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My chest rumbles with a chuckle, putting my elbows on the table. “I have cars, helicopters,jetsat my disposal, sweetheart. There’s nothing that’s too far.” I relish the look of awe on her face. "Do you want to go or not?”
“No, I don’t,” she says. “I’m not excited to be around that many people today.” She lowers her eyes to her near-empty plate. “Isn’t there anything around here that we can do?”
I stare at her while I think. I always knew Alize was more on the reserved side—I’m pretty sure I would be too, if I spent most of my developmental years sequestered from the rest of the world—but I expected her to be more excited about doing tourist-y things.
But, at the end of the day, it’s whatever makes her happy.
And I know exactly what will.
“I know where I’m taking you,” I say. “It won’t be crowded, and it’s not too far from here.” That seems to make her relax. “I’ll need to make a few calls, but we should be ready to go in about a couple hours.”
“Perfect,” she says, clasping her hands together. “That gives me time to take a soak in the tub.”
“I’ll have Ingrid run you a bath,” I say, standing from the table. I lean over to wrap my hand around her shoulders and press a kiss to her forehead. I squeeze one of her breasts too, just for good measure. “You know, you can tell me if I’m being too rough with you.”
“If you weren’t rough, this wouldn’t work.” Alize looks at me blankly. “I love it.”
Well, fuck me. As if I needed a reminder what a perfect fit we are. “And I fucking love you.”
* * *
“You’re seriously not tellingme where you’re taking me?” Alize asks, slinging her purse over her shoulder with more gusto than I think is necessary. What the fuck does she even have in that thing? It’s scarcely the size of my palm.
We’re in the underground garage. It’s a huge network of sterile looking rooms—no windows, heated floors and concrete walls as far as the eye can see. There are rows and rows of blacked out SUVs, work cars, personal cars. There are even some tanks down here that my father got as part of a deal with an arms dealer.
I’m holding Alize’s hand, looking over at the cute confusion perplexing her features.
“Ugh, Ihatewhen you do this,” she says, stomping her feet. It’s adorable, like a kid throwing a tantrum. “Can you at least tell me if I’m dressed okay?”
I give her a once over, as if I haven’t already taken in every square inch of her body already. She’s dressed in a short, black body-con dress, sheer black fleece tights and knee-high boots. A fluffy woollen coat completes the outfit. She looksdamngood, maybe a little overdressed, but that has never actually mattered to me.
“Yes, you are,” I say, yanking her closer so she collides with my hard abdomen. “More than okay. You’re fucking gorgeous, sweetheart.”
“I have a feeling you would say that even if I was wearing a potato sack,” she says, wrestling out of my grip and folding her arms across her chest.
I drape my hand over her shoulder. The car we’re driving today is on the far end of the garage. I had Wesley get it ready for our afternoon jaunt earlier. When we approach the matte black Mercedes-AMG GT, I watch as Alize checks it out. “This is what we’re taking?”
I nod, coming up behind her to open the door for her. “Like it?”
It’s kind of annoying how much I need her to say yes—this car is one of my favourites. In addition to costing me a pretty penny, I’ve had it kitted out with so many different things. It’s basically custom.
“I do,” Alize nods. “I think I like this one the most out of all the others I’ve seen you drive.”
Note to self: get her one of these. She finally takes her eyes off the outside of the car and there’s a little squeak from her when her eyes land on the interior. I know it’s not the hand-dyed leather.
Alize reaches down and takes the gift box off the seat. It’s a plain white tufted leather box with a simple silver ribbon on it. She looks at the box, her pink-glossed lips parting to form a tiny o, then back at me. “What is this?”
“Open it and find out,” I say.
She shakes it, but there’s no noise coming from inside.
“It’s a bit heavy,” she says, getting into the passenger seat and putting the box on her lap. “I didn’t know we were getting each other gifts. I would have got you something too.”
Alize takes her sweet time undoing the ribbon. Shefolds itand sets it aside, like a maniac. Then she starts slowly easing off the lid of the box. I can’t imagine what she would do if it had wrapping paper on it. Every time I think she can’t be any quirkier, she surprises me.
She finally gets the box open.
Laying inside is a cherry-red Glock 19. She looks at the gun, then back at me.
