Page 117 of His Surrender

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

AUBREY

The maître d’ leads us through the dining room, and I swear every step feels more surreal than the last.

Crystal chandeliers sparkle overhead. Fresh flowers spill from enormous arrangements that probably cost more than my first apartment’s rent. Every table is draped in crisp white linen, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many wineglasses set in front of one person.

I lean toward Dean as we’re seated in a secluded corner. “I’m afraid to touch anything.”

He chuckles as he pulls my chair out. “It’s just dinner.”

I lower my voice. “No, it’s not.”

He smiles knowingly. “It kind of is.”

A server appears almost instantly, unfolding my napkin across my lap before I can protest. The second he’s gone, I look at Dean.

“I don’t even know which fork I’m supposed to use.”

“The outside one.”

I swallow through my nerves. “You say that like it’s obvious.”

“It is after you’ve accidentally used the wrong one a few times.”

My head leans to the side. “You’ve used the wrong fork?”

He laughs. “I wasn’t born knowing any of this. You know this. We were neighbors.”

I study him for a second. It’s easy to forget that before Dean became New York’s billionaire golden boy, he was just … Dean.

I feel my stomach settle slightly. “I like hearing that.”

His eyebrows turn up. “Why?”

“It reminds me you’re human.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I was beginning to think my reputation had gotten out of hand.”

“You mean the whole Most Eligible Bachelor in New York thing?”

He groans. “I hate that title.”

“You do?” I ask, slightly surprised.

“It’s embarrassing.”

I didn’t realize that he could possibly not like the attention he received from being so rich, powerful, and equally handsome.

Dinner arrives, and somewhere between the appetizers and our entrées, the conversation drifts toward high school.

Dean swirls the wine in his glass. “So”—his eyes lift to mine— “what was fifteen-year-old Aubrey like? Apart from the one I occasionally saw around the neighborhood.”

I laugh. “Awkward.”

He smiles. “You survived. We all survive those awkward years.”

“Barely.” I take another sip of wine before looking down at my plate. “Can I admit something?”