In an instant, she had Sammy’s full attention. “You’re ditching me, aren’t you? And not just for work.” Sammy put her ice cream down and leaned over. “Why? Or rather…who?”
Andi fought not to flush. “It’s…I met…it’s not even a date.”
“Um, yeah, ‘cause it’s after eight, and you’re not ready yet—so it must be later—and later’s edging into booty-call territory.” Andi snickered, and Sammy went on the defensive. “What?”
“Say booty-call again.” Andi tried to say it like she did, booty with an emphasis on the boooo.
“Don’t think that making fun of my accent will get you out of telling me the truth, missy.”
“Then don’t be like that,” Andi said, sticking out her tongue.
“So, who is he?”
“A friend.”
“How’d you meet him?”
“Online,” Andi said—and she wasn’t even lying. She’d answered a Help Wanted ad after all.
“Oh, no, I never have time to date anyone,” Sammy said, doing a halfway decent impression of Andi, before squinting at her. “Okay, then, what’s your safe word?”
“What?” Andi’s voice rose impossibly high, remembering the green room full of exotic black leather furniture she’d run through on the way to the pond inside Damian’s castle.
“For when I call you later. To make sure you’re not going out with a serial killer.”
“Sammy, you watch too much TV,” Andi chided.
“Um, no,” Sammy snorted, then patted the empty space beside her on the couch. “Don’t make me dust this couch cushion for Andi butt-prints.” Andi laughed as she went on. “Besides, TV watching’s just like masturbation and drinking. It’s not bad for you if you’re not doing it alone.”
“I’m not sure about that, but okay, I give up,” Andi said.
“Good, so what’s it going to be? We should’ve set one up last night, too—I thought about it after you left.” Sammy swept up her phone.
“Uh.” Andi picked a word she never had reason to use. “Rambunctious.”
“Okay. I’ll call like twenty minutes in. If you start acting like I’m telling you there’s an emergency, I’ll play along, and if you say rambunctious, then I’ll call in the troops.”
Andi realized there would be no other way around this. “Fine,” she said, and rolled her eyes affectionately at the other woman, before walking back down the hall.
“Hey, wait!” Sammy shouted after her.
“Hey, what?” Andi shouted back.
Sammy apparently twisted on the couch and sat on the armrest, leaning out so that she could waggle her spoon at Andi. “If you get laid, I want details!”
Andi waved her away and ran back into her room to hide.
What did one wear when you were meeting a man-slash-dragon whose shoes cost more than your five nicest outfits combined? And where were they going tonight? She’d only seen him in suits and dress shirts—and without any clothes at all—but she’d feel awfully silly if she dressed up and he arrived in jeans. She ripped through half her closet in a fit of indecisiveness and wished that she could call in Sammy for a consult, but there was too much she couldn’t—no, shouldn’t—explain. She didn’t want memory erasing to be on the table for her best friend too. She’d shared everything with Sammy ever since she had moved in, so no wonder this felt weird now, but this was the kind of secret that was also a burden. Sammy had enough on her plate. If Sammy would even believe her—which was a stretch too—because would Andi have believed her if their roles were reversed? Hell no. She’d have probably thought Sammy had spent too long inhaling gasoline fumes.
In the end, Andi decided on wearing black capri jeans, comfortable chunky heels, a form-fitting blue top that matched the streak in her hair, and a black sweater that tied at the waist. Cute, but not sexy, because sexy might be foolish.
And then the doorbell rang, and she heard a thump. She glanced at her phone—it was only nine—and she didn’t think Damian would be early, but maybe Uncle Lee hadn’t taken no for an answer?
“I’ll get it!” she shouted and ran up the hallway to possibly head off another of her uncle’s emissaries at the pass.
She reached the door before Sammy had even gotten up off the couch, and peeked out the peep hole. There was no one there. She opened the door carefully and found a delivered box waiting. Sammy was always ordering car parts off of eBay…
“Sammy…” she began, pulling the box inside, but then found that it was addressed to her.
