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She recovers quickly and turns to us with a dazzling smile. “Dan and Elle?”
She’s getting a big tip.
“That’s us.” With my hand on the small of Elle’s back, we follow the hostess to a secluded table in the very back of the restaurant. Red roses bundled in a crystal vase adorn the center of the table, and the water glasses are Waterford crystal. I smile my appreciation as I pull out Elle’s chair for her before taking my own seat across the table.
As I sit, she’s looking at me with her brows furrowed and her head cocked.
“What?” I ask, taking a sip from my water glass.
A hint of a smile teases the corners of her luscious lips. “I’m just trying to reconcile the limo-riding, designer-wearing, reservation-getting gentleman in front of me with the bossy, hockey-playing, beer-guzzling Prince Not-So-Charming that I know.”
I let my smile slowly widen. “Maybe there’s more to me than meets the eye.” I reach across the table and take her small hand in mine.
As I say it, I realize I may even be starting to believe it.
Elle
The hostess arrives with a bottle of Dom and an ice bucket. It might be normal in a diner or dive bar to be served by the same person that showed you to your table but not in a place like this. It takes me a minute to realize, but we’re the only patrons in an extremely exclusive, booked-months-in-advance, five-star restaurant.
Before I say anything, I pull my phone out of my purse, ignore all the increasingly demanding messages from Blanca and look up Le Moulin.
“Dan?” I gasp. “This place doesn’t even open until five.” I realize then that not only did he have the connections to get a last-minute reservation, he had the power to open the place up early for a last-minute private lunch for two.
Dan shrugs. “For the right price, anything can be arranged.”
More than meets the eye, indeed. I had no idea French restaurant owners in DC were so enamored for hunky Danish hockey players.
“So we’re the only people here?” I ask in a hushed whisper.
“Us, the server and the Chef,” he confirms.
“Wow.” It’s not outside the realm of possibilities for my family and the men in my circles to do something like this, I guess, but I’ve also never seen anyone do it. And especially not for me.
“Who are you?” I tease.
His expression darkens but it’s gone as fast as I notice it. Replacing the shadowed look is a dangerous and devastatingly handsome smile. “I told you. I’m Prince Not-So-Charming.”
Rolling my eyes, I change the subject as he releases my hand to reach across the table and fill my glass with champagne. “It feels weird being the only ones here.”
“Too weird?”
I shake my head. “No, not at all. Just… I feel so special.”
His eyes dart to mine and his gaze intensifies. “You are special, Elle. Never forget that.”
I swallow hard at his words, because they’re genuine. He’s supposed to be my temporary good-time guy, and all this is… a lot. I already felt like I was falling for him before and that was just-sex-and-goodtimes, and now that he’s going all out and saying the sweetest things… I gather a breath. It’s hard not to be consumed by emotion.
“The chef is preparing a special menu just for us.”
“Really?” I can’t remember the name of the chef, but I remember reading he was on one of those chef reality shows years ago, and had won it. He’d gained even more notoriety recently for opening this restaurant, and making it one of the top ten eateries in the country.
“Yes. Would you like to meet him?”
I scrunch my nose, considering. I have no doubt Dan could make it happen, but…
“Tempting, but I don’t think so.” I take a sip of the bubbly Dom in my glass. It tastes good but tickles my nose. “I dated a chef once. His ego was bigger than his kitchen. And the kitchen was enormous.”
Dan laughs and the sound makes my heart float.
