FIFTY - THREE

FIFTY - THREE
CELESTIA

The limousine ride was so magnificent that all I did was smile and giggle like a child who was visiting Disneyland for the first time. The kind of thing you experience with your arms wide open and eyes shut because happiness is meant to be felt rather than seen and heard.
There was thrill, freedom, companionship, and serenity. Past, present, and future all merged together to form a wonderful time that I wanted to capture into a tangible thing and preserve it so that I would know what it felt like to be absolutely ecstatic.
The limo pulled up near a luxurious diner, and the door was held open for us. As I stepped out, having Raffaele held me steady by the waist, the magnificence of the decoration caught my eye. The interior was even more splendid.
It has a dark interior coupled with glamorous decoration and dim lighting, complemented by an aesthetic setting. We glided through a long strip with seating arrangements on either side as a staff member showed us the way. By the looks of it, it seemed like Raffaele had already made prior reservations.
We entered a slightly separate section that overlooked the Vegas strip, on the one hand, I noticed that the place was decorated with long, overflowing curtains.
“I have only seen these things in movies,” I commented as he held the high wingback chair for me to sink in.
“I will try to do better than them.” Raffaele smiled and took his place across mine. “Do you remember you said that we are not exactly the boy-meets-girl?”
“Yes, but I didn’t mean it so crudely.”
“I get it. But in a way, you were right,” he agreed, taking my hand in his. “We are not very conventional, which is why I wanted to do something about it. So, I gave it a thought and came up with the idea of taking you out for a fabulous dinner.”
I gaped dramatically and then squinted my eyes. “Are you telling me it’s a date, Mr. Roselli?”
He threw in a wink. “Do you want it to be?”
“Please tell me you are not trying to pull-off a Julia Roberts.” I laughed hard. This had to be the most carefree conversation ever.
“I have no idea what you are saying.”
“Pretty woman? Vivian Ward? Rings a bell?” C’mon. It was an iconic movie of all time. “God! Do you not watch movies at all?”
“Of course, I do. Although I am not a Netflix addict like you are.”
I rolled my eyes and tried hard not to pout at his statement. “Why am I not surprised again?” Leaning in a little, I explained with full enthusiasm. “So, Pretty Woman is this iconic movie where Julia Roberts dons as the role of a hooker who captures the heart of a rich businessman played by Richard Gere.”
The expression on his face was priceless. “Sounds exactly the kind of movie I would die to watch,” he said, punching all the sarcasm in the world.
“Forget I even told you.” Once again, I looked around. “I have never been on a date or even to a restaurant.” I didn’t mean to say it out loud, but it merely slipped.
“Never ever been to a restaurant?” Raffaele asked incredulously, forcing my gaze back on him.
“Never ever.” I touched the cutlery absently. “Small deli and cafes at times, but only in quiet cities with low population, but never been to a place like this one.”
“Then, I am glad to share your first,” he said. There was something in his voice—pride? delight?—I couldn’t put the finger on it. He took a deep breath. “And in a way, it is my first, too.”
He’s kidding. “You have never been to a restaurant before?”
“No, I have been to plenty of restaurants and in plenty of cities across the world,” he contradicted. “But, I have never been there with a girl. It’s either family, friends, or alone.”
“Why would you go alone? That sounds even more depressing than my life.”
He gave me one of those bedazzling masculine smiles that could melt anyone’s heart and puddle at his feet. “I went alone because I either had to merge or acquire the restaurant, sometimes a chain of restaurants, and I wanted to see for myself if it was worth taking over.”
“Ah! Ever the businessman.” I smirked, and naturally, my expression softened. “And in that case, I am glad to share your first.”
Even though we have been looking at each other all evening, it was becoming tougher to tear our gaze. And with every second, I could feel an invisible pull towards him.
How terrible would it be to fall for him?
“Good evening, sir, ma’am. Would you like to order anything?” The spell momentarily broke as a waiter interrupted, and our trance broke. Instinctively, I tried to pull my hand away, except he only held it tighter.
“Yes. A bottle of Brunello di Montalcino, please. And the chef’s special tuna salad,” Raffaele articulated and looked at me expectedly.