“What?” Sammy asked.
“Never mind. I forgot I ordered something the other day,” Andi said, walking quickly back to her room.
“Cute outfit!” Sammy hollered after her.
“Thanks!” Andi shouted back before closing the door.
There was no return address on the box, and the label was typed—no handwriting. But precious few people knew where she lived. She shook it, and when she didn’t hear anything thump inside, she opened it. Inside, under a layer of deep purple tissue paper, was a sleek black silk dress so soft it kept trying to slip out of her hands. It had spaghetti straps and it was bias cut so that one of her legs would show more if she put it on—it was the definition of sexy.
Was this Damian’s hint for his expectations about this evening? Or did he just want to make sure she didn’t embarrass him when they went someplace nice? She wanted to be angry at him for assuming, but as she slid the dress over her head and it fell around her perfectly, she found she couldn’t stay pissed. It was just that lovely.
She spent the rest of the time putting on makeup and doing her hair—running an iron through it so that it’s straightness would be even straighter; deciding between strappy black heels and gold heels—and picking silver flats instead—because most of her nice jewelry was silver. At 9:58, she went back into the living room.
Sammy’s eyes bugged out of her head as she clutched her heart in mock disbelief, and then she started dramatically rummaging through her purse.
“What?” Andi asked her.
“I’m pulling out my rosary to start praying for you. Forget serial killers. With a dress like that on, you’re definitely going to murder a man.”
“Sammy!” Andi laughed.
Sammy put her purse down and laughed with her. “No, seriously, why the outfit change?”
Because the guy I’m seeing wanted to see me in this? seemed a bit too strange to share. “I just felt like stepping it up a bit.”
“And when’d you get that dress?”
She’d forgotten that Sammy had already seen everything in her closet. “A while ago,” Andi lied—and the doorbell rang just in time to save her from any more awkward questions. Sammy gave her a smug look but stayed on the couch, and Andi could feel her roommate’s future snarky comments percolating.
With a sigh, Andi opened the door, there was Damian. He looked like he always did—competent and strong—but he was dressed rather…normally. Jeans and a T-shirt and a snug fitting leather jacket. He was still hot, but they were definitely dressed for different places, and at seeing her, he gasped.
“You look amazing.”
Between his expression of surprise, and the fact that he wasn’t taking credit for it, she could’ve hit herself. The dress was clearly from Uncle Lee’s henchwoman, meant for her to wear next weekend.
“Oh, God,” Andi said, backpedaling into the living room while turning red. “I totally misread things. I’ll go change—”
“No,” he said and caught her wrist before she could disappear. “I would be an idiot to not want to be by your side tonight.”
She slowed down, feeling the heat where his skin touched hers, flowing over and across her body like electricity. “Okay.” Her black clutch was on the nearby table; she picked it up and turned to him. “I’m ready.”
He let his eyes travel over her again, then smiled. “Let’s go.”
“Don’t get too rambunctious!” Sammy shouted after her as she closed the door.
&nb
sp; Chapter 15
Damian gallantly offered his arm to her as they walked down the metal staircase, past Eumie’s now-closed Greek bakery downstairs, and she took it—just for the excuse to touch him again—feeling the bunch of his bicep underneath his leather coat. He opened the winged passenger door of his car—just as clean as the first time she’d seen it, somehow—and let her arrange herself inside before closing it gently and walking around to his own. By the time he’d gotten there, she’d slipped her shoes off and tucked her feet underneath her dress on the seat—her preferred mode of passengering.
He looked over at her before putting his car in drive. “So, did you think you had to dress up for me?” She could see him fighting not to grin.
“It’s nice to see you again,” she said, helplessly attempting redirection.
“It is nice to see you again, too,” he agreed, showing more teeth by the moment. “But answer the question?”
