Page 107 of Rome: The Ballerina

Olla was beautiful. She was in the uniform of every Georgio’s employee. All black. Down to the shoes.

“Evening, Olla. You’re lovely,” Rome complimented.

Olla’s round face lit up like a Christmas tree in late December. Pride inflated her chest. She was glowing from two simple words.

“Thank you. I truly appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome.”

It took absolutely nothing from Rome to lift another woman up. I played the background, openly admiring them both. They were beautiful in their own rights. Rome, however, was my only true love interest.

“You’re lovely yourself. That skin of yours is worth the envy of every woman in Clarke. It’s unprofessional of me, but I’m begging for your secret.”

“Seven Skyn. TheSevynSummersDuo.”

“You’re a true lifesaver. I’ll be on that website tonight. I’ve heard great things about that brand!” Olla informed Rome, leading us to the door.

“They were all true,” Rome confirmed with a head nod.

The pleasure she exuded in giving a small tip to a woman was noticeable. It overruled all her other emotions, displaying a side of her that I was looking forward to getting more familiar with.

I extended an arm toward the door, but was unable to grip it before it was pushed open. I stepped aside and allowed both women to enter.

Silence.

Our footsteps echoed in the distance. Solitude was the mission for the night, and I’d managed. It wasn’t easy getting Georgio’s to call everyone on his guestlist and inform them of the sudden change. Neither was it cheap. I promised him three hours and he could be back in business. With luck, I’d give him back his restaurant in two. There was one other place I wanted to take Rome, but first I wanted to feed her and buy her a drink so she could take the edge off.

I observed as her eyebrows crinkled. Worry lines gathered on her forehead. She was partly surprised, partly impressed. I considered them both a win, regardless of how significant they were.

Bingo.

I felt like I’d hit on a slot machine at Winsom. Rome was obviously well-traveled, well-loved, spoiled, and introduced to the finer things in life from a very young age. Broadening her spectrum brought me joy.

We stepped onto the elevator, joined by the attendant who was paid six figures to push buttons and greet guests from four o’clock in the evening until two o’clock in the morning when Georgio’s shut its doors to the public. Anything beyond the two o’clock hour was strictly private.

Olla stood in the front of the elevator, staring at the silver doors she was about a foot shy of. When they opened, she stepped off. She led us around a corner or three before stopping in front of the glorious, floor to ceiling windows that made up the top floor entirely.

“Here.”

It wasn’t until we reached the table closest to the astonishing view of Clarke that she stopped. The city lights, highways, byways, service roads, skyscrapers, towers, hills, and entry to the mountains were our background.

I slid back Rome’s chair and waited until she was comfortable before helping her scoot up. As she settled, her eyes lingered on the two bags next to her. We were seated at a table for four though it was only two of us.

Her eyes finally landed on me as I had a seat across the table. Her nostrils were wide, so were her eyes and lips. Excitement cruised through her veins. I scoffed, clearing my throat as a smirk snuck up on my lips.

Bingo, again.

“You brought gifts.” She smiled.

“I brought gifts, Ms. Mellow.”

“In seemingly great taste. Admittedly, I wasn’t expecting anything after you showed up empty-handed.” She chuckled.

I tilted my head, catching the sly insult, but I took it on the chin and made a note to never show up empty-handed when taking Rome on a date.

“Scratching shit off your gift list.”

Puzzled, she asked, “I have a gift list?”

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