Page 64 of Second to None

“Dubious,” he said.

“Remember how last time, you promised Emmy some dessert and didn’t deliver?”

“She mentioned it, yeah. Once or twice.”

Or a half-dozen times. I grinned and reached across the table to squeeze his hand as though he’d just paid me the most delightful compliment. “Good. Because she may not forgive you a second time.”

“Better ask them to box it up now,” he said, like he genuinely cared what she thought of him.

“Bribery?” I raised an eyebrow, and he smiled.

“Whatever it takes.”

A waiter floated over to offer wine suggestions in lightly accented English. We opted for their non-alcoholic house aperitif and a bottle of sparkling water, then turned to quickly choose our food in case we had to leave early.

“Catch of the day for you?” I asked him. He loved fresh fish—always used to rave about it when we toured coastal cities, how he’d grown up with excellent seafood options in Virginia Beach and how what they served in landlocked places was a travesty.

“Naturally.” His brow smoothed out as he watched me from across the table, something soft and relaxed about him. “Let me guess—the homemade ravioli?”

Truffle—delicious. I scanned the other mains before I nodded. “Good guess.”

“I know you too, Lee.” It was said without reproach, just a statement of fact, and I refused to read anything into it. “Do we share the tacos with shrimp as a starter?”

“Sold,” I said. “And the chocolate mousse for dessert?”

“Done. That, and the chocolate explosion for Emmy.” He closed his menu with a snap, and I did the same, thought,Emmy. Only a handful of people called her that, and now Cass was one of them.

Our waiter dropped by with our aperitifs and took our orders, clearly trying to treat us like we were just everyday guests, nothing to be gawked at. I appreciated the effort. Once we were alone again, we let silence settle for a minute as I focused on the gleaming boats bobbing in the bay, a quiet warmth behind my ribs. This felt like a half-forgotten daydream, like a future I’d once wanted with Cass.

Nothing heavy.

“Thank you,” he said suddenly, and I turned my head to meet his eyes.

“For helping you?” I asked, and yes, right—that’s why we were here. “You’re welcome. Now please stop thanking me.”

His lips twitched. “Actually, I meant for inviting me here. It’s been… I really needed to slow down, I think. And being able to be here with you, to get to know Emmy, and maybe your parents have forgiven me at least a little… It’s been amazing, Lee. So, thank you.”

‘It’s been amazing.’Like it was already over because, yeah, he’d leave tomorrow, one day earlier than the rest of us—places to be. No matter what illusions I entertained, he was still Cassian Monroe.

“Pretty sure you already thanked me for that, too,” I said, trying for light and teasing. “No starters yet, and I’m already bored.Terribledate.”

“Is it?” He leaned back with the tiniest of smiles, watching me from underneath slightly lowered lashes.Challenge accepted.His voice went dark and just a hint sweet, like quality chocolate. “What if I told you that I prepped myself earlier so I’m all nice and loose for you? And that as soon as we get out of here and into the car—maybe we’ll find a dark place to pull over and I can ride you in the back seat.”

Holy shit,images.How his eyes went heavy when I pushed into him, the way his spine arched to take more of me. His choked groans, trying to be quiet even when I could tell he was tumbling towards the edge. How he pushed into my kisses, always, opened for me like it was instinct.

I shifted in my chair, crossed my legs. Cleared my throat. “Uh. Yeah?”

“Yeah.” His smile widened. “Still bored?”

“If I said yes, would you keep going?”

Frustratingly, the waiter reappeared right then with focaccia bread and olive oil. We thanked the guy, Cass seeming to bite his cheek against a laugh, and when we were alone again, the heavy pull of tension had cracked. A flicker of movement caught my eye—someone trying to sneak a photo of us. Cass glanced that way too, then returned his attention to me with a half-formed shrug. Yeah. This was why we were here, wasn’t it?

I broke off a piece of bread, dipped it in olive oil, and savoured the crisp, fresh taste as our conversation moved from Cass’s hectic schedule for the next two weeks to my role as a mentor to young artists.

“People like Cosma—we both know the industry’s ready to chew them up and spit them out,” I said. “I try to give them a fighting chance, help them set boundaries.”

“Something no one did for us.” Cass’s voice blended in with the darkening sky, a waitress going around to light candles.

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