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“I wasn’t going to open them until you said,” she complains.
The elevator doors slide open, and we step into the penthouse. Her high heels click on the black marble floors, and I bring my hands down. “Okay, you can open them now.”
Sofia’s mouth drops into a small ‘o,’ but she is speechless, so I grin, proud of myself. The decorator did a phenomenal job with the designer furniture and modern art. The floor-to-ceiling windows display a nighttime Kansas City view as the focal point.
“This is amazing, Bren. Is it yours?”
“I bought it. Yes.”
“Wow.”
While there is a touch of masculinity to the place, I made sure the decorator understood this wasn’t meant to be a bachelor pad, not anymore, so she added some femininity to the main room with sofa cushions, plush carpets, and soft lighting.
Votive candles litter every surface, lighting our way to the dining room.
“Is someone else here?” Sofia asks when the noise from someone moving around in the kitchen reaches us.
“Yes. That’s dinner.”
Grabbing her by the hand, I lead her to the dining table for her to sit. “I’ll give you the grand tour later.”
“Hello, Mr. Reindhart. Can I get you started with drinks?”
“Yes, thank you. Sofia, this is our chef for the night, Tristan.”
Sofia eyes me with an approving smile, and I have no doubt what she’s thinking. She is both glad and surprised I remembered Tristan’s name. After our trip and everything that happened with our maid, Carmen, I had some inner reflections to explore. I’ve had a wealthy lifestyle for nearly a decade and had no idea how far I’d strayed. Luckily for me, the ravishing woman before me does a magnificent job keeping my feet firmly placed on the ground.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Sofia says. “And thank you for making dinner tonight.”
“It is my pleasure, ma’am,” Tristan says.
He leaves to fetch our drinks and comes back out shortly with a tray of canapés.
“Congratulations on the new home,” Sofia says. “I’d buy you a housewarming gift, but I think you have everything.”
“I do.” I smile at her. I have everything here that I need, including her.
“When did you have time to do all this?”
“I didn’t. I handled it all while I was on tour. The realtor and decorator did all the real work. Do you really like it?”
“They did great,” Sofia says as she glances around everywhere. “Since knowing you, I’ve been to more luxurious places than I would have ever imagined.”
I can’t stop smiling through our dinner of white fish with capers and lemon because she is pleased with my selection. I spared no costs in making this place as welcoming as possible. I can’t wait to show her the tub she requested. This will be her home too...soon enough. All she has to do is agree.
As we finish dinner, Sofia grows quiet and pensive.
“What is it?”
“Does this mean you plan on staying here for a while?” she asks.
I nod. “I’m hoping. If you’ll have me.”
“I’d like that,” she says.
After the chef’s assistant clears our plates, they dim the lights in the main room. With my phone, I turn up the volume on Karen Souza’s rendition of “Wicked Game.”
I stand and button-up one button on my suit jacket. Walking over to Sofia’s side of the table, I offer my hand. She smiles and takes it, allowing me to lead her away from the table.
