I did, however, agree to another date with him.
Three days after our movie night, we arrived at a quiet corner of the Brooklyn Botanic Garden. It was a gorgeous afternoon, all clear skies and golden sunshine, and the picnic setup looked like something out of a fairytale.
A low wooden table stretched across a thick ivory blanket, surrounded by huge cushions, gold and glass floor lanterns, and an oversized wicker hamper. The table itself was set with porcelain plates and a feast of foods, including baguettes, charcuterie, and desserts.
“Dante,” I breathed, stunned by the sheer intricacy of the setup. “What…”
“I remembered how much you like picnics.” His palm slid from my hip to the small of my back. Fire licked over my skin, chasing away my goosebumps from the sight before us.
“Please don’t tell me you shut down the garden for this.”
Most visitors picnicked on one of the grassy lawns, but we were smack dab in the middle of an actual garden.
“Of course not,” Dante said. “I only reserved part of it.”
His amusement following my groan was a cool glass of water on a hot day, and the atmosphere was comfortable enough to sink into as we settled around the table.
It was easy and effortless, a far cry from the poignant but charged air the other night. Here, I could almost forget the troubles waiting for us outside the lush confines of the garden.
“This might be the longest date I’ve been on,” I said. It’d started with a special exhibition at the Whitney Museum, followed by mimosas at an exclusive brunch party and now this.
On the surface, it seemed like any other lavish date, but I suspected Dante had an ulterior motive. The rumors regarding our relationship and my father’s company were escalating. By taking me out so publicly, he was making a statement: our relationship was rock solid (even though it wasn’t), and any slander about me personally wouldn’t be tolerated. My tie to him was the best form of protection against vicious society gossip.
No one wanted to piss Dante off.
“We can make it longer.” His grin worked its way into my chest. If he was upset about me rejecting his proposal to move back in, he didn’t show it. He hadn’t brought up the issue since his initial disappointment. “Overnight trip to upstate New York? I have a cabin in the Adirondacks.”
“Don’t push it. I’m docking the extra hours off of our next date.”
“So thereisgoing to be a next date.”
“Maybe. Depends if you keep annoying me or not.”
His deep-rumbled laugh scattered tingles down my spine.
“I don’t come to Brooklyn often, but I’ve been visiting more since my brother’s girlfriend lives here.” A grimace touched his mouth. “Guess what her name is.”
“I have no idea.”
“Leaf,” he said flatly. “Her name is Leaf Greene.”
I almost choked on my water. “Her parents have a, uh, unique sense of humor.”
Leaf Greene? Her middle school years must’ve been horrific.
“She’s been helping Luca do ‘inner work,’ whatever the hell that means. But he’s not doing cocaine or drinking himself into unconsciousness at a nightclub, so it’s progress.” Dante’s tone was dry.
“How are things between you and Luca?” He’d mentioned they were talking more, but I didn’t know where things stood with them.
Dante poured a glass of mint iced tea and slid it across the table toward me. “Different. Not bad, but…different. He’s matured over the past year, and I don’t worry as much about getting a call to bail him out of jail in the middle of the night. We agreed to bimonthly meals together.” Another grimace. “Last one was at Leaf’s house, and she cooked fucking tofu chicken.”
A laugh spilled out. “Tofu can be good if prepared properly.”
“Tofu as tofu, not as chicken.Chickenshould be chicken,” Dante growled. “And in case you were wondering, no, shedidn’tprepare it properly. It tasted like chewy cardboard.”
I couldn’t help laughing again.
The public thought we were still engaged, but it was private moments like these that I’d missed—the little jokes and asides, the personal details, the conversations about mundane topics that, taken as a whole, meant as much as more meaningful talks.