by Sofia Tate
Out of the corner of my eye, Pietro comes around the counter and takes the apron down, tying it around his body. “Don’t worry. I’ll be here.” He pats me reassuringly on the shoulder.
When I look back at Davison, he is smiling at me. He takes in a deep breath and exhales in relief. I hope it’s because I have just given him what he so desperately wants—another chance.
* * *
Davison follows me out of the shop onto the street, where I find Charles standing in his usual spot next to the Maybach.
“Hello, Charles.”
He greets me with a slight bow of his head. “Always a pleasure, Miss Orsini.”
Standing behind me, Davison’s breath warms my neck. I take one step and turn to him with a straight face. “I’m going to change clothes. I’ll be right back.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Deciding not to dress up for him since technically we aren’t seeing each other anymore and I have no need to impress him, I wear my old yoga pants and a ratty Gotham Conservatory sweatshirt over a T-shirt under my winter coat. Back downstairs, Davison is still waiting outside, as are countless pairs of eyes staring out from my father’s shop window.
“We can go to the café around the corner. It’ll be quiet there.”
Davison smiles slightly. “Wherever you want is fine with me.”
I lead the way. Davison never reaches for my hand as we walk, but I know he is there. At times, I feel his left hand on my lower back, but he quickly removes it, probably to prevent a reaction from me.
When we walk into the café, some of the tables are already occupied, but I lead us to one in a far corner. A petite blonde waitress with a pixie haircut comes over to take our orders.
Once she walks away, I take a deep breath and look across at Davison. Now that I see him close-up, I can see his face is a bit sunken. The usual spark in his eyes is missing, and I begin to feel guilty for my part in its absence.
We just stare at each other until our coffees arrive—espresso for him, cappuccino for me. Once we take our first sips, we place our cups down on the table simultaneously.
His first words come out in a rasp. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you.”
I stay silent as he continues.
“I totally fucked up that day. I should’ve called you and told you my trip was canceled. And you were right. It would’ve taken me less than a minute to text you. I thought I’d have time, but then my mother called about the opera, and I was in a rush to get to the Met. And then when I saw Ashton waiting in the box, I was totally surprised, and I got agitated and just wanted to get the hell out of there.”
I sigh. “Those are just excuses. Knowing that you couldn’t take a minute of your time to call me really hurt me. It still does, especially since I can’t help but wonder what would’ve happened if I hadn’t gone to the opera that night.”
He stays quiet, seeing I have more to say when I hold up my hands, silently asking for him to wait.
“But honestly, I think I am glad I saw you that night because it just proved to me that I shouldn’t be with you. You’re always in the public eye, and I don’t want to complicate my life that way.”
“Okay, that I don’t understand,” his voice rising in frustration.
“Please, you just have to trust me on this. We can’t be together,” I plead to him.
“And you have to trust me, Allegra. I don’t know what’s going on with you, but I don’t care. I’ve wanted to be with you since the first second I saw you. I never stop thinking about you. You shut me out because I broke your trust in me. I want to start over. I want you to give me another chance. I want you to see what kind of man I can be with you, the kind you deserve.”
“What about Ashton?”
“We’re done. Our families are old friends. I think our parents always assumed we’d end up together, but that’s not what I want. I want to be with someone who’s warm and kind, someone who likes to argue with me and challenge me, someone with a big heart. And that’s you.”
He slides his hands across the table over mine. They’re strong and warm, solid and unyielding.
I look down at my cappuccino as tears begin to form in the corners of my eyes.
His eyes soften when I raise my head up again. He sees the tears streaking down my face and grips my hands tighter.
I choke slightly when I open my mouth. “I missed you too. And I want to try again because not being with you all this time was unbearable.”
“Oh, baby…” His voice breaks.
Before I can stop him from making a spectacle of himself, he leans in and pulls my hands to his mouth, kissing the knuckles on both of them. I let go and cup his face as he places his hands over mine again, stroking them back and forth.
“Thank you, baby. Thank you.”
“I missed you so much, Davison.”
He licks his lips as he starts to stroke my hand with his thumb, the same motion he made that first night we met when he asked me that question. My torso starts to flutter, sending goose bumps up and down my body. I can feel my cleft clench with heated desire.
“If we weren’t in public right now…” he murmurs.
Any other time, I’d be pissed off at his rude connotation, but at the moment, I don’t mind at all because I feel exactly the same.
“Get the check, Harvard. Now.”
He replies with a wicked smile and doesn’t even bother asking for the bill. He pulls out his wallet, throwing a twenty on the table. Yanking me by the hand, we fly out of the café. His grip on my hand threatens its circulation, but the pain only increases the heat that is close to erupting inside me. Our attached hands are a live current, the energy pulsating between us, just proving to me how much we had truly missed each other.
We’re almost running, not saying a word to each other. We need to be somewhere private. It hits me that it’s Saturday, the busiest morning for my father at work, and I just left him in the shop.
“Follow me,” I command him.
We finally get back to my building, and thankfully I don’t see anyone familiar outside. I don’t want anyone reporting back to Papa that I’m taking Davison inside our home without him there. Even though I’m a grown woman, I still live under my father’s roof. My traditional, old-school father’s roof.
