by Pamela Yaye
“No, unfortunately they don’t. I spoke to detectives this morning, and they assured me they’re working hard on the case, but I’ve lost all hope of them ever finding my Lexus. It’s probably been stripped of its parts and sold to a chop shop by now.”
“Stripped of its parts and sold to a chop shop? Where did you learn to talk like that?”
“I watch TV. I know what’s up.” Dionne climbed inside the limousine, crossed her legs, and patted the seat beside her. “Get in. You can tell me about your day on the way to the restaurant, and if you play your cards right I just might give you a glass of Cristal.”
“Where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise.”
Chuckling, Immanuel ducked inside the car.
Chapter 8
Bacchanalia, the most expensive restaurant in the state of Georgia, was praised for its Southern hospitality, celebrated for its unique seasonal menu and envied for its esteemed clientele. But what Dionne loved most about the establishment was the romantic ambience. Vintage mirrors hung from the ivory walls, bronze candelabras showered the restaurant with light, and fine china beautified the round tables. The air held a savory scent, one that roused Dionne’s hunger. Her mouth watered and her stomach grumbled at the tantalizing aromas wafting out of the kitchen.
Entering the waiting area, Dionne scanned the dining room. TV personalities, the mayor of Atlanta and socialites dripping in diamonds were living it up—eating, drinking and laughing as though there were no tomorrow. The patrons were illustrious, the mood was festive, and the silver-haired piano player was so talented, diners were moving and grooving in their seats.
“Welcome to Bacchanalia.” The maître d’, a slim man with blue eyes, gave a polite nod. “The private dining room is ready. Please follow me.”
Dionne stepped forward, but Immanuel didn’t move.
“A private room?” Wrinkles creased his forehead, and a scowl bruised his lips. “This is crazy. I should be treating you to dinner. Not the other way around.”
Unsure of what to say in response, Dionne took a moment to gather her thoughts. In the limousine, on the drive over to Mastermind Operations, she’d rehearsed her speech to perfection, yet when she saw Immanuel her confidence deserted her. It was happening again. Her skin was cold and clammy, and her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth.
Hurry up, urged her inner voice. Say something or he’ll leave.
Determined to salvage their date, Dionne moved closer to him and rested a hand on his arm. Damn. Like the rest of him appeared, it was hard, muscular and firm. Dionne blinked, chided herself to focus. It had taken several days to pull everything together, and she wasn’t going to let anyone—not even the guest of honor—ruin her plans.
“You can pay for dinner next time.” To lighten the mood, she added, “And I suggest you save up, because I have very expensive taste, and a very healthy appetite.”
Immanuel didn’t laugh. His mouth was set in a frown, and his arms were crossed.
“Dionne, I don’t like this. This isn’t me.”
“You don’t like what?”
“You paying for dinner. I’m old-school, and where I come from, men pay for everything.”
“Well, I’m new school, and where I come from, women can do it all, including pay the check.” Dionne inclined her body toward his, but didn’t speak until he looked right at her. “You saved my life. If not for you, I wouldn’t be here today. So please don’t fight me on this—”
“You’re giving me too much credit. I’m not a hero, Dionne. You are.” Pride shone in his eyes. “You’re my hero! You opened a can of whoop-ass on that creep, and I bet from now on he’ll think twice about robbing innocent people.”
“I sure hope so, because if he tries me again I won’t go so easy on him.”
“Let’s meet halfway,” he said, sliding his hands into the front pockets of his dress pants. “You pay for dinner, and I’ll leave the tip. Deal?”
Dionne patted the lapel of his suit jacket. “Immanuel, don’t worry. I got it.”
“I insist.”
“Are you always this difficult?”
“Yeah, I am,” he confessed, wearing an impish smile. “I’m a Scorpio, and Italian, so you don’t have a chance in hell of winning this argument.”
“Fine, if it’ll make you happy, you can leave the tip.”
“I’m overjoyed.”
“No,” she challenged, pointing a finger at his chest. “You’re a pain in the ass.”
Chuckling, he took her hand in his and gave it a light squeeze. Desire prickled her skin. Dionne felt like the belle of the ball when Immanuel wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close to his side. He made her feel protected, as if her well-being mattered more than anything. It was a heady feeling.
Stealing a glance at him, Dionne admired his handsome profile. It was impossible to keep her eyes off him. He had a face made for magazines, a lean, toned physique, and a voice so sexy her ears tingled every time he spoke. He looked sexy in his slim-fitting navy suit, but it was how confidently he moved that captured the attention of every woman in the room. Immanuel Morretti was the hottest thing to come out of Italy since Versace, and he was with her. Dionne was proud to be his date, and not just because he was a hottie. He was a gentleman, a class act, the kind of guy women couldn’t help but love.
Dionne spotted a familiar face across the dining room and strangled a groan. Adeline. Someone must have it out for me, she thought, drawing in a deep, calming breath. Jules’s sister was a busybody who wasn’t happy unless she was telling someone what to do. The executive accountant ran a tight ship at home, and everyone in the Fontaine family, including her toddler son, knew better than to cross her. Her eyes were daggers, and her lips were a hard line. As Adeline approached, Dionne stopped and nodded her head in greeting. “Hi, Adeline,” she said with a polite smile. “How are you doing?”
