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He leaned toward me. “I notice everything when it comes to you, Ms. Sokol.”
My insides danced with his sentiment, and I couldn’t stop the grin from spreading on my face.
He leaned over and brushed my lips, then lightly traced over my neck and collarbone. “You have no jewelry. A woman should always have jewels.”
“I have necklaces, but I didn’t wear one today,” I murmured and looked out the window at nothing in particular.
We were having fun, and I liked how light things were going. But just like Paul had come to notice my mannerisms, I knew his as well. He wanted to go shopping and spend money on me. It made me feel ashamed because it reminded me of all he bought for me.
I tilted my head downward. “I don’t need anything, Paul. Please don’t buy me anything.”
“You never shop. If it weren’t for Tricia, you would never go, and you’re a designer. I know you love clothes.”
“I do, but only if I earn it.”
“You’re in ill humor now, but I won’t give in to it, Nadia. As you know, I always plan. So you may as well enjoy it.”
I lowered my eyelids and nodded.
Paul leaned over and kissed me. Once. Twice. Three times. I pushed his chest and laughed. His eyes were gentle when I stared up into them again. “That’s better. I want to see something that came from me on you. It’s that simple.”
“Okay, Paul…you invited me to the opera in NYC too. Is opera something you’ve always enjoyed?”
He took a sip of his coffee. “My parents and I love the opera. We always went together every year. I know you don’t enjoy classical music, but I appreciate you going with me.”
I mixed the fruit in my yogurt. “I don’t hate it; I just never listened to it. However, I have been listening to your music lately. I enjoyed your piano concerts.”
He grinned at me. “You have?”
“Yes. I wanted to be familiar with your work for your concert. I want to know everything about you. Like how many times have you been to Rome?”
“I studied at the music conservatory here. Italy is like another home to me.”
“Just like Paris. You went to Julliard?”
“Yes. When I was sixteen.”
My mouth falls open. “You were so young.”
He smiled. “I was, but music was my escape. It was my rebellion. I didn’t want to be like my dad, a workaholic stuck in an office or flying somewhere. There were times I wouldn’t see him for months, but I grew up to respect all his work.”
“You work and travel, too.”
He nodded and sighed. “I do. Some things a Crane will always have to manage. I prefer living abroad because it gives me a chance to move freely. My music and work gave me my own identity outside of being Jonas Crane’s son. But as you know, it’s still hard work.”
“But you love it, Paul.”
“Yes.” He smiled warmly. “Music is my soul.”
An older couple came over to our table. “Sorry, we’re from California, and I can’t believe you’re here, Mr. Crane. We’re sorry to interrupt, but can we please have your autograph?”
“Of course,” Paul told them and winked at me. “Be right back.” He stood and walked over to where they were sitting and took photos with them. I took out my phone to check my text messages. I was tagged in a new thread on social media.
“Nadia has no class.”
I hesitated but clicked on it. There were pictures of me using the wrong fork at Chef Renault’s restaurant.
Holly323: She used her salad fork for dinner and drained her wine glass. She laughs at nothing. Paul was so embarrassed.