“That will be all.” I smiled as the waiter left and locked eyes with him again. “Thank you, Raffaele,” I said sincerely.
“We haven’t begun the evening yet, and you are already thanking me. Am I that boring, Ms. Donovan?” He narrowed him playfully, yet the smirk gave him away.
“On the contrary, you are remarkably at your best, Mr. Roselli,” I praised, lifting my chin. In a short exhale, I quietly added, “I just wanted to thank you in case I forget by this night ends. That seems quite a possibility, given the way you have surprises lined up for me.”
A wealth of feeling reflected in his eyes. “Well, I had to try and make it special.”
You are special to me.
“You did more than try; it’s amazing. I can’t imagine anyone doing something like this for me.”
He regarded me silently, looking into my eyes like he could read my soul like it was written in the world’s most natural language. This moment between us, it was probably the most clichéd in the world, and yet the butterflies fluttered in my stomach.
“Sir, ma’am.”
The connection snapped as we straightened while the waiter adorned the table with food and drinks. Raffaele had to let go of my hand but not before giving it a soft squeeze.
While he took a lazy sip of the wine, I dug my fork into the tuna salad. With the bite itself, my taste bud agreed with it, and I unabashedly moaned.
“Wow,” he chuckled. “This has to be one of your best moans ever.” I looked around briefly and glared at him. “What?” He was still laughing. “It’s true. You should watch yourself eat.”
“This is probably the best tuna salad I have ever tasted. Now that I think of it, takeouts have hideous tuna salad,” I noted, taking in another forkful.
“Funny, I was extremely fond of takeouts, or at least with the idea of it,” he revealed.
“Really?”
Raffaele nodded. “In my house, we had a rule. No takeouts, no junk food, and no drugs—no matter what your age is. My mother was very strict about it. And when you grow up in an Italian family, homemade food is all you have to eat, whether you like it or not.”
I would have killed for a family like that. Kyla and I were so different. “That’s quite a rule,” I mumbled.
“So, I haven’t tasted takeout foods or junk food for that matter until I went to college.”
“Harvard must be a dream.” It slipped out before I could filter it. A wicked gleam flashed in his eyes immediately as he smirked over the rim of his wine glass.
“Somebody was busy Google-ing me.”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” I scoffed. “When I accidentally found that you were the owner of the club, I was naturally curious and hence looked for information.” It wasn’t mainly the truth, but it wasn’t a lie either. So it worked.
“‘Accidentally’ seems to be the keyword. So you are trying to tell me that you didn’t ogle at my pictures, saved it as wallpaper, or used it for other purposes?” He wagged his brows as I rolled my eyes heavenward.
“I said curious, not drooling. Get over yourself. So, we are getting distracted—how was Harvard like?”
The glint varnished in a poof as he took a long swig and poured the wine on both our glasses. “Stressed as hell,” he narrated, concentrating on the task. “It’s one thing to be in an Ivy League school, and another thing when you come from an influential family. Everyone looks at you like you are privileged, even in a place like Harvard. So there is constant pressure to be the best of the best. From professors to peers—you would have to earn the respect of everyone through extraordinary merits. Therefore, it is not as fun as it sounds.”
For the first time, there was something simple about him. His struggles sort of made him look more human to me. Other times, it always seemed like he was invincible.
“You were a valedictorian, I have read somewhere. And when you joined your family business, you took over more casinos and companies ten times faster than anyone else has ever done. Forbes thirty under thirty surely means something.”
He huffed a smile and then narrowed his eyes at me. “Careful, Ms. Donovan. You seem to be too smitten by my charms.”
“What if I am?” I asked, half-joking, half-serious.
“Then you might start liking me more than you already do.” He took a sip and continued to stare at me. I couldn’t tear away the gaze as always, fearing if I did, this moment might disappear and never come back.
I never wanted this evening to end.
I like you already, Raffaele, and more than I could ever tell you in words.


Did you guys like the sweet moments between them? I feel they deserve it after all that they have been through.