By the time we reach my apartment on the fourth floor, we’re both panting from exhaustion. I grab the key Papa and I keep hidden on top of the door frame and let us in.
Within seconds, Davison takes my hand and slams me against the door, shutting it with a thud. We devour each other, just like we did the first time in his Maybach. The taste of his hot tongue twisting with mine is the food I have been craving all this time.
We moan and whimper as we kiss, our grips on each other’s bodies becoming corporeal vises.
“Allegra,” he rasps between kisses.
I need more. I tug him to the living room, pulling him down with me onto the couch. His long, solid body stretches over mine, his hard cock straining against his zipper. He shoves his hands under my sweatshirt, then groans in complaint when he feels my T-shirt underneath.
I hear Davison mutter, “Fuck. You’re killing me, baby,” as I laugh to myself.
He pushes both up with his hands, feeling for my breasts. With a growl, he clamps his lush lips over one nipple as I throw my head back in ecstasy, kneading the other breast with his left hand.
“Yes, Davison…” I moan.
The sensation of his warm tongue on my body, sucking, nipping, biting, pushes me to the brink. I need him to make me come, to feel him inside me.
As if he’d read my mind, his right hand travels down under the waistband of my yoga pants, blindly searching for my cleft. Once he finds my pussy, he shoves two fingers inside me, massaging it, sighing in the feel of my wetness that is for him, that was caused by him.
“Oh, baby, you’re soaked already. You want me, don’t you?” he rasps into my ear.
I whimper in reply to him, not at all
able to form a coherent word.
With the heel of his hand, he presses down on my cleft at the precise angle over my clit, and I bite down on my lower lip to keep me from screaming aloud, knowing how thin the walls are in my building, but the rest of my body shudders from the release of my orgasm.
Davison sits up, yanking me with him. I cover myself up as he pulls me into his arms. We kiss each other gently, our lips swollen. Wholly spent, I rest my head on Davison’s shoulder.
“Baby?” he pants.
“Yeah?”
“How do you say ‘crazy’ in Italian?”
“‘Pazza.’ Why?”
“Because you are fucking pazza to bring us back here for a heavy make-out session when your father is working downstairs.”
“Hey, we needed someplace private to do what we just did. You’re not complaining, are you?”
“Are you kidding? That was…”
I look up at him when he pauses, and he’s staring at me, his eyes soft, his lips smiling fully across his face.
“I’m just really happy right now,” he says, stroking my face with his thumb.
“You can be such a sap, Mr. Berkeley, but I promise I won’t tell.”
He laughs. “It would ruin my reputation.”
He continues staring at me, his eyebrows narrowing.
“I’m almost afraid to ask,” I say to him.
“Dinner. My place,” he announces.
“When?”
“Your next night off.”
I smile. “It’s a date, Harvard.”
“But one thing won’t be on the menu.”
“What?” My curiosity piques.
“Sausage,” he says.
I glance down at the enormous bulge in his pants.
“The Italian kind,” he corrects himself, his face cringing at the thought of what I was doing in the shop not even two hours ago.
We both laugh, and it’s a laugh of catharsis. What happened between us is now over. We are together.
God help me.
Chapter Eight
After that Saturday, which I still love to replay in my head, things between Davison and me are still fragile, but we know we want to be together. There is no disputing it—there is something between us and I’m done fighting it, mostly because of two things that remind me why I should.
I find a flower from Davison in my Lost and Found box every day I come to work. One day it’s a pink tulip, another day it’s a cornflower. He’s definitely keeping some lucky florist in business. The other is the ride he gives me after work. It’s not a question anymore of whether he’ll take me home—it’s a given.
Right now, we’re doing what we usually do at work: exchange heated stares since we can’t touch each other. Davison is wearing a midnight-blue suit with a matching vest and tie over a crisp white shirt. Every stitch fits him perfectly, as his suits always do. He is standing behind the bar talking to the bartender. As if he senses my eyes on him, he looks over at me. A sly grin takes over his entire face, as it does on mine. He winks at me, then walks to the front of the restaurant to talk to William, the manager.
The holiday season is now in full swing. Business is always busier at this time, which means more tips for me, but also customers who like to celebrate the spirit of the season in excess, especially on the weekends. This Saturday night is no exception.
As closing time approaches, my feet are truly killing me. I’m thinking about Davison’s foot massages when a man in a wrinkled brown suit steps up to the coat-check door. He grips the door to steady himself.
“I need…my coat,” he spits out at me.
The overpowering stench of alcohol punches me in the face.
I take a deep breath and steel myself. Even though I’ve already grown used to dealing with inebriated customers, it’s never pleasant.
“Do you have your claim number, sir?”
He starts searching through his pockets for the ticket. He almost falls backward, but steadies himself at the last minute and leans into the open door. “I can’t find it…c’mon…you remember me,” he slurs.
I take a step back. “Sir, I’ve had a lot of customers today.”
“I’ll bet you have,” he mutters.
