Page 57

I stopped mid-sentence.

My grip on the glass tightened slightly.

All that poverty-driven compromise, all those humiliating memories of counting pocket change—these were the festering wounds I buried deepest, the ones I was most terrified of exposing. And now I was laying out my most pathetic moments in front of a billionaire who could buy the entire exhibition hall with a wave of his hand.

The light in my eyes dimmed fast. The smile on my lips froze.

"Sorry..." I lowered my gaze, fingers anxiously picking at a loose thread on the tablecloth. "I always do this. Get drunk and can't shut up. Just rambling about pointless crap. This must be boring as hell for you."

Silence spread across the cramped table.

I held my breath, waiting for the polite brush-off of the powerful, or the cold pivot to another topic.

Instead, a dry, warm hand suddenly covered mine where it picked at the thread.

His palm carried rough calluses, steady and firm, completely enveloping my anxious, cold fingers.

I went rigid, breath catching in my throat.

"If this is boring, then those board reports I sit through are pure torture." Marcelo's voice dropped lower, taking on an almost hypnotic rasp. His fingertip moved, thumb brushing lightly across the raised bones on the back of my hand. "Don't stop, Ruby. I want to hear it."

I looked up, straight into those unfathomable gray-green eyes.

There was no charity there. No condescending pity. None of the boredom or mockery I'd seen a thousand times on men's faces. Only focus. The kind of focus that made it seem like in this narrow, claustrophobic alley restaurant, nothing else in the entire world mattered except every word I said.

That weight of being truly seen, truly valued, made my heart slam against my ribs.

"You... you really find this interesting?" I asked, voice floating.

"Absolutely." Marcelo withdrew his hand from mine, picked up his glass, and clinked it gently against my nearly empty one in midair.

The crisp sound echoed through the quiet restaurant.

"Next time you go button hunting, send me the bill." He looked at me, those gray-green pupils gleaming darkly in the lamplight, his tone carrying undisguised aggression and intimacy. "I'd love to fund every one of your discoveries. We can do this more often—dinner like this... I like the real you, little rose."

The real you.

My brain went blank. Blood rushed to my ears.

I bit down hard on my lower lip, fingers unconsciously gripping the table's edge, eyes torn between hope and retreat.

The man before me was too dangerous. Not just because he could snap someone's bones bare-handed on the street, but because he wielded this kind of gentlemanly tenderness that could silently obliterate every psychological defense a woman had. Mary's tearful warnings, Chad's vicious mockery, and this man's low voice tore through my head in violent conflict.

I looked at him. He looked at me.

A table between us, but our breathing tangled together. The air thick enough that a single match could ignite it.

A full five or six seconds passed before Marcelo finally broke eye contact. He drained the rest of his wine in one smooth motion, casually pulled out a stack of euros and tucked them under his plate, then stood, draping his coat over his arm from the coat rack.

"Let's go. Too much black truffle makes you dizzy." He extended a hand toward me, voice returning to its usual composure, though the unextinguished fire in his eyes still burned. "Get some air."

I stared at his outstretched palm, took a deep breath, and placed my hand in his.

We stepped through Gianni's dark green door into the cold spring night air of Paris.

The alley was quiet, the brick walls on either side glowing faintly under dim yellow streetlights. We walked through the narrow passageway until the street opened up, the Seine flowing quietly to our right, its dark green water reflecting the golden lights scattered along the Haussmann buildings on both banks.

The air smelled of damp river mist and fallen leaves. The Seine embankment at night had none of the daytime bustle—just a few couples strolling past, wrapped around each other.