“Yes,” she said slowly. “Too much.”
“What part?” I pressed, tone still easy, still rhythmic. One question leading cleanly into the next.
She looked past me for a second, gathering herself. “The way no one rushes to explain themselves. The way you’re allowed to be quiet without being asked what’s wrong. The way everything feels… earned.”
I watched her closely now.
“And?” I asked softly.
She met my eyes again. “The distance.”
There it was.
I didn’t comment. Didn’t challenge it. Just nodded once, like we were in court and I wanted the witness to keep talking. At the same time, the last thing I wanted to do was cross-examine her.
She exhaled. “What about you? Based on my experience, you aren’t someone who does well with distance.”
I smiled, slow and honest. “I don’t.”
She studied me for a long moment, then shook her head. “You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“Getting me to talk when I wasn’t planning to.”
I lifted my glass in a small salute. “Occupational hazard.”
Her lips curved, reluctant but real. “You’re dangerous.”
I didn’t argue. It even amused me that she tossed my own words back at me.
The waiter cleared our plates. The candle burned lower. The night pressed closer around the table, Paris hummed around us and all I saw was her.
As Rachel leaned back in her chair, eyes thoughtful, guard slightly lowered, I knew two things with absolute certainty.
She thinks this is just dinner.
And she has no idea how close she is to the edge.
“You like that I’m dangerous,” I said, voice low, deliberate. “You like that I won’t let go. You like it even more when I push.”
She lifted her wine glass slowly, letting the liquid swirl, her eyes never leaving mine. I let her take her time, letting the tension hang, savoring it like the first sip of something aged and intoxicating.
Finally, she exhaled, soft but pointed. “Dominic…” Her voice trembled slightly, though she tried to hide it. “I came here to learn. To figure things out… to discover who I am.”
I leaned back just slightly, pretending to ponder her words, giving her space to reclaim some control. Then I let the corner of my mouth tilt into that knowing, infuriating grin.
“I’m not stopping you, am I?”
She blinked. A beat. The tiniest flicker of frustration mixed with something hotter—curiosity, desire, challenge. She almost smiled, almost—but she set her glass down with precision, trying to shift the game back in her favor.
I reached just enough across the table to make her aware of my presence without touching her. I set my hand on the table, near enough for her to take but not pushing it on her. Letting my voice drop, I said, “I’m here, Rachel. I’m here to watch you grow… and maybe to see how much you can handle me while you do.”
Her eyes narrowed, exasperation meeting heat, and I could practically feel the battle in her posture. Shoulders tensed,fingers lightly tapping on the glass, mind racing, pulse probably matching mine.
“Dominic,” she said again, sharper this time. “Focus. Dinner. Paris. Learning. Everything else… stay in your head.”
I laughed softly, quiet enough that it was almost conspiratorial. “Ah, but the fun part,” I said, voice dipping low, teasing, “is watching you try to keep me in there.”
