by Sofia Tate
An older man with white hair dressed in a dark suit sitting in the driver’s seat turns his head back toward us. “Yes, sir.”
The car pulls away from the curb and begins its long journey downtown.
* * *
Through the tinted windows of the Maybach, I watch the West Side neighborhoods of Manhattan rush by me as the car heads south on Ninth Avenue. I can feel his eyes on me, but we don’t say a word to each other until we hit Hell’s Kitchen in the West Forties.
“It’s lovely to see you again, Allegra.”
I nod my head in silent reply.
“Did you enjoy the tour?”
“Yes, thank you,” I tell him, hopefully sounding gracious.
“Is something wrong?”
“No,” I reply, praying that sounds convincing enough for him to stop questioning me.
Wrong.
“Have I offended you in some way?”
I finally turn back to face him. Even though I don’t want to be with him, he doesn’t deserve me being rude to him.
“No, Mr. Berkeley. Not at all. It’s just that now I feel like I owe you something in return, and I don’t want to be in that position.”
“Allegra,” he sighs. “I paid for the tour because I wanted to do something nice for you.”
I become more confused. “Why? You don’t even know me.”
“But I want to know you. You didn’t take that fifty from me—”
Before he can say something, I pull my wallet from my purse, removing the fifty-dollar bill, holding it out to him.
“Which reminds me. I can’t keep it,” I tell him determinedly.
“For crying out loud, Allegra, are we going to keep going over this? I want you to have it.”
“But I don’t want it. I already feel like I owe you for the tour.”
“You don’t owe me anything. I just wanted…”
“What?” I ask, eyebrows furrowed.
“To do something nice for you,” he repeats.
“Why?” I need to know, even more confused now.
“Because of how Ashton treated you last week. Because you don’t fawn over me, even though you probably knew who I was from the moment you saw me.”
I let a small smile escape my lips.
His eyes brighten. “You wouldn’t believe how many times a day people ask me for something just because I am who I am. I get so fucking sick of it. And you…you don’t want a damn thing from me, and not only is that something new for me, but it’s also sexy as hell.”
My mouth drops at his last admission.
“You are, Allegra. And you know what else?” He smiles mischievously.
I shake my head, unable to form a coherent word.
He leans in closer to me, his breath warm on my face. “The fact that you were carrying around that fifty means you were hoping to see me again.”
“But I could’ve seen you at the restaurant when I was working,” I counter, hoping to dispel what he was thinking.
He takes my hand, the one holding the money, and begins that thing with his thumb, the thing that makes my pussy moist and my insides constrict in arousal. His thumb begins to stroke the top of my hand, slowly, so fucking slowly.
“Spin it any way you want, Allegra. You just wanted to see me, time and place be damned.”
He’s right. He’s fucking right.
But I wasn’t going to tell him that.
“Those same outlets that report on you where I read about you also never neglect to mention that you’re with Ashton Canterbury, Mr. Berkeley. So carrying around that money doesn’t mean a thing since you’re dating her.”
“I’m not.”
I tilt my head at him, completely stunned, trying to comprehend what he just told me. “What? Since when?”
“The night I gave you the fifty.”
“But why?”
He smiles widely, extending his right hand to stroke my cheek. “Why do you think?”
Oh God. No. No. No. This is moving way too fast.
I need to end this before it starts, whatever this is between us. It’s for the best. I can’t be with him, knowing I’ll be thrust back into the spotlight the second we’re seen together in public.
Neither of us speaks for the rest of the trip.
A short time later, the car comes to a halt.
“Which building, ma’am?”
At the sound of the chauffeur’s voice, we both turn our heads to the front of the car. I glance out the window. “On the right. Sergio’s Meat Market.”
“Very good, ma’am.”
I look back at the man sitting next to me. He has a curious look on his face. “Your father’s a butcher?”
I take a deep breath. “Yes. Sergio is the man he bought the shop from.”
I expect a sarcastic comment or condescending remark, but nothing comes out of his mouth. Only a small smile crosses his face, as if he were genuinely pleased about something.
As I grab my bag from the floor and reach for the door handle, his voice rumbles, “Wait.” He checks the traffic outside, and then opens his door, rushing over to my side of the car.
He extends his hand to me to help me out. I carefully alight from the car, with him leading me to the sidewalk, holding on to my hand the entire time.
Now standing on the pavement, I sling my purse over my shoulder, turning back to him.
“Thank you for the ride and the tour. It was very kind of you.”
With one hand on my left elbow, he leans in and brushes his lips against my cheek. His scent of laundered fabric and spice assaults me, making me woozy.
He whispers in my ear, “Good-bye, Allegra.”
He pulls back slightly from my face, waiting for me.
I hold out the fifty to him in my hand, praying he’ll just take it from me. And, with a grimace, he does. But he doesn’t let go; he just keeps looking down and staring at my hand as if it were something precious.
I need to tell him something because I know this will be the last time we ever speak to each other.
“You know the question you asked me that first night we met?”
He begins to caress my hand again with his thumb and nods, silently replying to my question.
