Page 212 of Hell Hath No Fury
I frown, confused why this random, rich stranger would go through all this trouble just for me.
“If you’ll let me, of course,” he adds, cocking his head in that same attractive way he did before when I first saw him.
My stomach growls again, answering for me, and he laughs a little. “I think that’s a yes.”
The driver opens the doors again. “I’ve booked a table for you, sir.”
“Thank you,” Vincenzo replies, and he holds out his arm for me. “Will you join me?”
With a tentative smile, I scoot out of the car. I feel like Cinderella, who just got taken to the ball after getting a dress made by the fairy godmother herself.
Vincenzo guides me up a couple of staircases to where a man guards the front door. When he sees us, he immediately opens the doors. “Mr. Ricci, right this way, sir.”
“They’ve been expecting you,” I whisper as another server shows us to the table.
“They know me, and I know them,” he replies.
I look up into his brilliant eyes. “You seem to know an awful lot of people.”
“Out of necessity, not because I enjoy it,” he says, as the server scoots my chair back and shows me where I’m seated. “But I do enjoy this.”
I sit down. “This?”
He pushes my chair forward and sits down opposite me. “Having dinner with a girl like you.”
“And what kind of girl is that?”
The server hands us the menus, and the prices make me dizzy, just like in the clothing store.
“Would you like something to drink?” the server asks.
“Chateau Lafite,” Vincenzo replies. “The bottle.”
The server walks off, leaving us alone again.
And I can’t stop staring at just how handsome this guy looks, like a Greek god sculpted from stone.
“So … why were you there in that alley?” he suddenly asks, catching me off guard.
“Oh, I … had an argument back home that was pretty bad,” I say. It’s not a lie, but it’s not the entire truth, either.
“With your mother?” he asks.
I nod. “It happens.”
“A lot?”
My eyes narrow. “Why do you want to know.”
His brows rise. “Can’t I get to know you?”
The server brings the wine, interrupting our conversation only for me to do a double take at the brand. Because what that man just poured into my glass must be worth three hundred dollars.
“Go on,” Vincenzo beckons, and he picks up his glass. “Drink.”
I take a sip. It tastes like heaven but also like money. Lots and lots of money. Swallowing feels like a sin. Still, I muster a gulp.
“And?”
