Page 59 of Mafia Shade's Reluctant Bride
She rolled her eyes. “Now, don’t shift this to me, and let me help before you show up looking like you just lost a bet.”
An hour later, I walked into the restaurant, and there he was. Lorenzo stood when he saw me. His piercing blue grey-eyes swept over me, slow and assessing, before his lips curved into a small, knowing smile.
God, he was handsome. Annoyingly so. He stepped closer, warm hands settling on my back, his scent—woodsy, expensive, alluring—wrapping around me.
“You look beautiful,” he murmured.
Heat crawled up my spine. Then, just as I started to sink into the moment, his lips brushed my cheek, and he whispered, “The cameras probably got that.”
And just like that, the spell broke. I stiffened. Right. The cameras. The act. There were cameras in every corner of the restaurant, a perfect spot to make headlines tomorrow. Lorenzo pulled back like nothing had happened and like he hadn’t just made my stomach flip. I swallowed the ridiculous lump in my throat and took my seat.
He looked good. Too good. The kind of good that made it easy to forget who he was. His suit was sharp and dark against his tanned skin, and his posture was relaxed but composed. This was the first time I was truly assessing him and all the changes that happened over the years.
He wasn’t the same Lorenzo I used to know. The boy who used to steal my fries when I wasn’t looking and used to tease me relentlessly. This man was colder. Like life had worn him down and rebuilt him into something stronger but not softer.
And yet, he still kept his charm, the one that had always swept me off my feet since I was just a puberty-stricken teenager.
“Why are you staring?” he asked, amusement lacing his tone.
I blinked, cheeks heating. “I wasn’t.”
“You were.” His smirk widened. “I like this dress, by the way.”
I rolled my eyes. “Eat your food,” I said, trying to distract him again from the fluster of pink creeping up my cheeks. We placed our orders before a bunch of small talk on what we loved eating and how the food tasted.
Somewhere between the appetizers and main course, the conversation drifted to dating.
Lorenzo tilted his glass toward me. “So, when was your last date?”
I frowned, thinking. “Um…After I had Matteo. I figured I should put myself out there again, so I made a Tinder account.”
Lorenzo nearly choked on his drink. “First mistake.”
I sighed. “Yeah, well, I was optimistic. Anyway, I matched with a guy. He looked great in his pictures—tall, nice smile, normal.”
Lorenzo leaned in, eyes gleaming. “And?”
“He showed up and did not look like his pictures.”
Lorenzo burst out laughing. “You got catfished?”
“I gave him a chance,” I defended. “But then he spent the whole date talking about his goldfish and asked me to lend him money.”
Lorenzo was laughing so hard he had to put his fork down. “Oh my god. How much did he ask for?”
“Fifty bucks!”
“For what?”
“To buy fish food!”
Lorenzo covered his mouth, shaking his head. “This is the best thing I’ve heard all week.”
I glared. “Alright. What about you? Since you’re laughing at my misery. When was your last date?”
He shrugged, still grinning. “I don’t do dates.”
I squinted at him. “Then what do you do?”