“Fine.” The smug bastard. Might as well confess. “Originally, no. But I guess my uncle sent me this? For a meeting with him. It’s just that I thought it was from you, and I think my head went all Pretty Woman.” From a lifetime of hating rich people to being felled by a silk dress. Andi rolled her eyes at herself.
Damian’s eyebrows rose. “But I thought I couldn’t buy you?”
“You can’t. But that doesn’t mean I don’t like a new dress.”
“I’ll have to remember that,” he said, giving her a wolfish grin before pulling onto the freeway.
Damian drove just as fast as Danny had, but for some reason when he did she still felt safe. Maybe it was because she was sure none of the parts on his car were stolen. Andi snorted at the thought of her brother and watched the coin strung on a ribbon around Damian’s rearview mirror sway every time he shifted gears.
“What’s that?” she asked, reaching for the flickering gold.
“Careful,” he said, without taking his eyes off the road. “It might give you scrofula.”
Andi’s hand paused, unsure if he was joking or not. “Okay, I’m a nurse, and even I’m not entirely sure what that is.”
Damian chuckled, glancing over at her. “Me either. But the coin’s a touchpiece. A thing that kings—who served by divine right in the Middle Ages—gave people with horrible diseases. The thought process was that if the king touched it, and the coin touched you, you’d be healed.”
Andi batted at the coin like a cat, deciding to take her chances with old-timey cooties. “And why is it hanging in your car exactly?”
Damian made a thoughtful noise before answering her. “As a reminder.”
“That you’re a king?” she groaned, letting her disbelief color her voice. “Oh my God—”
“No, not anymore,” Damian said, with an entirely straight face that Andi wasn’t sure what to make of. “It was from a friend,” he finished. “Who died.”
“Oh.” Andi bit her lips, feeling a little foolish now.
“It happens,” he said, matter-of-factly, and she watched his jaw tighten while still staring at the road.
“No, yeah, I know,” Andi said, swallowing a nervous apology.
“He thought it was funny because his name was Michael, and on the coin, it’s St. Michael killing a dragon. A wyvern, if you want to get technical.” Damian glanced over, this time at the coin, and she could see a rush of memories in his expression.
“How did he—” Andi began asking.
He cut her off, shaking his head and the memories away. “Maybe we could just not?”
“That’s fine, I just…” she said awkwardly.
“I know,” Damian agreed, nodding. “But…we’re almost there,” he said, pulling his car into an alley. Andi hopped out of the car before he could come around and get the door for her.
“I’m sorry,” she apologized.
“Don’t be,” he said, gesturing her forward toward the restaurant’s back door. The alley was full of trash cans, and the only light was a motion sensor that picked up as they approached, casting everything around them into sharp shadows. Andi walked up to the door, then turned back toward him, hesitating.
“Are you taking me to a murder factory?”
“If you’re seafood, yes, but for humans, no.” He leaned past her and rapped on the door with one hand. “I try to save murder factories for the third date.” Her eyes widened, and he realized what he’d said. “Not that that’s what this is, though.”
“Oh, yeah, this is totally a coffee shop thing,” she said, sweeping her dress up so that it didn’t touch the ground.
The door before them opened, revealing a jolly man who took up most of the doorway.
“Bastian!” Damian announced.
“Little D! Come in, come in!” Bastian said, pulling back into the brightness of the kitchen, and Damian gave Andi room to follow him, as he made the rounds of waving or shaking all of the kitchen help’s hands. It was like he was famous because—Andi realized belatedly—he was.
“Sorry about that,” he whispered when he rejoined her in the hall.
“‘Little D’?” she teased.
He leered at her, for half a hot second. “You tell me. You were with me in the pond.”
She flushed red as Bastian bellowed, “Come in!” again, and they followed the sound of his voice.
They walked out of the kitchen into a hallway with polished cream-colored marble floors. Thick Corinthian columns stretched to a cavernous recessed ceiling lined with gently glowing hidden lights. The room was scattered with tables where other diners sat nearly done with their meals, sipping the last dregs of their wine and arguing over who would have the last bite of a shared dessert.
