Page 36 of The Billionaire Invitation

“If that’s what made you look like you were chewing nails, maybe it’s best if I shop alone.” She smiled and he returned it—at least he hoped he was smiling. “How about tomorrow night? If you’re free.”

“I’m free. I’ll set up the luncheon with Eli within the next few days. No sense in delaying progress.”

She ruffled his hair, her expression thoughtful, if a touch sad.

Was she thinking about the inevitable end date for them? Or was she also wondering if they would make a better decision this time around? Maybe they could consider a compromise rather than throw everything into the incinerator again.

He decided to take it a day at a time.

Whatever happened, it was better to think of their end date as more of an ellipsis than a full stop.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

When Honesty was nervous, she cooked.

Which was probably why nutrition had appealed to her in the first place.

She’d always liked keeping busy, so pursuing her Master’s in Functional & Integrative Nutrition had fit the bill.

She’d planned ahead for cooking tonight and had ordered what she needed, going as far as having her groceries delivered. Everything had arrived except for one crucial ingredient. The lemons for her olive oil lemon tart. The recipe called for three of them, and substituting another citrus or vinegar simply wouldn’t do.

An inconvenience to be sure, but not the cause of her frazzled nerves. Dante would be here any moment, a plan that had sounded well and fine while she had been snuggled next to him in his bed. Now, looking around her humble and spotless apartment, she wasn’t as confident.

Her living room wasn’t huge, but sizable enough to suit her needs. A sofa, rug, and an artful iron-and-wood coffee table sat in front of her television. The TV stood on a secondhand wooden stand. Two lamps, one on the floor, the other on a side table, were off. There was still enough daylight coming in through the windows. On either side of the window were pastel paintings of plants. She’d painted them in a college art class. They were good, not great, but she was proud of them. A real-life version was full and thriving, its vines draped over a small bookshelf in the corner.

She liked to think of her style as minimalist but homey. She loved neutrals, but a pop of green that reminded her of the outdoors was a requirement.

She lit candles in the room for ambiance while she waited for Dante to arrive: one each on the windowsill and TV stand, and one nestled in a decorative tea light holder shaped like a koi fish on the tiny dining table for two.

She peeked in at her bedroom, satisfied with how it looked. Inspired by the cashmere throw at Dante’s penthouse, she’d tossed an olive green blanket over the corner of her bed. It…wasn’t cashmere, but chenille. Not fancy, but she loved the texture.

Butterflies took wing in her stomach as she pictured him in her cramped apartment. If the living and bedroom areas were the size of a sardine tin, that made the kitchen one of the sardines. Once they were sharing the space, she wondered how she’d concentrate on anything except how great he looked.

Cooking over a hot range, or brushing up against each other’s arms while they chopped vegetables or measured ingredients, suddenly seemed very sexy.

In the kitchen, she fidgeted between lining up the cutting board with the edge of the butcher block countertop and folding and refolding the dishtowels while she waited. She was about to sharpen a knife that didn’t need sharpening, when there was a knock at the door.

Dante.

Her heart buoyed in her throat before sinking into her stomach—the same way it used to when he would come to her dorm room and ravish her the second she opened the door.

She wiped her damp hands down the apron she’d put on and reminded herself that she was no longer the besotted twenty-something that worshipped the ground he walked on.

She’d simply treat tonight like a private lesson. Granted, she hadn’t done one in years, but she remembered how it went. She would share the plan, help execute it, and, in this case, ask Dante’s opinion on changes since he knew Eli’s preferences.

Easy-peasy.

Desperate for something to do with her hands, she carried in a dish towel with her when she opened the door. Dante was standing at the threshold, tall and solid, and damned sexy in dark jeans and a fitted navy-blue T-shirt. He didn’t make a move to ravish her, though he did present her with a bouquet that he’d hidden behind his back.

A cheery bunch of white daisies with yellow centers peered up at her. “For the chef.” He smiled around a day’s worth of stubble, which woke up every feminine part of her.

“Thank you. I love daisies.”

“I remember.”

She accepted the bouquet, wrapped in brown kraft paper and tied with twine. That they weren’t smothering behind colorful, non-recyclable cellophane was a detail she appreciated.

“Welcome to my home.” She invited him in by sweeping her free hand toward the room.