Page 53 of Butterfly

His arms wrap around my waist. “Perfect. We’d better leave, or I’ll stay here and kiss you all evening.”

“Doesn’t sound bad.”

“I know, but I want my bloody dinner with you.”

Even his car—not sure what it is, just a big black one with a fancy shape—smells like him. His scent will probably linger on my skin after tonight, and the thought starts a little shiver through my body. He holds my hand while driving, beaming as if he’d won an Oscar. A fuzzy, warm flutter starts in my belly, but I can’t say a single thing. On the beverage holder, his phone beeps with an incoming text. I don’t mean to pry, but the screen flashes with blue words. His manager is informing him that he did some research but couldn’t find those damn old films.

“Bugger,” Alex mutters after having peeped at the screen.

“Old films?” I can’t help but ask.

“They’re the best. When you don’t have CGI and special effects, you have to come up with something original.” He stops at the red traffic light. “I love studying old movies. Heaps to learn.” He gives a light bump at the steering wheel. “But blimey if finding them isn’t hard. People don’t appreciate them. They think they’ll get bored if they watch them.”

I don’t comment, since my knowledge of old movies is limited to rewatchingRoman Holiday, but I nod.

“I’m trying to find Tzachovy’s film collection. He was an eastern European director who produced amazing films in the forties.” He gets solemn when he says that.

“I can’t say I know him.”

“I’m not surprised, but he was a visionary man.” He shakes his head. “Pity.”

I gaze up when the white building of De Ville twinkles into view among silver and golden fairy lights. With the shadows and lights playing over the Victorian façade, it’s difficult to guess how wide or tall it is. Nevertheless, it looms over me, making me feel like a Smurf. I shuffle my feet and tug at the hem of my dress. Doubt is chomping on my insides and using my ribs to brush its teeth. Ugh. That’s gruesome.

A valet takes Alex’s car, and we climb the few marble steps—covered by a red carpet—to the front door. A uniformed man bows to us and opens the glass door. “Sir, madam.”

Oh, gosh. A cold tingle is pricking my back with needles the moment we cross the threshold. I grip Alex’s arm as we step into the lobby, where a crystal chandelier casts a fairy-tale-like glow over the silk wallpaper. Alex stops at an ornate desk where another man in a perfectly ironed tuxedo smiles at us. His smile falters when he roams a gaze over me. Or maybe I’m being too self-conscious. Either way, I study the chequered floor and let Alex do the talking.

“Knightley for two.” Alex’s deep rumble relaxes the tension in my shoulders a little.

“Sir.” The man offers a stiff bow of his head before swiping over a screen. He adjusts his golden-rimmed glasses over his thin nose. “A table for two, correct?”

“In the flower room,” Alex adds, winking at me.

“Sir.” He loosens his white collar a bit before shooting a glance at me again. “I’m afraid that there’s a minor problem.”

A slow scowl appears on Alex’s face. “If the flowers aren’t ready yet, we can wait here.”

Flowers? I raise my eyebrows at him, but he doesn’t add anything else.

“It’s not about the flowers, sir.” The man peers at me. His lips press in a flat line. “Our dress code is rather rigid, and I’m afraid the dress the lady is wearing doesn’t meet the standards our establishment requires.”

Can a girl die from embarrassment? I’m about to find that out because my body is catching fire.

Alex’s muscles snap to taut ropes under my arm. “Excuse me?” he grits out, not sounding apologetic at all.

“I can leave,” I whisper past the lump in my throat.

His gaze narrows on me, all wrath and vengeance. “You can leave? And what am I supposed to do? Have dinner here alone?”

Blimey. “I didn’t mean…I don’t know. I can get changed?”

He returns his furious attention to the man. “I’ve booked a table for two in the flower room. I’d appreciate it if you would show us to our table.”

The man straightens to his full height. “Sir, the lady isn’t wearing a dress appropriate for our restaurant. We kindly require full-length dresses for the ladies. I’m afraid that unless the lady changes, I can’t let her in.”

“This is ridiculous.” Alex straightens as well, but the effect of his powerful body uncoiling to its full height is more impressive and scary than the man’s pose. “She’s wearing a perfectly good evening dress.”

To his credit, the man doesn’t flinch. “The ladies’ evening dress should be ankle length and made of nice quality fabric. The lady’s gown is neither.”

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