having other men to visit her in this tiny space brings heretofore dormant instincts roaring to life.
This woman is mine. And tonight, I will cement that truth.
She blinks and then smiles wryly. "Has anyone ever told you that you’re at the dominant end of the possessive spectrum?"
"No."
"I don’t believe you," she scoffs.
"And yet it is true. I have never before had a reason to feel possessive of a woman." But Juliana will become my wife.
It is only natural that I should want to be the only man she allows into her personal space.
"And you think you have a reason to be possessive of me?" she asks, looking perplexed.
"Are you saying you do not feel possessive of me?"
"Are you saying it’s okay with you if I do?"
"Yes."
"Oh," she expels on a breath.
"And you?"
"Possessiveness is supposed to be a red flag in a boyfriend."
"I will never hurt you." Any man who thinks to impede on what is mine is another matter, but my sweetly shy little jewel has no need to be apprised of that fact.
"I believe you."
"Good. Shall we order dinner?" I remove my suit jacket and tie before laying them over the back of the loveseat.
"Um…yes, sure. But what are you doing?"
"Getting comfortable." I undo the cuffs on my shirt before rolling my sleeves up in a way I never do in public.
Juliana licks her lips. "Oh."
Enjoying the way she watches me with innocent but unmistakable hunger, I undo the top three buttons on my shirt.
She waves her hand in front of her face. "I think I need to turn up the air conditioner. It’s warm in here."
"It feels fine to me, but perhaps you would like to put on something cooler."
"Right. Good idea. I’ll be right back." She spins and hurries from the room, running from what I make her feel.
Stifling the atavistic urge to chase my quarry, I toe off my shoes and slide them neatly out of the way before texting an order for a tapas style dinner (that can be eaten whenever) to my security detail.
I instruct them to text me when it arrives, but to wait for my return text to bring it up to the apartment.
That done, I peruse the books on Juliana’s shelves.