Caterina addressed my concerns while trailing her wicked tongue down my stomach, stopping to nibble the skin just above my cock and making all my logic turn to static.
It was the most compelling argument I’ve ever heard.
And my counter-argument, if I recall, was a strangled groan.
But she did agree to allow me to do whatever I felt was necessary to secure her house for the evening. That is non-negotiable.
I am still counting it as a win.
So, I went full-scale with it. Maybe even overkill.
This is her house. Her staff, food, vehicles, children, multiple arrivals. I accounted for them all.
The one thing I can’t account for is the multiple protection teams. Nick Dixon’s security.
That is the part that keeps grinding against my patience.
Nick Dixon’s people are efficient. I will give them that.
Well-trained. Disciplined. Used to protecting wealth in public spaces, hotels, casinos, private aviation, high-profile family movement. They are not amateurs.
They are also unknown factors in my operation.
I do not like unknown factors.
I like them even less around Caterina.
I agreed because Caterina promised utmost secrecy. No one outside the essential circle knows about the dinner.
The menu is being prepared and served by some of the few trusted staff in the family. Security is being handled by my people and Nick Dixon’s people, with limited overlap and clear zones.
Deliveries are restricted. Routes are staggered. Entry points are narrowed. No press, no friends, no extended family, no extra household staff.
It is still a risk.
Even the trusted Oliver isn’t to know about the dinner tonight. He’s the one who usually plans her events, and he has all her contacts, so it’s been a bit of a challenge for Caterina as well, since she’s had to pull this off without his help.
“We have brunch with the women from the Arts Council tomorrow, but we're getting the flower arrangements in from Botanica tonight," Oliver says. "Did you want to be here for it?"
"That won't be necessary," Caterina says. "Just make sure the room is cool enough to handle them until brunch tomorrow."
"Got it," Oliver says, jotting notes down.
"Actually, could you see if Botanica can fit a couple more arrangements in for me?" Caterina says.
"Are we adding more tables?" Oliver frowns down at the notepad, as if the world were ending from a couple more tables.
"No, these are for me. My house."
My attention sharpens. I’m not aware of any flower order for her house for tonight.
"Okay," Oliver says, ready to write it down. "Any particular flowers?"
"Something... cheerful but elegant," Caterina says. "Yellow roses, but soften them. Creams, a little peach, a little greenery. Nothing massive. For the dining room."
Oliver writes quickly. “Yellow roses, cream, pale peach, greenery. Not massive.”
“And one for the entry table,” she adds. “Smaller. Same palette.”
