Page 42 of The Hunter's Empire

"At a charity gala in Monaco." I answer immediately. "Two years ago. You approached me after a speech on sustainable shipping investments."

His expression remains unreadable. "How long have we been together?"

"Fourteen months."

"What is my preferred drink?"

My lips part but I can’t find words fast enough. Only a fraction of hesitation, but Domenico notices it instantly.

"There." He says quietly. "That pause would get noticed."

I lean back slightly in my seat. "Most people at the party will not interrogate us over whiskey preferences."

"No." He agrees calmly. "But they will notice uncertainty."

His eyes stay fixed on mine for a second longer before repeating, "What is my preferred drink?"

"Whiskey. Neat. Older than twenty years if possible." I hold his gaze steadily this time. "And you hate champagne because it gives you headaches."

A faint nod. "Better."

He closes the passport and studies me carefully. "What do we do in public?"

I already know this is another test.

"We stay close." I say evenly. "You keep a hand on me when we walk. We look familiar with each other. Comfortable." My eyes narrow slightly. "Like people who have spent enough time together not to think about it anymore."

Domenico watches me for a second before standing. The movement draws my attention immediately.

He walks around the table slowly and lowers himself into the seat beside me. The shift in proximity is immediate. Intentional.

The leather seat dips slightly beneath his weight.

"Across the cabin from each other is not going to help us." He says calmly.

I turn my head slightly toward him. "And this will?"

"Yes."

Before I can respond, he leans in just enough for his arm to settle along the back of my seat, his hand resting lightly against my side near my waist.

Not aggressive. Not hesitant either.

Warmth spreads instantly beneath the thin fabric of my clothes, and I hate how aware of it I become.

Domenico notices. Of course he notices.

"Relax." He murmurs. "You look like you are preparing for combat."

"I am."

A low chuckle leaves him. "This is exactly what I mean. If every touch makes you tense, people will start paying attention."

I force my expression to remain neutral despite the irritation flickering beneath my skin.

"You seem remarkably committed to this exercise."

"It is called preparation."