I lean in closer to call out to get William to help him when the guy suddenly grabs the collar of my shirt with both of his hands. I try to pry his hands off me, but they won’t budge. He tries to kiss me as I fight him off, screaming, “Let go of me, you pig!”
In a flash, an arm dressed in midnight blue is pinned around the guy’s neck. “Get the fuck off her!” Davison growls under his breath, his face bloodred, his eyes narrowed and menacing. He locks him in a choke hold. The guy’s hands let me go in a second as William and another waiter come over to throw him out.
I’m frozen, trying to catch my breath, when Davison reaches over and unlocks the door to let himself in. Before I can stop him, I’m in his arms.
“Are you okay, baby?” he asks worriedly. “You’re shaking.”
“I’m…I’m fine. Don’t hold me like this. Someone will see us.”
“I don’t care. You’re done for the night. Someone else can cover the coat check. I’m taking you back to the office so you can rest.”
“No, Davison, I’m fine. Really.”
“No arguments. Now, Allegra,” he commands.
When I look at him, his jaw is fixed with an intense look in his eyes. As I let him lead me out, I glance over and could swear I see Ashton. He walks me back to the office and settles me on the couch, covering me with a blanket.
“Stay here until I come to get you,” he orders, not welcoming any argument from me.
I nod and lie down on the worn leather, stretching out my tired limbs. I must have dozed off when I hear the door open, but it only swings open a crack. Then I hear low voices, Davison’s and a woman’s.
I step closer to the door to hear more clearly.
“What the hell was that?” the woman asks.
“What are you talking about?”
“You and that coat-check girl.”
“It’s none of your damn business, Ashton. You and I are done. What I do is no fucking concern of yours anymore.”
I hear the click-click of stilettos fading as Davison steps into the room, shutting the door behind him. I don’t bother running back to the couch to pretend I was sleeping.
His head rears back in surprise when he sees me standing up. I let my eyes bore into his so he’ll know I’d heard everything.
“Why aren’t you resting?” he asks, looking concerned, placing his hands on my shoulders.
“What was that about?” I demand.
“Nothing. It was Ashton being her usual self. Now, since you refuse to rest here, I’m going to walk out of this restaurant with my arm around you, put you in my car, then drive you home with you sitting in my lap with my arms around you. You’re off tomorrow night, right?”
Once I nod, he continues, “Then you’re going to have dinner with me at my house.”
Something he just said scares me. It’s one thing for me to be with him in private, but it’s entirely something else for us to be seen in public together.
I grab his hands, shaking my head. “Wait, no, you can’t walk out with me. Everyone will see.”
Suddenly, his arms clasp around my neck, cupping my head. His lips find mine as I welcome his tongue into my mouth. We kiss so sweetly. I melt in his arms. It feels so comfortable with him. So easy.
“Davison…” I moan.
Suddenly, the heat builds between us. His lips still clamped to mine, he keeps one hand around my neck as the other moves down to grab my ass, kneading it tightly with his palm. My hands roam to his hair, holding the roots and pulling on them with my fingers, pushing him into me as far as he can possibly go.
I whimper in protest when he finally pulls his mouth away from mine. “And that, Venus,” he pants, “is why I’m walking out with my arm around you. And if anyone has a problem with it, they can tell me to my face.
”
True to his word, when I leave Le Bistro that night, Davison’s arm is gripped around my shoulders. I sense everyone’s eyes on us, full of inquiry and curiosity. I don’t want to think about the repercussions and questions to come tomorrow. All that I care about at this moment is the safety I feel when I’m with him.
* * *
The first surprise I have the next night, the night of my date with Davison, happens during the drive to his apartment. Charles picks me up, and as I check my face in my compact for the hundredth time, he turns south on FDR Drive instead of north.
“Aren’t we going to the Upper East Side?” I shout up to Charles.
“No, Miss Orsini.”
Members of the society circle that Davison’s family belongs to tend to live uptown, either in a co-op on Fifth Avenue or a town house on Sutton Place. But in reality, as I find out, Davison lives in Battery Park City, the residential neighborhood on the southwest tip of Manhattan. It’s unexpected and indicates that he likes to follow his own path. Something about that makes me smile.
Charles swerves the Maybach into a side street off Battery Place, pulling in front of a tall glass building with THE APOGEE etched over the entrance.
I step into the marble lobby and announce myself to the concierge at the front desk.
“I’m here to see—”
“Yes, Mr. Berkeley is expecting you, Miss Orsini.” He walks over to a lone elevator and retrieves a key from a chain hanging on his pants pocket. “Take this elevator. He has the top floor.”
Once inside, I check myself in the mirrored elevator. I open my coat and straighten out the red jersey dress I’m wearing, making sure it hasn’t gathered up on me in the car. My black knee-high stiletto boots haven’t tracked anything in, and I apply one last coat of lip gloss.
When the elevator opens, Davison is standing right in front of me because he actually does have the entire top floor.
He is barefoot, wearing a long-sleeved black V-neck cashmere sweater with nothing underneath and khakis rolled up just past his ankles. The sleeves of his sweater are pushed up to his elbows, allowing me a view of the veins that cord his muscled forearms. His pants hang loose on him in a very casual, sexy manner.
