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His words funnel into me like a drip of morphine. My chest feels like it’s going to cave in. I want that so bad… someone to love me.
No, I’m lying. Not someone. Him.
I had my chance with one of my Tinder dates a few years back. He begged on his knees with flowers. Even bought a ring way too soon. But as much as I tried to force a connection with Henry, it just wasn’t there.
Castor teasing that kind of attention, on the other hand. Woo, I am confused and ready to dive right in. But my mind won’t let me be that stupid. I know where it leads.
“I guess you don’t feel the same?” he asks almost sheepishly.
He’s never sheepish.
“Before that Russian got to me, I was on cloud nine, Castor,” is all I offer. I can’t close the door entirely – my heart and body won’t let me.
It takes another few minutes before we pull in front of a restaurant with amber lighting peeking through closed curtains. The sign reads ‘Trattoria Mangia,’ and from what I can see from the outside, it looks fancy. Too fancy to be open at a time like this.
Castor runs out of the car before I can exit and comes to my side to escort me. I blush once our hands touch. The bastard knows what he’s doing. Then flashes of his eeriness when walking the molten liquid over to the Russian plague my mind.
“You should be treated like a queen.” His pearly blues disarm me again.
“Castor. Castor,” I whisper as he turns, carefully unlocking the restaurant’s door. “I’m not dressed for a place like this. Look at me.”
He ignores me with a big smile on his face, opening it to present a brown box-pattern carpet over a beige marble floor. The chandeliers are gorgeous wooden designs holding rings of light, and in the center of the entire restaurant, there’s only one table set up.
I swallow past a lump in my throat, confused that there’s not a soul in the building with us. This is right-out-of-a-movie level romantic. At this point I lose most of my disdain and hold onto his big muscular arm as he leads me to the table. He purrs at that, satisfied that his plan paid off.
To that I’d say, hold your horses, buddy. But this is a damn good start.
He has a pep in his step, gently peeling my hands off of him so he can inspect the table before we sit. Adjusting one of the forks slightly, ‘just so,’ is the icing on the cake. He wants this to be perfect for me. It’s kind of really adorable.
“After you, my lady.” He pretends to be proper, tucking me in.
When he starts to walk away, my brow furrows. “Cas—” My mouth drops open in shock when he grabs an apron hanging on a wooden pole and drapes it over him.
“Sit pretty, kid. It’s time to pay you back.”
I’m fighting a smile. “I don’t have a gold sleeve to offer.”
“That’s alright. You have a golden set of lips hiding under there. Let’s see if I earn them.”
My mouth hangs open for the second time in a minute. Bastard is making me wet again. I’m not sure what I’m hungry for anymore.
He smoothly heads into the kitchen while I’m left to marvel at the restaurant. The place is immaculate. Not a speck of dust on the walls, and the white tablecloth is perfectly ironed. Whoever set this up for him was well-paid.
I pick my nails under the table after a few minutes go by. Some stray thoughts of crying myself to sleep the last few nights rear back in. I don’t want to deal with it, so I impatiently get up and head toward the kitchen.
There aren’t any voices. No one talking to one another while prepping the food. What the hell is going on in there?
I push open the door to a sizzling pan of calamari frying right in front of me. When Castor turns, he’s angry – like I just slapped his mother in the face or something.
“Yo. Who invited you in here?” He takes the towel off his shoulder and whips it at me. “Go sit down. Stay put.”
I hiss at him. “I liked it better when you were scared of me.”
“Out!” he shouts.
With butterflies whirling around my stomach, I rush out of sight and let the swinging door tap my ass on the way out. I’m biting my lip. Castor DeMatteo cooking… for me? I thought bosses have servants and crewmembers waiting on them hand and foot.
He can cook?
