“Is there anything I need to know before we get there? Anything I need to do at dinner?”
“Yes.” I fasten my seatbelt and slip the empty ring box back in my pocket. “You can know that I’ll keep you safe, and you can smile and act like you’re madly in love with me.”
“The mad part I can do,” she teases. “How about we work on liking you first.”
“I suppose we have to start somewhere.”
My pilot makes a smooth landing and I take Gia’s hand, helping her down the stairs of the plane and into the awaiting limo.
“Am I going to have to attack all your jealous ex-lovers when they learn their playboy is getting hitched?” She smirks at me, unaware of how far off her joke is.
I rarely see an ex-lover in public. In fact, I’m rarely seen anywhere. With the exception of business dinners and meetings, I keep to myself. My people. I trust no one and don’t let my guard down. Instead of ruining her fun by telling her this, I say, “You may need to bring out the claws. A cat fight in the middle of la Medina would be a wonderful wedding gift.”
“And here I was planning a sleepover with your ex-girlfriends. We were going to wear skimpy lingerie and have pillow fights all night.”
I grab my cock and shift it to the side. “I’ll take door number two.”
Except I don’t want the women I’ve fucked anywhere near her. There are no ex-girlfriends, not since I was sixteen.
“Typical guy.” She rolls her eyes and clicks her tongue.
“I wouldn’t call myself typical.”
“No. You’re right about that.” She laughs. “You’re anything but typical.”
She’s still laughing when we pull up in front of the restaurant. Marco opens my door and I slide out, extending my hand to Gia. She takes it and I keep a firm grasp as we make our way up the carpeted steps.
I've eaten here dozens of times. Mostly for the privacy and the clientele, a mixture of the wealthy tourist, the bored socialite, the bored billionaire with his mistress, and business meetings meant to wine and dine.
I prefer eating in the private room toward the back, but for tonight I reserved a table that gives us enough privacy where our conversation won’t be overheard, yet still in the open so we’ll be seen by many.
“Mr. Parlatore, your table is ready.”
The maître d’ leads us through a maze of white-linen-covered tables, tastefully decorated with candles and orchids. Women tend to overdress so Gia fits right in with her diamond studded gown. Elena had put me on a video call when she was shopping and made me tell her which dresses to purchase, since she has no desire nor interest in wearing gowns. A true tomboy at heart.
The black dress looked like any other when it was on the hanger but draped over Gia’s curves it stands out among all the others. No, Gia stands out. I’m out of my element with her. Normally when entering a room I scan every corner, take note of who is there, who is watching me, who is pretending not to watch.
Uncle Sal trained me to notice the smallest details. It’s what has kept me alive all these years and the reason I’m confident I’ll be able to beat Lorenzo at his own game.
Nothing appears out of the ordinary. I only hope my lust for Gia hasn’t clouded my senses. I return my attention to her and let my gaze skim across her open back. I don’t trust myself to touch her skin. I don’t trust I’ll be able to stop.
We arrive at our table, and I pull out a chair for Gia. While I want everyone to see my fucking gorgeous bride-to-be, I don’t ever sit with my back to the crowd. I take the seat across from her.
“Is this table okay?”
“It’s perfect.” We have the city view to my left and the intimate crowd of diners to my right.
A waiter in a tux scurries over and asks us if we’d like to see the wine menu. Gia responds in Italian, requesting a bottle of Parlatore red. I almost laugh at the shocked expression on the waiter’s face.
He’s used to men like me ordering, taking control. He isn’t wrong, and neither is Gia. I lift my chin in agreement, then ignore him. When he’s gone, I unfold my napkin and set it on my lap.
“That was quite the power move.”
“Oh, please.” Gia waves her hand through the air, her diamond catching the light. “You’re too old school. We’re not living in the fifties or sixties or really any time before the millennia. You really think those women still exist?”
“Yes,” I say without hesitation. The women who service me are exactly like that.
“Do you think you’d be happy with a woman who said yes all the time? Who didn’t challenge you?”