Before I say it, I take a deep breath. It comes out in a murmur.
“My answer would’ve been yes, Davison.”
His head snaps up, his beautiful emerald eyes shining, his mouth gaping at me.
I walk to my door and don’t look back.
Chapter Four
Who was that man, cara?”
I look up at my father from my half-eaten turkey sandwich. Giacomo Orsini’s light blue eyes hold a playful, curious look, his lips forming a knowing smile.
“What man?” I ask him, glancing down at my sandwich, which now has suddenly become more interesting.
“You know who I’m talking about.”
“He was nobody, Papa. Shouldn’t you be in the shop already to give Luigi a break?”
My father’s voice grows louder in frustration, and I hear a sigh of exasperation. “Allegra, don’t change the subject. I don’t think he was a ‘nobody’ driving in that fancy car dropping off my only child. I just want to know you’re safe.”
I give in and turn to face him. “You know I’m always careful. And I never cross Bowery to go to the Lower East Side. It’s too painful. Too many memories.”
He nods as I continue, “He’s a customer from the restaurant. I found something of his at work, so he repaid me by giving me a lift home. But don’t worry. I won’t be seeing him again.”
“What’s his name?”
“Davison Berkeley.”
“He should’ve come into the shop and introduced himself.”
I get up from the table, putting the plate in the sink and my sandwich in foil to take with me. “Didn’t you know? Chivalry is dead.”
He sighs. “Sì. Morto.”
I lean down and kiss my father’s ivory-white hair. “I’m off to work. See you tonight. Love you.�
��
“Ti amo anch’io, cara.”
* * *
I know something is wrong the minute I step into the restaurant. The noise inside is close to ear-shattering. The waitstaff is working at a faster pace than usual to set up for the dinner rush. The hostess on duty is shouting “No comment!” into the phone with all of the lines lit up. She holds her hand over the receiver when she sees me. “Allegra. Thank God you’re here.”
“What happened?”
“Elias had a heart attack.”
“Oh my God!” I clamp my hand over my mouth in shock.
“Someone walked into Elias’s office and found him on the floor and we called 911.”
I gasp. “Is he okay?”
“We don’t know yet. He’s in critical condition at St. Luke’s. Of course the press found out, and the phone lines are lighting up like a damn Christmas tree.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“Actually, go see William in the office. He wants to talk to everyone before the dinner rush starts.”
I don’t even bother taking off my coat. I head straight to the back of the room and take a left into a small corridor where the restrooms are located. I knock on the door marked PRIVATE. I hear my manager, William Fitzgerald, telling me to come in.
When I open the door, I find William sitting behind Mr. Crawford’s desk. He is not the only person in the room.
Davison Berkeley is standing to William’s right.
* * *
What the hell is he doing here?
My body begins to go through the same motions every time I’m near him—heart palpitations, sweaty palms, dry throat.
William motions me in. “Close the door.”
With the door shut, I take two steps forward. I know Davison is staring at me, but I refuse to return the look. I don’t want to appear unprofessional.
William clears his throat. “Allegra, I’m sure you know Mr. Berkeley.”
I nod, still ignoring Davison’s eyes on me. “Yes, we’ve met.”
“Mr. Berkeley is the other owner of Le Bistro.”
I tilt my head, my eyes widening. “What? I thought Mr. Crawford was the owner.”
Davison comes around the desk, stopping within a few feet of me. “I’m a silent partner. When I was little, my parents liked to bring me here every Sunday for brunch. The place grew on me, so when I heard Mr. Crawford was looking for investors, I was more than happy to oblige. This place is a part of me.”
I can’t help but smile at that admission. “I see.”
“But after tonight, it won’t be a secret anymore.”
“What does that mean?”
William leans forward in the desk chair, placing his hands down flat in front of him. “Because of what happened today, Mr. Berkeley is fully agreeable to losing his anonymity about his ownership. That brings me to what I needed to tell you. With you working in the coat-check room, I know many people will be hounding you tonight asking you about Mr. Crawford. Just be the way you usually are—discreet, offering a sympathetic comment, hoping that he’ll be back soon. But if anyone hassles you, I want you to tell me or Mr. Berkeley.”
I hope my mouth didn’t drop as low as I think it did. “Mr. Berkeley?”
“Yes, I’ll be here managing things until Elias returns.”
I look back at Davison. His black suit is slightly rumpled and his tie is missing. His white button-down shirt is open one button, revealing his bare skin. Scruff is starting to appear on his strong, chiseled jaw. And his hair is messy, as if he’s been running his hands through it in worry. I’ve only ever seen him with every hair and thread in place. Never like this.
Like a total fucking sex god.
The grin on his face melts my insides the more he stares at me. His stare doesn’t waver, only becoming darker and hungrier with each second, arousing me until my nipples grow hard against my bra. I can feel myself blushing from the look in his eyes, as if he were looking into my soul, nurturing it with the care and attention that he’s given me not just now, but ever since I met him.
