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Which should be something she was accustomed to by now, but she just wasn’t.
The woman staring back at her was sophisticated. Her makeup expertly done, the bold red lip a choice she never would’ve made on her own.
But this was the woman that Krav loved. The one that he was going to marry.
Where is your ring...
And her heart fluttered, because she wondered... She wondered if tonight would be the night.
And as she looked in the mirror, she made her decision. Ring or not, tonight she was going to kiss him. Old memories, old feelings...they didn’t matter.
She could sit in the unfairness of it all. That he knew more about her. That there were great swaths of their relationship she couldn’t remember.
Or she could make new memories.
She wanted that. She wanted to follow that path.
She would start on it with a kiss, and see where it led. Because she was tired of being jealous of herself. Of a version of Riot that she couldn’t access.
She had never once lived up to her name. At least... Not in her memory. So she would make a new one. Tonight. Where she was Riot, and that name meant something.
She was a bit nervous leaving Soriya, but she wanted to spend this time with him.
And she wondered if she would feel this tension no matter the circumstances. When she exited the bedroom, and went back to the living area, he was there.
And he took her breath away.
He was wearing a custom black suit that conformed to his lean muscled body. He looked taller, which she would’ve said was impossible, as she barely came to the top of his shoulder.
He was stunning. Arresting in all of his glory, but even now as he wore the trappings of civility with such ease, she sensed that wildness beneath. That tiger.
That danger.
And she wondered if she would always feel that as she stood there and looked at him. If she would always sense that underlying darkness.
And if she would ever know why.
If she would ever fully understand. “I hope you like dancing. I already know you like food.”
“Yes. You do know me well.”
But I don’t know you.
That disquiet echoed inside of her, but she did not give voice to it. Because hadn’t they spent all this time getting to know one another again? Hadn’t he been kind and solicitous?
He had.
It didn’t make that feeling go away.
But she ignored it.
She took his hand and let him lead her to the elevator, and then down to the street. There was a car waiting, this time not a limousine. This time a sports car, shiny and red, matching her dress.
They did not have a driver, rather he got behind the wheel, top down, and they drove through Paris as the streetlights began to illuminate. And she was grateful then that she didn’t remember her car accident, because this was blissful, and she would hate for any notes of fear to sneak in and steal this from her.
Riding in a beautiful car with the most glorious man she had ever seen beside her.
The restaurant looked like a private residence, and the inside had much the same feel. Intimate and small, with very few tables.
