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“She is here,” Iskandar stated, but he held out his hand to stop me. “Wolfgang will bring her up.”
“You will not even let me meet her at the door? What? Are journalists waiting at the entrance?” This was ridiculous.
“Remember it is for her sake, not your own, sir,” he said, walking around me and the table toward the top of the stairs. “Besides, you do not want to seem too eager, sir.”
“Once again, with the romantic advice, Iskandar? Are you sure you aren’t secretly married since you know so much?”
He ignored me and walked to the top of the stairs.
I inhaled and shook out my fingers, not sure what the hell was wrong with my hand as I heard what could only be heels as they climbed the stairs.
Relax. This is simple. You’ve gone on plenty of dates before. This is just—holy shit.
She was merciless.
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
I wasn’t sure if Shakespeare was talking about a woman then. But seeing her, it was what came to mind. She walked toward me in a crimson-colored, V-neck dress that hugged the top of her breasts before flowing down at her waist. But as if that was not tempting enough, it had a slit on the side, showing her endlessly long, smooth legs with each step. In her thick, curly hair, there was a single rose at her ear.
“Ahem.” Iskandar made a noise from behind her. For the first time ever, he gave me an expression, and it was one that could only be described as what the hell, man?
“Are you okay?” She tilted her head, looking me over.
I shook my head. “I knew you were beautiful, but I was not expecting you to look so beautiful.”
She rolled her eyes at me. “Thank you, but you’re exaggerating again.”
“Exaggeration is not necessary,” I replied, offering her my arm.
Her eyebrow rose, but she took it as I led her three feet over to her seat and pulled out her chair. To say I was tempted to touch her bare skin exposed by her dress would have been minimizing how I felt. Swallowing the clear and obvious lust, I was getting lost, and I moved back to my seat.
“Thank you for coming.”
“You sent five hundred roses. It was the least I could do.” She laughed.
“So, you counted them?”
“No, my mother did,” she shot back quickly, and I hated to say it, but it stung a little.
I guess my face exposed all of my emotions.
She quickly said, “I did find the silk one, though. Thank you.”
“I wanted to send a thousand, but they could not get that many on such short notice,” I admitted.
“Oh, my God.” Her shoulders dropped, and her red-stained lips parted. “I was trying to think of what to do with the other four hundred and ninety-nine roses. I would have been completely lost if you had sent a thousand.”
“What do you mean, lost?”
“As you said, the roses wither and die. I really like them. But thinking about watching them fade day by day and only end up in the trash one at a time bothers me. It’s such a waste,” she explained.
“Do you always think of the end before you appreciate the beginning?”
“Huh?”
“Well.” I thought about my words carefully. “It takes days for cut roses to die, and until that moment happens, you are supposed to look at them and smile. You appreciate the beauty of them while they are in front of you. And then when they are gone, you forever remember the day you got them and the feelings you felt in having them. If you focus on the fact that they will die, then you miss out on all the beauty while they were alive.”