“This building used to be a bank,” Bastian said, leading them down a short set of stairs. He pulled out a key, opened a door, and led them into a wine cellar. Andi was glad she still had her coat as they walked past rows of bottles, and then Bastian stopped in front of a very square door that had a lock just as esoteric as some of the ones she’d seen in Damian’s mansion. “Just a second,” he said, twisting a number on a dial, pulling on a bar, and then using a different key. A hissing sound began as compression engaged, and the obviously heavy metal door floated open—at least a foot thick—sliding out on a track on the ground under power. Its opening revealed a tastefully modern dining room and let the scent of lemon and wood smoke escape.
Damian walked in like he belonged there, but she hesitated, looking to Bastian. “What happens if you lose power?”
“Backup generator,” Bastian said with a grin. “Although it’s not really to make sure people can leave here. I’m working on homemade prosciutto—it’s a two-year-long process. I’m not losing my refrigeration system unless there’s a nuke.”
Andi gave him a nervous smile and followed Damian, who was apparently holding her seat out for her—like that was a thing men still did—and she handed her coat over to Bastian, reluctantly.
“I’ll turn on the heat,” he promised, before leaving them.
Andi sat in the leather-cushioned chair as daintily as she could as Damian pushed it in for her. The room was narrow but long, and their table was only set for two, though it could’ve held twelve people easily.
“Where are we?” she asked, once Damian sat across from her, taking off his coat to sling it casually across the back of his chair.
“Belissima’s,” he said. A waiter swanned in out of nowhere and filled up one of their wineglasses each. “I thought the name was apt.”
Very beautiful, she translated—and knew that he meant her. Oh, for the safety of her coat, now that she was sitting in sheer soft silk across from him.
“But…doesn’t it take months to get reservations here?” she asked him. He looked imminently comfortable, like these leather seats were his second home.
“For some people,” Damian said, swirling the wine in his glass. “Have you been here before?”
“No, but I’ve read about it.” On multiple occasions. She might live under a rock, but her dreams were more w
orldly.
“It’s better than what you’ve read. Trust me,” he said, as half the kitchen staff came in through the still open vault door, setting down ten dishes all at once. “I know ordering for you is patriarchal bullshit, so I figured I’d order one of everything so that you could pick and choose, and we could be private.” He tapped the table, and the waiter deposited the wine bottle they’d been hovering with before disappearing and closing the vault door behind himself, leaving them alone.
Andi gawked at their surroundings, the apparently locked door, and then at Damian. “You do realize this is faintly ridiculous.”
“Entirely,” he said with a predatory smile. “Eat up.”
Seeing as she hadn’t eaten since sometime yesterday, she was starving, and when it came to eating, her family was never shy. She had to at least try a little of everything—pasta, steak, wine, crab—because when would she ever get to come back? So, she collected a small mountain of food on her plate and then realized Damian was only eating steak just this side of raw. She took a few bites and worked up the courage to ask him, “So, like, when you eat, are you eating for two?”
He paused mid-knife cut. “Is that really the first thing you’re going to ask me?” His tone was sharp, but his eyes said he was teasing, so she doubled-down.
“Runner-up was going to be if you hatched from an egg.”
At that, he laughed hard, and she realized that might’ve been the first time she’d heard him truly laugh—ever—and in that moment, he sounded so free. She wanted to hear him laugh again.
“Answer the question?” she pressed, doing her best not to laugh back and failing.
“I had a mother. If I was hatched, I don’t really remember it. I’m fairly certain she would have mentioned it to me, though. Your turn…how long have you been a nurse?”
She tilted her head, giving him what she hoped was a sarcastic look. “Didn’t your background check tell you that?”
He waved her concerns away. “Shhh, I’m trying to seem less intimidating.”
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