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“Ah yes, Miss Crowne. Your party is already here. Let me just show you to your table,” he says, motioning for me to follow him. I walk after him and take in the restaurant. To say I’m blown away would be the perfect description right now.
This is a new place, so I’ve never been here before. The interior is beautiful. The bar is in the center of the room and it’s in the shape of a circle. Inside the circle is obviously the bartenders, but it also has a gold post that looks like a tree trunk and over that hanging from the ceiling is a bunch of half-dome lights.
They are placed in such a way that the bar looks like it’s right under a tree and the sight is beautiful. The smells wafting in the air is aromatic, and it smells so good it’s making my belly grumble. I can’t wait to taste the food here tonight.
Tables are set around the room with a decent amount of space between them to give everyone a sense of privacy. The restaurant is packed tonight and as I pass the tables, I recognize some of the people here. All of them are wealthy people from various sections of the business world.
I feel the stares of everyone in here as I walk past, following the maître d’, but I ignore them. I’m determined to have a good night tonight. I’m guessing they’re all staring because it’s been a while since I’ve been out like this.
I’ve made myself scarce since the whole heart incident and then after coming back from Aspen, I mostly stayed to myself. So for them, this is definitely a treat. I suddenly feel anxious with this many of them here. There’s bound to be some paparazzi somewhere lurking around. I can’t think about that right now because we’re finally at the table.
“Thank you,” I say to the maître d’. Antonio gets up from his seat and wraps me up in a hug before giving me a kiss on the cheek. He pulls my chair out for me and when I sit down, he pushes it in.
“Cara, I’m so glad you came. How are you?” he asks, and I get lost in his deep voice for a second.
I forgot how damn sexy he sounded. Italian men really are fine as hell, I think to myself.
“I’m just trying to make it through the days,” I disclose, not volunteering more information than that. I don’t want him to pity me. I want to go one night where I can act like I’m normal and not broken. “How are you?”
As much as I try to tell myself I’m fine, I know that deep down inside, after everything that happened to me, I’m still broken, and that’s because I haven’t given myself the time to heal or process everything.
I just pushed it all away hoping I’ll be able to push through. It’s definitely not working because I still have nightmares and I’d just wish they’d go away.
“I’m fine. I have to say I’ve missed you though. I tried to call and even texted you a while ago but never heard anything back. So, I was definitely surprised when your assistant called me requesting an interview for my security company. I thought we had something started or have I misread the situation completely?” he asks and then looks at me expectantly for an answer. Honestly, I’m not sure what to tell him.
It was easier to explore things with Antonio when Mason hated my guts. Back then, I knew there was no chance for us. But now that he’s inserted himself back into my life again, I’m fucking confused even though I hate him.
That definitely means I shouldn’t start something with someone else, right?
The waiter comes over to us and hands us both menus with the food and drink selection. We take a few minutes to decide what we want and then we order. That gives me a few minutes to think about what to say. After a few minutes, I’m still stumped and decide that avoiding his earlier question about us starting something would be the best bet right now, so I change the subject entirely. He watches me intently and I know he knows what I just did. Thankfully, he doesn’t say anything about it.
“So, tell me about your company. As you know, I’m in need of a bodyguard.” I recount what Chase told him over the phone.
“Why? What’s the sudden need for a bodyguard? Not that I need to know for you to hire my company, but I’m curious. I know you’ve never really had a bodyguard before now.” He voices what’s on his mind. Since we’ve been in some rather close contact, I figure why not just tell him. I lean over the table a little and he comes closer before I tell him why in a low tone.
“I think–no, not think–I know someone is stalking me. I don’t know who it is or why they are, but I feel scared, especially since I had a near-death experience again last week,” I divulge as quietly as I can. I don’t want anyone else overhearing our conversation. His brows lift in surprise.
“Are you alright, cara?” he questions.
“Yeah, I’m fine now. My friends saved me,” I stammer out as emotions clog my throat from remembering what it felt like to almost drown in ice cold water.
“What happened?” he asks in a horrified and curious tone.
“I went for a walk, and someone snuck up on me. He tried to kidnap me, but I fought and then he stabbed me in the stomach. When I tried to run away, I stupidly ran onto the frozen lake and he kept shooting the ice until it broke and I fell through,” I finish, feeling colder than I was a few seconds ago.
“Oh my God, cara! You need to be more careful. I’m glad your friends were there to help you. I’m so sorry you had to go through that,” he says, grabbing my hand in his and squeezing it in what is supposed to be a comforting gesture, but my hands are cold in his warm ones.
“Would you excuse me while I run to the ladies’ room?” I ask and he shakes his head, eyes full of concern.
“Are you alright? We can leave if you need to,” he says, and I feel comfort knowing he cares about my feelings.
“I’m fine, I promise. I just need to freshen up for a minute,” I say, reassuring him. He nods his head and I walk off in the direction of the ladies’ room. I need a moment to compose myself because having to tell him what happened brought back all the memories to the surface.
I storm into the ladies’ room without checking to see if anyone else was in here. I stride right up to the sink and place my hands on the counter. My head is bent down between my shoulder blades.
I look at the pattern on the counter and trace it with my eyes to try to calm my breathing. It’s a trick I learned to help with my panic attacks—focus on something besides whatever it is that’s bothering me. My heart is racing, and my breathing is out of control. I don’t want to have an attack or worse, a seizure here, so I take in deep breaths before letting them out. I continue doing the same for five minutes before I feel my heart rate slowing.
When I’ve gotten myself under control, I lift my head, intent on washing my hands and getting back out there. But as soon as I lift my head and look into the mirror, my eyes clash with green ones.
