Page 43 of Endless Obsession

“No, thank you,” I say at the same moment that Ivan does, and I bite my lip to stifle a giggle. I’m not sure he would appreciate that.

“We’re going to do the chef’s choice menu,” Ivan says smoothly. “With wine pairings.” He glances at me as the server walks away. “I hope it’s alright that I arranged that already. It’s the best way to experience the restaurant, I’m told. And I wanted this to be as special as I could possibly make it.”

“It sounds wonderful,” I tell him honestly. “I’ve always wanted to go to a restaurant and do that. I just haven’t gotten to yet.”

He grins. “I’m glad I could make all your dreams come true.”

I swallow hard as he says that, reaching for the carafe of water to pour myself a glass. I can’t let my mind run wild with all the dreams that he possibly could make come true, in just one night. I’ll end up making choices I might regret later, if I do.

The server brings our first course—two small white China dishes with what he says is slivered chicken liver topped with a thin dusting of caramelized sugar and jalapenos. I raise an eyebrow, looking at Ivan, and he shrugs, his mouth quirking up on one side.

He waits for the server to pour the wine pairing—a dark red, we’re told, with pepper and berry notes—and then chuckles. “Well, I don’t know how I feel about this one. What a way to start, right? But let’s see what it tastes like.”

He looks up at me as he says it, and the sly expression on his face makes me feel like we suddenly have an inside joke, a secret, like we’re embarking on an adventure together. I smile back, reaching for my fork as I cut off a delicate slice.

“It’s actually really good.” My eyes widen a little as I chew, the salty sweetness bursting over my tongue in the instant before the spice of the jalapeno hits. “I would never have ordered that on my own, but it’s delicious.” I reach for the glass of wine, which, of course, pairs perfectly with it.

“I would never have tried it either,” Ivan admits, taking another bite. “But that’s the point of a menu like this, right? To make you try new things? Broaden your horizons, when you might not have tried them otherwise?”

I feel a slight flush hit my cheeks as he says it. It no longer entirely feels like he’s talking about dinner. It feels a little like he’s talking about dessert—and not the one they’re going to serve us here.

“Do you go out to places like this often?” I try to switch the topic, reaching for my wine glass again.

“I’ve honestly never been to one of these Michelin-starred restaurants before,” he confesses with a grin. “I don’t go out as often as you might think.”

“So, what made you decide to do it tonight?” I know I sound a little incredulous, but I can’t help it. I’m sure this man goes out on plenty of dates, and it makes me wonder where else he takes them. Much like bringing up my ex, though, I feel like that’s something I shouldn’t ask on a first date.

“Well—” he pauses as the server comes back to take our plates, replacing them with the next course. It’s a baked scallop in a thick coconut sauce, set in the middle of a shell, with small wisps of seaweed and caviar on top. “I thought if I was going to try this new experience, I wanted it to be with you.”

The statement, said as casually as he does, takes me aback for a second. “Why?” I blurt out before I can stop myself. “I think—I think I’m actually the most boring one of my friend group, really. If you wanted an exciting evening, you should have asked Jaz out.”

He cocks his head slightly as he picks up a fork and deftly slices off a piece of his scallop. “I don’t think you’re boring at all.” He reaches for the wine, a sweeter pairing this time. “I think you just need to find what excites you.”

“You don’t even know me.” There’s a hint of defiance in my voice, and I wonder why I’m arguing for this man to find me boring. It’s the last thing I want, but there’s some part of me that doesn’t want anything about this interaction to be fake. I was grateful for the mask at Masquerade, but this man—something about him makes me want to be sure he’s seeing the real me, from the start. To be certain that if this goes anywhere, it’s because he wants me, and only me.

I’ve barely even gotten to know him, but I have a strange, and slightly uncomfortable feeling that if I were to find out that he wanted me because he thought I was something different than I am, I would be devastated. Maybe it’s just because my last relationship ended because of lies, but it feels imperative to me.

“That’s the point of this date, isn’t it? To get to know each other?” He smiles, taking another bite of scallop. It’s perfect, buttery sweet, with just a hint of spice in the coconut sauce, but I’m thoroughly distracted by the conversation we’re having now. “Maybe I’m just a good judge of people.”

“So what do you think of me, then?” I reach for my wine glass, feeling nervous for the answer. I’m not sure I want to know what he’s going to say in response to that. I’m not sure that I’m ready to hear it.

“I think you just need the opportunity to come out of your shell. Someone like your friend—” he pauses, as if thinking of exactly how he wants to say whatever it is that he’s going to say next. “She’s confident in who she is. I bet she knows everything she likes, and takes charge in every situation. And that’s a good quality. But what I think is even more interesting is someone who doesn’t yet know all of that, but is trying to find out. Someone who is learning about themselves. And I’d like to see who you become as you do that.”

I blink, startled by the raw honesty of the statement—and by how true it is. “I told you I’m not looking for anything exclusive,” I remind him, and he smiles.

“It’s just dinner, remember?”

“That sounds like a lot more than just dinner.” I bite my lip. “It sounds like you’re looking for something serious. Like you want a relationship, and not just a—a?—”

“A fling?” he supplies, that grin quirking the edges of his mouth again. “I don’t have any preconceived notions of what I’m looking for.”

We’re interrupted again by the server returning, this time bringing us another set of small plates with a quail leg set on a small pressed spoonful of mashed potatoes, a pool of egg yolk beneath it. He pours the next wine pairing, and I start to say something else about not wanting anything serious, but Ivan speaks first.

“Why is it that you think you’re boring?” he asks, and I hesitate. I’m a little afraid that whatever I say is going to convince him of it.

“I—” I let out a slow breath. “I’m not spontaneous. I’m not the kind of person who books a vacation on a whim, or who tries a new hobby without researching it to death first and doing a cost/benefit analysis on the amount of time I’d have to put into it to know if I’d like it or not. I’m not a person who likes adrenaline or who takes risks. I’ve never traveled outside of the country. If you’d told me where you were taking me tonight, I would have tried to look up a menu to see what I’d want to order beforehand. This dress is by far the sexiest thing in my closet. And?—”

“Well, I’m not sure that’s true,” he says, a smirk on his mouth, and I flush a little, thinking of the dress I wore to Masquerade. But there’s no possible way he knows about that.

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