I shake my head and walk slowly toward him.
As his eyes land on me, a smug grin forms on his face and he takes slow steps, meeting me halfway.
“Eliana, you look beautiful. This is for you,” he says, handing me the rose.
“Thank you.” My eyes drop to the ground and I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ears.
Suddenly, he leans in closer and places a hand on the small of my back, pushing me forward. “Let’s get going. We don’t want to be late for our dinner reservations.”
Of course we have reservations. Men like him probably do this all the time.
He opens the back door of the car for me and I get in. I’m taken by surprise when a window separating the front seats from the back slides down, and I realize someone else is sitting in the driver’s seat.
A man in his late forties or fifties with kind gray eyes turns around bearing a smile. “Good evening, Miss Russo. I’m William, Mr. Morelli’s chauffeur. Please, make yourself comfortable.”
I don’t respond for a second as Michael slides in beside me. He smells so good.
William’s comment comes back to me, and I wonder when I had ever mentioned my last name to Michael before. I don’t remember doing so, but I must have. I was probably too smitten with him and wasn’t thinking properly when I had. That’s so me. “Oh, thank you, William.”
“Will, let’s get going, please. Traffic is going to be hell,” Michael states.
“Yes, of course, Mr. Morelli.” Not wasting a second, William turns around and pulls out of the parking space, and before I know it, the window slides back up.
I turn to face Michael. He’s showing no emotion. I kind of feel bad, but this appears to be normal for the two of them.
“I don’t do lateness,” he says, finally meeting my gaze.
I just nod without saying a word.
“I hope you’re in the mood for Italian tonight?”
When am I not?
“That’s fine. Where are we going exactly?”
“Roberto’s.”
I nod again and bite the inside of my cheek. I have never heard of it, but I am new around here.
We sit in silence as William takes us through the city. This is the most I’ve ever seen of it, having been here only a few days. I recognize a few shops and fancy restaurants that I saw online when I first researched the area. I’ve wanted to attend this particular university in Brockville for as long as I could remember, knowing it would give me some kind of freedom. It would be more freedom than I was used to living at home in Kingsford with my aunt and uncles.
As we pull up to a building, my mouth drops open. I snap my head to face Michael and exclaim, “This is Buona Cucina.” The name literally means good kitchen, but because I was raised speaking the language, I know it technically translates to good food or good cooking. Its name serves it right. The restaurant has received a three star Michelin award so many times and has been featured in more articles than I can remember.
He raises an eyebrow. “Yes, I did mention it before we took off.”
I think back, but don’t recall him saying anything about Buona Cucina. “You said Roberto’s …”
He chuckles softly. “Yes, Roberto is the owner of Buona Cucina and one of my best friends. We go way back.”
Of course they do. Why wouldn’t they? I can’t believe he’s friends with the owner of such a well-known restaurant. But then again, of course he is.
We get out of the car and, almost immediately, he grabs my hand. His grip is firm and strong, and my hand feels so small in his much larger one. I follow him inside and he brings me up to the hostess’s stand.
The lady standing behind it smiles brightly; her face lights up as soon as she realizes who he is. “Mr. Morelli, such a pleasure to see you again so soon.” If I’m not mistaken, her tone is flirtatious. And then, confirming my suspicions, she positions her chest on top of the stand, causing her cleavage to overflow out of her top. The nerve of some women. I could never be like that. Especially if I know a man is out to dinner with another woman. I mean, c’mon. Doesn’t she have any pride or respect for herself?
“Donna. Nice to see you again. Is my table ready?” he asks, not entertaining her at all.
I want to chuckle to myself, but I try to suppress it. The way he says that like it’s only his table is hilarious, but I’m pretty sure he has dibs on a particular one. I would be surprised if he doesn’t. As I take in my surroundings and look around, I’m left in astonishment. The place is huge. Dimly lit candles on the middle of every centerpiece, soft music playing overhead, and each table decorated in fancy black linens. I can only imagine what a plate here costs.
“Of course, Mr. Morelli,” Donna says.
“How’s Rob?” Michael asks as the hostess grabs two menus from behind her stand.
Donna spins around with furrowed brows. “Mr. San Giovanni?”
“Well, that is his name, is it not.” Michael is not asking. He’s stating it. He’s very arrogant and, not to my surprise, a smart-ass.
Donna fumbles with the menus, looking down and coming around from behind the stand. “Yes, yes, of course. I’ll let Mr. San Giovanni know you’re looking for him.”
“Good. Let him know Mike’s here.”
Mike. I don’t expect him to go by anything other than Michael. Maybe because Mike is just too down-to-earth, and he seems so superior to everyone else.
“Yes, will do. Right this way, sir.”
Oh, now he’s sir. At this point, I’m dying and have to let out a soft chuckle.
Once we’re seated and the hostess takes off, I’m left with my nerves, and try my best not to stare at Michael too long. It’s hard, because I can feel the weight of his stare on me.
Finally, as our eyes lock again, his smug grin returns. The way his lips turn up like that make me want to bite down on my own and do some unspeakable things to him. He’s so self-absorbed, which would typically send me running for the hills, but his confidence is actually turning me on. Sure, he’s cocky, but I guess when you have money to throw around the way I’m guessing he does, it must be a natural thing to him.
I decide to break our silence. I really want to ask him why he’s looking at me the way he is with that devilish smile, but instead of taking the conversation there, I decide to ask something else. I don’t think I’d be ready to hear what he has to say anyway. He looks like he wants to devour me instead of the food here, and that could be trouble, because I don’t know if I’d be capable of telling him no.
“I take it you come here often,” I say.
His grin fades and is replaced by a straight line. “All the time. I only eat at the finest restaurants, and this one is the best.”
I nod. His grin might be gone, but his look on me still says he wants to do more with me than just have dinner together.
“We’ll be coming here often.”
I furrow my brows. “Pardon me?”
His smug grin is back but he looks away. What an ass. “After you taste the food here tonight, you’re not going to want to eat anything else.”
I smirk. “I’m sure, but I doubt I’ll be able to afford coming here much.” I don’t even have a job right now, something I need to think about next. All I have is the savings in my account provided by my uncles. I surely cannot afford to eat out all the time.