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Not just the man who loved her.
I stepped up beside Grace and immediately slipped my hand into hers. She looked over at me, a little bit shocked, and I couldn’t help but smile, the innocence pouring from her so strong I actually felt drunk from it.
“Lucian,” I heard Vincenzo say as he made his way toward us.
He had a smile on his face and his arms outstretched. His jet-black hair was cut short and slicked back from his face, and his equally dark eyes were creased at the sides as he grinned widely.
He embraced me instantly. “It’s been too long, my friend.”
I pulled back and nodded. “It has been.”
He put his attention on Grace, and his expression softened. “Bella,” he said and took her hand, leaning down and kissing the back of it gently. “Welcome.”
If this had been anyone other than Vincenzo, I would’ve been in a blind rage that they had touched Grace and called her beautiful. And even though I felt the sting of possessiveness and jealousy that Vincenzo had done it, I knew he had no lewd thoughts concerning her.
“Please,” he said and moved to the side, gesturing for us to follow him.
The restaurant was small, with a handful of tables in the center of the room, and booths lined up around the sides of the wall.
“I have you set up at our nicest table, with the prettiest view.”
He took us to the very back, where a large picture window showed a small pond, a lining of thick trees around it, and a soft glow from the decorative lights giving an ethereal ambience to the setting.
The table in front of the window was a two-seater, with a candle lit in the center and white china place settings.
I held the chair out for Grace, and she sat, her hands slightly shaking. I hated that she was nervous, but was also a little bit thrilled that I’d been the one to cause this reaction in her.
It told me her emotions ran deep, and even though she cared for me, a physical affirmation of that pleased me.
After I gave the wine order to Vincenzo and we were left alone, I sat there and stared at her, the soft glow from the candlelight casting small shadows along her face. I loved that she’d left her hair down for me, the dark strands making my fingers itch to touch them again. They’d been so soft, and the scent, sweet yet floral, turned me on.
She was looking out the window, her profile showing me her delicate nose, the slight slope of it, how it was so feminine. Her lips were full, pouty and pink. I thought about kissing her, about how she felt against me, how she tasted on my tongue.
Grace looked at me then, maybe feeling my gaze on her. The way her cheeks turned slightly red had this feral sensation filling me.
“What?” she asked softly.
“Nothing.” I smiled, and she looked away, her hair slightly obstructing her from my view. “It’s just hard to take my eyes off you.”
She smiled softly, sweetly, and I wanted to reach out and run my finger along the edge of her lips, to feel the slight upturn, to know that I was the one who put it there.
“Tell me about yourself,” I said just as Vincenzo brought the bottle of wine and two glasses. He didn’t say anything as he poured us each a glass, set the bottle off to the side, and gave a slight nod of his head before leaving us in private.
Dinner tonight was chef’s choice, and I was thankful for the extra time to talk with Grace without any interruption.
I picked up my glass and gently twirled the liquid inside of the clear crystal. I brought it to my nose and inhaled deeply, the scent of berries filling my head. I stared at Grace as I tipped the glass back and took a small sip, letting the liquid run along my tongue before sliding down my throat.
And the whole time I kept my focus on Grace.
The wine tasted spicy yet sweet, with hints of summer and warmth. When I set my glass down, I saw her eyeing hers. She wasn’t twenty-one yet, but that made no difference. I wasn’t trying to get her drunk.
“Try it, Grace. You can’t have authentic Italian food without a glass of good wine.” I leaned in close and gently pushed the glass toward her. “And this is a very good year.”
She picked up the glass, her fingers delicate as they wrapped around the stem.
“The year?” she said softly.
“The year you were born.”
Her eyes widened slightly.
“This wine is twenty years old?”
I nodded and leaned back in my seat.
My focus went right to her hand once more. That small, fragile bone in her wrist could be seen underneath her skin, so delicate as she brought the glass up. I watched in amazement and desire as she took a sip. Grace closed her eyes and swallowed, a slight hum of approval leaving her.
