62

Vivian's POV

Everything was moving too fast. Emotional whiplash wasn’t even the right word for it. One moment, Dorian was throwing out the idea of a date, and the next, we were seated in the most beautiful restaurant I’d ever seen.

Private alcoves lined the dining room, separated by archways draped in trailing vines and delicate white flowers. The flickering candlelight cast soft, golden hues across the tables, giving the space an intimate glow. Large windows framed the back of each nook, revealing a breathtaking view of the city below, the streets winding like dark rivers teeming with glowing fish.

Toto, we were definitely not at Olive Garden anymore.

“This doesn’t seem like the kind of place that serves spaghetti and meatballs,” I murmured, taking in the sheer elegance around me.

Dorian shifted closer, his knee brushing against mine beneath the table. “If you’re hoping I’ll slurp up the same noodle as you so we can meet in the middle for a kiss, I’d suggest the lemon ricotta linguine.”

Unless there was an X-rated version of The Lady and The Tramp I didn’t know about, I doubted a plate of pasta would lead to what I was really hoping for.

“If memory serves, you were the one who had to trick me into our first date,” I reminded him, keeping my tone light.

He traced a slow circle around the rim of his glass, amusement flickering in his eyes. “But I didn’t have to trick you into an orgasm.”

The heat in his gaze settled on me, and suddenly, I could feel the thin straps of my red dress slipping off my shoulders, pooling at my waist in a mess of fabric. We hadn’t even made it through appetizers yet, and I was already ready for dessert.

I shifted in my seat, crossing and uncrossing my legs as I tried—and failed—to focus on the menu. My eyes kept drifting back to him. The deep green of his knit shirt brought out the sharpness of his emerald gaze, and the tailored blazer only emphasized the breadth of his shoulders, the trim of his waist. He was effortlessly stunning.

And I was in trouble.

No matter how much I reminded myself that this wasn’t real—that he was only here because of Leonora—I couldn’t convince my heart to slow down.

“Vivian?”

I blinked, snapping out of my daze. “Yes?”

“She asked what you’d like to order.”

My eyes darted up to the waitress standing beside the table. I had been so lost in my thoughts, I hadn’t even noticed her approach.

“Oh.” My cheeks flushed. “Uh, who?”

Dorian arched a brow, his lips twitching in amusement. “My date will have the lemon ricotta linguine and the beef braciole.”

The waitress gave me a look that clearly said she was debating whether or not I needed help cutting my food. I couldn’t even blame her.

As soon as she walked away, I dropped my head into my hands. “I didn’t even see her walk over.”

“It’s hard to notice anything when you’re busy shamelessly eye-fucking me.”

I felt the heat crawl up my neck, silently praying the candlelight would hide the obvious blush. “I wasn’t doing that. Someone sure thinks highly of himself.”

“Tell me I’m wrong,” he challenged, amusement curling around every word.

It was the most relaxed I’d seen him all night. When we first walked in, he had been on high alert, his hand resting possessively on my lower back as his gaze swept the restaurant, searching for threats. The tension had rolled off him in waves. But now…

“Is this what you’re like when you’re off duty?” I asked, watching the way he leaned back in his chair, completely at ease.

“I’m never off duty.”

“But you seem relaxed,” I pointed out, studying the shift in his posture.

“It’s easy to be relaxed when I know you’re safe.”

My heart clenched.

“I’m safe here?”

His eyes met mine, unwavering. “You’re with me, Vivian. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

I swallowed hard, the words settling into something dangerous inside me.

This isn’t real.

I repeated the mantra over and over, but it wouldn’t stick. Not when he was looking at me like I was the only thing on the menu that mattered.

I cleared my throat, desperate to change the subject. “So… are things better with Leonora than they were this afternoon?”

Dorian let out a slow breath. “If you consider her not talking to me an improvement over yelling, then yeah, much better.” His expression darkened slightly.

“What did she say when you told her we were going out tonight?”

His brow furrowed. “I didn’t tell her.”

I frowned. “But… I thought…”

My chest tightened, hope lodging itself in my throat like a stone.

“We’re here because she suggested it, right?” I asked carefully. “She wanted you to take me out.”

Dorian hesitated. Just for a moment, uncertainty flickered across his face—so brief, I almost missed it.

“I can tell her about it later,” he finally said.

I should have felt disappointed. I should have insisted he tell her, that she would want to know he was making an effort.

But the truth was… I didn’t want him to.

I wanted this to be just for us.