The sound of a chair scraping against the floor echoes throughout the room as William pushes back from the desk, successfully ending the moment between Davison and me. “I’d better go out front and see how things are going. Just remember, Allegra, if anyone gives you trouble, let us know.”
“Certainly, sir. I’ll come with you. I need to start setting up.”
Davison takes another step closer to me. “If you wouldn’t mind giving me another minute, Miss Orsini, I need to ask you something. Is that all right with you, William?”
“Of course. Take all the time you need.”
I shut my eyes in frustration. With William gone and the door closed, Davison walks right up to me, taking my hands into his. “Are you all right?”
The familiar rumble makes me shiver. “I’m okay. I just feel badly for Mr. Crawford. Do you know how he’s doing?”
Davison shakes his head. “Nothing yet. They’re running tests. That’s all I know.”
I nod. “Look, Mr. Berkeley—”
“Davison.”
“I can’t call you that. You’re going to be here every day.”
“I know.”
I scoff at the glint in his eye, pulling my hands from his. “We can’t do this. You’re my boss now. We have to be professional. I don’t want to lose my job.”
“That will never happen,” he growls. “I won’t let it.”
I believe him when he says that. Completely. The heat from him overwhelms me, and more than anything, I want that heat to consume me.
“But this won’t lead anywhere,” I whisper. “We’re from two different worlds.”
He takes hold of my hands again. “I don’t care who your parents are, where you live, or how much money you have.”
Oh God. This can’t happen. Every fiber of my being wants this…wants him…but I can’t let it.
He smiles slyly. “And since I finally have the answer to my question, we’ll have to test that theory out, won’t we?”
He leans in and softly brushes his lips over mine. The taste of them sends my mind reeling, my heart threatening to explode out of my chest. No man has ever made me feel like this before—safe, cared for, and most of all, desirable.
I didn’t go out at all in high school, and when I was in college, I dated one man on and off for four years. I can count the number of men I’ve slept with on one hand. It doesn’t matter because when I actually tried to be in a relationship, it never worked because I closed myself off if the guy wanted more from me, and then I’d eventually stop seeing him.
But none of them compare to Davison. He’s the most incredible man I’ve ever met. So self-assured, so confident, and I want that in my life. I need it. I need him. I’ve kept to myself for so long, and now I want to try with him. He makes me want to actually step outside the box that is my life.
His lush lips are so soft on mine, the tip of his tongue just escaping his mouth almost as if he’s testing to see how I would react.
I take his lower lip into my mouth, sucking on it just barely to let him know I am letting him in. And from the soft moan he lets out, he knows he has my total permission.
He pulls back, smiling at me so widely. “You’d better go.”
I take a deep breath and nod. “I’ll see you later.”
Standing at my spot in the coat-check room, I watch Davison walk around the restaurant, making sure everything is in place before the first dinner patrons arrived. His black suit is now smoothed out, with a purple tie tightly knotted around his neck. His hair is combed and in place. He oozes self-confidence with every step. He’s probably never done anything like this before, but he takes up his new role with such ease that he seems like a natural.
Until Mr. Crawford comes back, for the unforeseen future, work is going to be complete torture.
Chapter Five
Opera is my passion. I love everything about it, from the costumes to the lyrics to the music. Learning how
to sing it is a challenge that I welcome. I try to put as much of myself as I can into each line that I sing. Being able to read a music score brings me joy. The feeling of reaching the high notes is indescribable.
However, there is one component of opera that presents great difficulty for me—diction.
I grew up in a bilingual home. I consider both English and Italian to be my first languages. French is a Romance language, and it rolls off my tongue. Pas de problème.
German is an entirely different matter. Between the umlauts, diphthongs, and the guttural word endings, it poses a huge problem for me, as does singing it. I don’t picture myself playing the lead in any Wagner operas, which isn’t a disappointment for me. There are people more talented than me who can sing Wagner beautifully, like Luciana. I’m more of a Puccini girl anyway.
But I have to pass my diction class, which is the reason for my presence in the conservatory’s language lab a few days later. I’m using a computer app that lets users tape themselves, then the program corrects their pronunciation.
“Mein Gott! You suck, Alli.”
I jump in my seat at the sound of Luciana’s voice. “‘Oh My God’ yourself! You scared me. What are you doing here?”
“I took a wild guess. You know I can tutor you.”
I sigh, watching as she plops down into the chair next to me. For some unknown reason, German pronunciation comes naturally to Lucy. “I might have to, judging by the zero progress I’m making with this thing.”
“Okay, time to spill.”
“About what?”
“Don’t play coy with me. Money Boy. What’s the latest with him?”
I shut off the computer and take off my headset. “He’s going to be at the restaurant until Elias recovers.”
“Has he made a move yet?”
“Nothing major. Just a peck on the cheek.”
Lucy’s face drops. “That’s it?”
I stand up and start shoving my notebook into my tote bag. “It doesn’t matter. Nothing is going to happen between us.”
She grips my arm. “Hey, stop it. Sit down, okay? Why do you say that? Tell me.”
“Because I’m being realistic, Luciana.” I sigh, back in my chair. “I have to keep my distance.”
