Page 6 of Scary Suitor

That was supposed to soothe my conscience. It doesn’t work; I’ll leave the sympathetic principles to Alina.

Lovers are supposed to balance the qualities their counterparts don’t have.

Dismissing the two men back into the silhouette cast by the tall building, I return to my car and skirt out of the flower market from a different entrance. I secure my flower bouquet on the passenger seat and hum quietly as the floral scent fills the car.

These flowers are expensive and unable to be nourished in winter greenhouses. Getting them from a notable horticulturist costs a hefty price, one I’m more than willing to pay extra for just to see Alina smile beautifully.

First, the horticulturist didn’t want to sell the flowers, stating the time and effort they put into nurturing them in the harsh winter. Then I had to deal with Alina’s supposed date.

Being late on our first date is unacceptable. I step on the gas, flying through traffic and distant car horns.

My car stops at the restaurant, the valet rushing to take my keys as I step onto the red carpet. The hostess gives my body a full rove. Her gaze falters on the watch, then stops at my face. She flushes and asks for the reservation under my name, which I don’t have, so I give Alina’s name.

Her lips twitch, almost piqued. The hostess clears her throat and motions the waiter by the door to show me to my table. The heat of her hungry gaze fixes on my back, and my lips twist with a flash of annoyance.

The negativity diminishes with the faint classical music chirping above me, and the pit of fire in my stomach disappears as I stop behind Alina.

Out of all the well-dressed women in the restaurant, I can pick out my pretty girl instantly. Rather than recognition from memories, it’s the exceptional aura of innocence she emits like rays of sunshine and sin.

I present the flowers to her face and rip a small squeak from her lovely voice. Before she can turn to face me, I cradle her jaw and press my palm to her skin tightly.

“Don’t make a scene, pretty.”

Her shoulders tense, trying very hard not to flinch, but she can’t suppress it. I kiss the top of her head, whispering compliments into her hair, and inhale the saccharine scent into my greedy lungs.

I take a seat across from her, eyes matching the curve of my smile as I relish the shock and fear. She clenches the flowers in her arms, reacting too slowly to notice the waiter coming to ask for our drinks with menus in his hand.

I order for us, choosing her favorite foods and drinks in case she wants more than one flavor. I wait for the man to leave before folding my arms on the table, indulging the intimate setting as I chuckle at the visible turmoil on her face.

“What are you doing here?” she hisses, giving other patrons a little side-eye.

“On a blind date.”

Alina’s face scrunches in disbelief.

“I’m leaving—”

I smile a little too forcefully. Alina’s resolve falters the tiniest bit, and she’s all too aware of the eyes on her. Self-consciousness colors her cheeks as she hugs the bouquet tighter. The air is tense when she meets my eyes, and her lashes flutter to harden her scowl.

“Last I checked, your name isn’t Beckett,” she snarks and sets the flowers on the table.

“You don’t know what your date looks like,” I remarked dryly. “Who’s to say I’m not Beckett?”

“Are you a nail-art influencer with millions of subscribers?” she tests, clearly using this chance to dig information about me.

“For nail-art?” I echo quietly and lean back as the waiter puts the plates down. “No, I’m not. But I have plenty of influence.”

The information needs a moment to set in, but the wait is worth it when her eyes widen with the brightest burn of distress.

“Rich influence or criminal?” she whispers, hesitation dribbling between words.

“Rich.” I tip the glass and taste the cheap wine.

She is dumbfounded, lips opening and closing many times. There is betrayal, skepticism, and utter irritation in her rumpled expression.

I’m suffering from the influx of elation howling behind my ribs because she’s so adorable.

“Don’t you need to make money to stay rich?” she grumbles, viciously stabbing her fork into her food for a bite. “Shouldn’t you be using your precious time to con other rich people instead of stalking me, an innocent college student trying to survive on tuna-mayo?”

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