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Chapter Forty-Eight
ALISTAIR
My nerves are fucking shot. It’s been so long since I’ve been on a date with someone I actually care about that I’ve forgotten how it feels to be nervous. Alistair Dixen doesn’t usually get nervous, but today, my guts are knotted and my palms are fucking sweating.
I hate it.
Twisting the rose’s stem between my fingers, I knock on her door. Seconds feel like hours as I wait for her to answer, and when I hear the clicking of her heels making their way toward me, my pulse begins to speed up. Yes, Rory is my new addiction.
However, I’m sadly disappointed at her reaction to me when she opens the door. It’s like she doesn’t even see me. I’ve dressed up for her in a sharp black suit, and I’ve fixed my hair for the first time in days, but her eyes look past me instead of at me.
Wearing a clingy black dress that hugs her curves, Rory appears glamorous. Her hair is pinned to the top of her head, and the strapless dress shows off her soft skin. Delicate diamonds hang from her ears, and a teardrop necklace sits between her collarbones. Smoky makeup and red lipstick give her a sultry look, reminiscent of a fifties pin-up girl.
She takes my breath away.
But it’s her eyes that startle me. They look tired, almost gaunt, like she’s starved or sleep deprived. Even exhausted, though, she’s still the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen.
“You—You look beautiful,” I manage to get out after tugging at my collar. What is it about this woman that makes me speechless?
Rory offers me a weak smile. “Thanks, Alistair.” I hand her the rose, but the distance between us seems to have grown during the week I’ve been gone. It feels like I’m reaching over the Grand fucking Canyon just to give it to her.
She takes the flower but doesn’t even look at it or smell it as most women would. Instead, she rushes back inside, almost annoyed, and sticks the stem in a cup of forgotten water already sitting on the island.
Trying not to be hurt by her actions, I force a smile on my face and hold out my arm. “Shall we?”
“Sure,” she mutters, latching onto my elbow with her hand without even a single glance at my face. What’s going on here? I have half a mind to text my brothers and ask them if they know anything, but tonight, I want to focus on Rory, only Rory, to show her I can be someone other than the man she’s looked at with pity. Though I’d rather see her pity than not see anything at all, because right now, her gaze is vacant.
I recognize the look, having seen it in my own eyes so many times. Hopefully tonight, I can cheer her up and bring a smile back to her pretty face.
The ride down the elevator is almost uncomfortable as silence creates a wedge between us, and as we walk out to the awaiting car, I don’t push or prod her. Frederick sees us and quickly opens the back door of the Jaguar. Rory doesn’t even bristle as she mumbles a quick, “Thank you,” and climbs inside. I chose this car specifically because it was the one I was in the first time I saw Rory, when our eyes connected in front of the jewelry store. I decided then I’d make her mine someday, but little did I know how quickly our paths would cross.
Slipping inside next to her, I reach for her hand but quickly retract my own when I see how absent she really is. She seems so forlorn, gazing out the window. I desperately want to fix what’s wrong and make her smile again. Hopefully when she sees where I’m taking her, she’ll perk right up.
The ride is short as we weave through downtown Boston. It’s late November, and the streets are filled with people Christmas shopping. The light poles are decorated with garlands, and storefronts have Christmas displays in their windows. You can’t help but feel happy seeing them.
We swiftly arrive at our destination, but Rory doesn’t even seem to notice we’ve stopped. Her eyes are fixed out the window, but I don’t really think she’s seeing what’s in front of her.
“Rory, we’re here,” I say softly, not wanting to spook her. She turns her head slowly to look at me, but the moment our eyes lock, she drops her gaze to her lap and nods. “Come on, let’s get you inside where it’s warm.”
Though she’s wearing a long suede coat over her dress, her legs are bare and the wind whips through the streets. I help her from the car, tell Frederick to park and wait for my call, and then walk my date to the front door.
The doorman grins and inclines his head toward me. “Ah! Mr. Dixen! So nice to have you back again! And may I say what a lovely date you have.”
“Thank you, Marcus. She’s quite gorgeous, isn’t she?” I look down at Rory and try not to get aggravated by her lack of excitement.
Attempting to keep my cool, we head deeper into the restaurant. We pass through the glass entrance lined with fake snow and tall Christmas trees decorated with gold and silver ornaments. On our left is a darkened bar lit by a soft purple glow. Laughter filters out from the patrons drinking expensive alcohol, while a pianist plays gentle music in the far corner.
“Mr. Dixen!”
I turn as my name is called, and Cal Hoover, the owner, waves me over. A short, portly man in his mid-sixties with a bald head and rosy cheeks, Cal always has a smile on his face. “Cal! How are you?”
I extend my hand, and he shakes it enthusiastically. “We have your table ready. Will it just be the two of you tonight?” He looks expectantly at me, then glances at Rory.
As he waits, I realize I haven’t introduced him. “Oh, I’m sorry, Cal. Long week. Yes, just the two of us.” I gesture toward Rory. “This is Rory. Sweetheart, won’t you say hello to Cal?”
“Hello,” she whispers, shifting uncomfortably next to me. I wonder if I’ve picked out a pair of shoes that don’t fit her well.
Cal smiles. “It’s nice to meet you, Rory. I hope you like it here at Liquid Gold. Please, follow me.”
