Page 8 of One Twisted Christmas

“Then allow me show you inside.”

Stepping out of the car, the cool evening air wraps around me, and I adjust the suit before walking around to her side, openingthe door, and offering my hand to help her out. She hesitates but only for a second before she slides her hand into mine and I can practically see the sparks that light up between us.

"Oh my God, it's so beautiful," she gasps and I follow her eyes to the entrance. The restaurant's elegant façade stands out against the night sky. I worked personally on all the details of this restaurant and turned it from a joint my father used to bring his friends to drink and party at, to a place with class and one that brings in a shit load of money.

Too captivated by the place, Helena doesn't notice that her hand is still firmly clasped on mine. We stroll hand in hand toward the entrance, passing by the neatly arranged tables adorned with flickering candles and fresh flowers. The host's eyes widen with surprise when he notices me, quickly slapping on a smile and ushering us to my usual table.

“They have a Christmas tree here too?” Helena is still gushing as I pull out the chair for her. “Oh, the inside looks way better than I could have ever imagined. This place is amazing!”

“I’m glad you think so,” I say, settling into my own seat.

“It almost feels like I should be paying you for bringing me here,” she whispers, lifting those beautiful eyes to meet mine. “Fabian are you…”

Her words trail off and she looks up to make sure we’re alone, but the host has already walked off and no one will approach this table unless I signal for them. “What is it you want to ask?”

She sinks her teeth on her bottom lip and I can see her carefully weigh her words before she finally voices them. “D– do you do this a lot?”

“Do what?”

“Bring people to dinner when they can’t pay you off and then scrape off their debt?”

I laugh, the sound drawing attention to our table, but I see no one but her. “I don’t forgive debt.”

"That's what I've heard too," she says triumphantly, tossing her hands in the air. "So, why this? Why me?"

“Because I can.”

“I don’t doubt that but… it still doesn’t make sense.”

“Because I want to.”

“But why?” she pushes.

"Would it make you feel better if I said that I wanted to sleep with you? That for every night you spend in my bed with my cock buried inside of you, I take a thousand dollars off your debt." Her cheeks flush at my crude words and I lean back to watch her. "How long do you think it would take you to pay the debt if I decided to go that route? At that rate, I might as well make you my wife while I'm at it."

“I… I didn’t…”

Against my better judgment, I reach out and take her slender hand into mine. "Helena, you asked me to value you. One evening with you, a few hours of sitting across from you is the only thing you owe me. After our last course, your debt will be cleared."

"You're serious," she whispers, almost as if she's starting to believe my words as well but why do I hear the disappointment in her tone? Did she want me to ask for more when she offered herself up? No, that can't be true.

Someone as pure and innocent as this girl would never want someone like me. I am not delusional enough to think that my home will ever be anything but cold.

“All right then, are you ready for the first course?”

She watches me cautiously for a long second before her entire expression transforms back to the excited girl from earlier. "Please tell me it's going to be bruschetta."

Chapter Four

Helena

This has to be one of my favorite days of my life. Well, if you ignore the scary-looking mafia guy who showed up at the home I shared with my father and threatened to take the house from us. Other than that little mishap, I can finally check off visiting the Bella Cucina from my bucket list.

"Would you like to have dessert?" the handsome mob heir sitting across from me asks, a smirk playing on his lips. Oh, he knows I don't have room for dessert, and a part of me wants to indulge, but I'm too full. Anymore and I will explode.

"It's hard for me to resist dessert," I whisper, reaching for my glass of wine. "I might come back just for the dessert in the future."

"I can ask them to pack whatever dessert you want to take home."

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