“Scheming gold digger,” she spat, through clenched teeth. Adeline brushed past her and continued through the restaurant with her friends—two successful business women Dionne had had in her home as guests on several occasions. The pair ignored her, but they made eyes at Immanuel.
“They looked happy to see you.”
“The woman in the mauve cocktail dress is my ex’s sister, and we don’t get along.”
“Why not?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“We’re both opinionated, headstrong women. We clashed from day one.”
Entering the private dining room, Dionne took in her surroundings. It was an elegant, intimate space filled with glass vases overflowing with long-stemmed red roses and scented candles. Stars twinkled, showering the space with a faint, sultry light. The crescent moon in the night sky provided a romantic backdrop.
Immanuel pulled out Dionne’s chair. “Have a seat, beautiful.”
“I love fine dining, and this meal is going to be epic, so the sooner we start eating the better.”
Amusement twinkled in his eyes. “Epic, huh?”
“You just wait and see.”
“A Hero’s Dinner?” Frowning, he picked up the glossy white card on his plate and read the personalized menu aloud. “The Good Samaritan signature cocktail sounds interesting.”
“You’ll love it. It’s made with Campari and orange juice and tastes a lot like Negroni.”
“What do you know about Negroni? It’s an Italian cocktail that’s decades old.”
“I know a little somethin’ somethin’ about Italian cuisine. I’ve done my research.”
“Wow, I’m impressed. There’s never a dull moment when you’re around, is there?”
“I feel the same way about you, Mr. Morretti. A woman can never have too many male friends, and I love how honest and grounded you are.”
He cocked a brow, examined her with
a critical eye. “Why do you sound surprised?”
“Because it’s hard to meet a man of integrity in this day and age.”
“And women are perfect, right?”
“God no!” Dionne smirked. “Just me.”
The waiter arrived, introduced himself and unloaded his wooden tray. “I will be back shortly with the second course,” he said in a faint British accent. “Enjoy the appetizers.”
Dionne picked up her cocktail glass and raised it in the air. “I’d like to make a toast.”
“The floor is yours.”
“Thank you for saving my life, and for being a kick-ass fairy godfather.”
Immanuel cracked up. “No one’s ever called me a fairy before.”
“There’s a first time for everything,” she teased, shooting him a playful wink.
He laughed harder, and the sound of his hearty chuckle made Dionne smile. After the week she’d had, it felt good to joke around with Immanuel. “To friendship,” she proposed, fervently nodding her head. “May we be friends for many years to come.”
“I’ll drink to that.”
They shared a smile, then clinked glasses.
Dionne tasted her cocktail, deciding she liked the spicy flavor, then eagerly sampled the Kumamoto oysters. As they ate, they discussed their careers, their favorite cities and vacation spots, and their families. Immanuel listened more than he spoke, but as they started the second course he opened up to her about his past relationships. He was a sensitive man who felt things deeply, but he wasn’t a crybaby by any means. He took responsibilities for the mistakes he’d made in the past, and was determined to be a better man. Dionne admired his drive and ambition.
“When was the last time you spoke to Emilio?” she asked, wondering what had caused the rift between the two brothers that Sharleen had once casually mentioned. “Have you seen him since you returned to Atlanta?”
“No, and I don’t plan to. I have nothing to say to him.”
“That’s harsh.”
His face hardened. “No, that’s the truth.”
“My sisters drive me crazy sometimes, but I couldn’t imagine not having them in my life. Mel and Lorna are my best friends, and I love them dearly.”
Immanuel nodded his head, as if he wholeheartedly agreed. He chewed his food slowly, as if he was savoring every bite, then reached for his water glass.
“It’s sad that you guys don’t talk,” she said, quietly. “Do you miss him?”
“Every day.”
“Then why don’t you call him?”
A dark shadow crossed his face. “Because what Emilio did is unforgivable.”
“I don’t believe that. Everyone deserves a second chance.”
“Even family members who stab you in the back?”
“Yes, even family members who stab you in the back. Your family is a gift to you, as you are to them. You need each other, especially during tough times.”
Immanuel fell silent. His head was down, his face was sad, and his posture was stiff.
It was hard for Dionne to keep her wits about her when all she wanted to do was take him in her arms and hold him tight. “It might help to talk about it.”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“I have a Masters in psychology. Try me.”
“Emilio slept with my fiancée.”
Dionne choked on her tongue and stared at him in astonishment. She hadn’t expected him to drop a bombshell during dinner and was stunned by his confession. To alleviate the dryness in her throat, she picked up her glass and sipped her cocktail. Dionne couldn’t think of anything to say in response, and needed a moment to get her thoughts in order.
“When I caught Emilio and Valentina in bed, I went ballistic.”
“I’m not surprised you lost your cool. Anyone would in that situation.”
