Page 21 of Porcelain Lies

“Someone more…” He pauses, considering. “Reserved. Professional.”

I laugh, surprising myself with how genuine it sounds. When was the last time I laughed like this? “Disappointed?”

“Intrigued.” The word rolls off his tongue like silk, and my stomach does a little flip.

God, what am I doing? I should be home crying over Gianni, wallowing in my misery, not flirting with a mysterious stranger in a fancy restaurant. But something about him makes me feel alive, awakened. The way he looks at me — like I’m fascinating, like every word I say matters — it’s intoxicating.

His hand moves with casual grace as he signals the waiter, not even glancing at the wine list before ordering another bottle of Dom Pérignon. The first one sits empty between us, testament to how long we’ve been talking.

I catch glimpses of his watch as he gestures — a Patek Philippe that I know is worth more than my car. The restaurant’s soft lighting catches the platinum, making it gleam. Everything about him speaks of money and power, yet he wears it like a second skin, without the flashy ostentation I’ve grown used to seeing in LA’s elite.

When the fresh bottle arrives, he handles it himself rather than letting the waiter pour. His movements are precise, elegant.The champagne cascades into my flute, golden bubbles dancing upward.

“To unexpected meetings,” he says, his voice lower, more intimate than before.

Our glasses clink, and I notice how he’s shifted closer. I’ve moved in too. His presence feels magnetic, drawing me in despite my usual caution.

“You still haven’t told me what you do,” I say, taking a sip.

His lips curve. “Import/export, primarily.”

“That’s delightfully vague.”

“Is it?” His eyes catch mine, holding them with an intensity that makes my breath catch. “Perhaps I enjoy maintaining an air of mystery.”

The champagne has loosened something in both of us. “And here I thought we were getting to know each other.”

“We are.” His finger traces the line of my cheek and my breath catches. “Just… selectively.”

The champagne has made me bold, or maybe it’s just him — the way his eyes never leave mine, how he stays so attentive when I speak. I find myself sharing stories that dance around the edges of truth, carefully edited versions of my life.

“There was this time in college,” I say, swirling the golden liquid in my glass, “when my friend convinced me to sneak into the library after hours. We were desperate to finish a paper, but really, we just wanted the thrill.”

His knee brushes mine under the table. I don’t pull away.

“Did you get caught?” His voice has dropped lower, more intimate.

“Almost. The security guard found my student ID, but…” I pause, remembering how close that call really was. “I talked my way out of it.”

“Clever girl.” His approval sends warmth spreading through my chest.

“I have my moments.” I take another sip of champagne, hyperaware of how our legs are now pressed together beneath the crisp white tablecloth. “Though sometimes being clever gets me into trouble.”

“Like tonight?” His eyes hold mine, and I know he’s referring to how he found me nearly crying.

“That was…” I lick my lips. “That was more about being foolish than clever.”

His hand finds mine on the table, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. The touch is electric. “Sometimes trust and foolishness look very similar.”

I should pull away. I should maintain some distance. I don’t. Instead, I turn my palm up, letting our fingers intertwine. “Speaking from experience?”

“Perhaps.” His thumb traces patterns on my palm that make my skin tingle. The sensation shoots straight through my skin and into my core. “Though I prefer to learn from watching others’ mistakes.”

Our eyes lock. Our knees press closer together, and the contact sends sparks racing up my thigh. Every point where we touch feels like a live wire, charged and dangerous.

The waiter sets an elegant plate ofpavlovabetween us, the meringue nestled in fresh berries and cream, but I barely notice.All my attention is locked on the way his fingers trace patterns on my palm, each stroke sending electricity through my skin.

What the hell are you doing, Stella?

---