Jen, on the other hand, was staring down at the table.
This was weird.
Why wasn’t she flirting with him? Charming him?
"Savannah, Jennifer, please, meet Luciu Valentini."
I tensed, shot Aidan a look, received a brisk nod of his chin that involved him dipping his head forward a scant half-inch, and had my confirmation that this Valentini and the one Brennan had mentioned yesterday was, indeed, sitting at our table.
What on earth was going on?
"It is a pleasure to meet you, ladies," Valentini replied, his tone courtly but there was a lilt of an accent that made his voice sinful. It wasn’t just Italian. It was far more complex than that. I’d never heard a Sicilian accent before, but I guessed today was a day for firsts.
Aidan tipped his glass down and said, "Jen, your guest sent a note. He isn’t coming."
Jen didn’t even scowl, just reached for the drink in front of her. Aidan, in our absence, had poured some whiskey into the glass the waitress had brought us, and that was the one she grabbed and, subsequently, lost her bet with Aidan over as she started coughing the second the liquor hit her tongue.
Aidan chuckled, but Valentini pressed a hand to her arm and asked, "Do you need some water?"
Jen tensed and, mid-cough, peered down at his arm. Her cheeks, already bright pink, flushed some more. "I’m fine, thanks."
"I think you just lost your bet, Jen," I teased her gently.
"Bet?" Valentini crooned.
It was hard to think this was the guy who routinely made a habit of slicing up people’s faces, leaving them permanently scarred. What he did to them wasn’t pretty, but then, hadn’t Aidan said he’d flayed someone? I mean... there was very little that was more gory than that.
"Jen keyed her ex’s Ferrari," Aidan murmured, his tone droll as he took a small sip of whiskey. “We had a bet going on so she could earn some money to pay him off.”
As far as I knew, that was his one and only measure too.
"He was cheating on me!" Jen sputtered, some of her usual fire returning and replacing the weird coyness I wasn’t used to. "What was I supposed to do?"
Valentini propped his elbows on the table. "The fool cheated on you?"
Ignoring his question, I grinned at her. "Dump his lying ass?"
She heaved a sigh. "Well, I did that afterward. Keying his car was more satisfying."
Valentini smirked. "A woman with a taste for vengeance, interesting."
Aidan rolled his eyes, then sank back his whiskey. "If the prick isn’t going to show up, our reason for being here is obsolete." To the stranger, he murmured, "I’ll speak with my father. You have my word."
For the first time, Valentini looked away from Jen. It was pretty amusing to be honest. Like something from an adult Disney movie. He might as well have love hearts on stalks popping out of his eyes, and she was totally doing that coy Minnie Mouse thing too. Turning all bashful and shy when Jen was about as shy as a whore in a convent.
"I appreciate it," he intoned calmly, his eyes darkening as he looked at Aidan. "Men of their word are hard to find."
"I don’t disagree," was Aidan’s reply. "But I make no promises. You know as well as I do that my father dances to his own beat."
Valentini’s lips quirked up in a smile that, I had to admit, was breathtaking. Sultry and smoky, his eyes gleamed like they were prickled with gold dust as his mouth, those full lips, curved invitingly.
He was Jen’s form of catnip. I just wondered why she wasn’t taking a bite. She didn’t cower in front of Aidan, and by her own admission, she knew Finn well. The O’Donnellys were beautiful men—she was used to being around them so why she was being bashful now, I had no idea.
"I can handle rejection. I just would like an opportunity to present myself to him. Court him, as it were."
Aidan smiled, and shot me a look, and I knew we were both thinking the same thing—that was how we’d met. Because I’d been trying to court Aidan Sr.
"If you’re honest with your intentions, then I don’t see why he’ll disapprove of the move. I’ll be seeing him for the holidays. I’ll speak with him."
"I appreciate you marring Natale with business."
"It’s in all our interests." To Jen, he said, "I’m taking Savannah home. I’ll pick up your tab if you want to eat—"
Valentini rested his hand on Jen’s arm once more, but his fingers trickled up her forearm, the tip tracing a shape that had goosebumps flickering to life there. I wasn’t surprised when she gasped in response.
Either he didn’t hear her, or that was the reaction he wanted because, calm as you like, as he told Aidan, "There’s no need for that. The tab is on me."
Aidan arched a brow, then he smirked as he picked up the bottle of whiskey. "An Irishman never hits up the chance for a freebie."
Valentini’s brows rose in surprise, more at Aidan’s teasing than his cheek. "And a Sicilian doesn’t mind investing in his future allies."
"Touché." Aidan nodded at him, but his smirk didn’t die as he gently prodded my leg to encourage me to move.
Before I did, I glanced at Jen and, needing to give her an out—though I highly doubted she’d take it, not after our conversation in the restroom—asked, "Hon, do you want to stay or come up with me?"
I noticed Valentini’s fingertips gently pressed into her wrist. Not to the point of pain, more of a caress, but either way, it was a silent indication that he wanted her to say no.
Because Jen was Jen, I was damn sure she would come with me just to spite him, even though reeling him in was exactly what she’d declared she wanted as we left the restroom, but she didn’t. She shot me a wide-eyed smile, swallowed, then breathily murmured, "I’ll text you later."
I leaned over the table and demanded, "You’d better."
With that, I slid out of the booth then got to my feet. Aidan made it to my side, and said, "Valentini."
"O’Donnelly."
"A pleasure to meet you, Luciu," I said softly, deciding to relieve some of the formality.
He smiled at me. "The pleasure was all mine, Savannah."
Aidan gripped my elbow and started to steer me away from the table. I got the feeling he didn’t like Valentini smiling at me... I wasn’t going to complain about that.
As we moved away, I tilted my head to the side and asked, "What did he want?"
Grunting, Aidan murmured, "Later."
I scowled, pretty sure he wouldn’t tell me at all, and that his version of later was when I was a hundred, but before I could chide him, someone called out, "Savannah!"
I knew that voice.
I’d had to listen to it every goddamn morning for four and a half years.
Stewart Allsheim had been my co-anchor through blizzards, hurricanes, presidential campaigns and TikTok.
For all that he’d played one of the biggest parts in my life of late, we’d never liked each other. While he never did or said anything to indicate he was a creep, that was because he was too smart. Smarmy, to boot.
Grimacing as he approached from a table that was near the door—something I recognized as being low on the real estate at the restaurant—I plastered on a fake smile because people were watching.