“My brother and I fought like dogs that night.” Immanuel touched his cheek, winced as if in pain. “This scar was a parting gift from him.”
Moved by compassion, she offered a sympathetic smile. Immanuel wore a pensive expression on his face and seemed to be in another world. Is Immanuel thinking about his ex-fiancée right now? Does he still love her? Does he wish he were having dinner with her tonight instead of me?
Dionne banished the thoughts from her mind and returned to the present. She didn’t like talking about Jules or the problems in their marriage, but maybe if she opened up to Immanuel he’d realize that he wasn’t alone. Everyone faced tough times.
“I know how it feels to be betrayed by someone you love,” she said quietly, meeting his gaze with her own. “For years, I suspected my husband was cheating on me, but I didn’t have proof of his infidelity until his mistress showed up on my doorstep last year demanding money.”
“You must have been devastated.”
“Actually, I was relieved. Knowing the truth gave me the courage to move out and file for divorce.” Dionne held her head high. “I’ve always believed disappointments are a blessing in disguise, and every setback I’ve faced has made me a stronger, more resilient person.”
Immanuel gripped his glass in his hands, held it so hard his knuckles turned white.
“Have you ever asked Emilio why he betrayed you?”
“He said he didn’t know Valentina was my girl,” he said in a pained whisper.
“That sounds plausible. Why don’t you believe him?”
“Because he’s a spoiled, egotistical jerk who only cares about himself.”
“People change, Immanuel.”
“Not my brother. He’s as selfish as they come.”
Dionne hesitated, struggling with her words. She didn’t want Immanuel to think she was taking sides, but it was important for her to speak her mind. “I’ve had dinner with Emilio and Sharleen on several occasions, and that wasn’t my impression of him at all. He’s chivalrous and charming, and his love and devotion for Sharleen are admirable.”
Immanuel stared at her with astonishment, as if she were dancing on top of the table.
“What will it take for you to forgive Emilio?” she asked, wishing he’d stop glaring at her.
He answered with a shrug. “I don’t know.”
Silence fell across the table. It was deafening, thick with tension, and the longer it lasted the more uncomfortable Dionne felt.
“I’m mad at Emilio, but I’m even angrier at myself for choosing someone like Valentina. I thought she was ‘the one,’ and I feel like a jackass for proposing to her.”
“Don’t beat yourself up about it. That chapter of your life is over, and now it’s time to learn and grow from that experience.” Dionne parted her lips and was shocked by the pitiful sound of her voice. “Consider yourself lucky. At least you don’t have two failed marriages under your belt. Now, that’s hard to live down.”
Immanuel paused reflectively, seemingly giving considerable thought to what she said. “What went wrong in your first marriage?”
“I was naive, and he was a worldly older man who swept me off my feet,” she explained with a deep sigh. “Our differences drove us apart, and we eventually split up.”
“How long were you married?”
“Two years. I was young and dumb and had no business tying the knot.”
Dionne kept her eyes down, fiddled with the gold napkin holder beside her plate. She wondered what Immanuel would think if he knew the truth. Would he think the worst of her? Would he keep his distance? At the sound of his voice, she blinked.
“It sounds like you’ve overcome a lot of adversity in your life.”
“Haven’t we all?”
“That’s certainly true in my case.”
“Are you still in love your ex? Do you want to reconcile with her?” Holding her breath, she waited anxiously to hear his response. Not
that it mattered. They were friends, and that would never change.
“It’s been five years since our breakup.”
“That’s not what I asked you.”
“No, I don’t want her back, but I miss her companionship.” His tone was somber. “It would be cool to have someone to spend time with at the end of a long workday.”
“Then get a dog. They’re fun and loyal and easy to please.”
Immanuel chuckled. “You’re hilarious.”
And you’re even sexier when you laugh.
His eyes probed hers, and his gaze made her skin flush with heat. Worried she had food on her face, Dionne grabbed her napkin and wiped her mouth. It didn’t help. Immanuel continued to examine her with his bedroom eyes. “What is it?”
“Nothing.” He reached across the table and touched her hand. “It’s hard to believe we’ve only known each other for a week. I feel like I’ve known you for years.”
Me, too. Even more shocking? I dream about you every single night.
The waiter appeared, carrying a white box tied with a red ribbon on his wooden tray, and presented the gift to Immanuel. “Sir, this is for you.”
“I don’t understand. What’s going on?”
The waiter set the box down on the table in front of Immanuel and left.
Dionne felt warm and tingly all over, excited that her plan had gone off without a hitch.
“What is it?” he asked, pointing at the box.
“There’s only one way to find out. Open it.”
Immanuel picked up the box, untied the ribbon and placed the lid on the table. “A Rolex Submariner 16610V?” Surprise covered his face and seeped into his tone. “Where did you get this? It’s a collector’s piece worth thousands of dollars.”
Dionne gave him a quizzical look. “Yeah, how do you know?”
“I bought one for my dad for Father’s Day,” he explained, wearing an impish smile. “My dad and I rarely speak, but I wasn’t going to let Emilio upstage me again this year.”
“Do you like it?”
