Chapter 10: Chapter 10

CHRISTIAN

“Mr. De Luca, your dinner at Del Porto is set for eight.”

“Thanks, Bridget.”

“You’re welcome, sir. I also confirmed your meeting with Martin Jones, the manager of your new club in London. He suggested nine on Tuesday evening.”

“Sounds good.”

“Anything else I can assist you with?”

“No, go ahead and enjoy your Sunday.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Bridget is almost out the door when I call her back.

“Did Miss Barton confirm her availability?”

“Yes, sir. She was a bit hard to reach at first,” she says, and I can’t help but laugh.

~Figures.~

“But her roommate was quite helpful and made sure I could speak with her.”

“Roommate?”

“Yes, I believe his name was James. Have a good day, Mr. De Luca.”

Bridget leaves before I can ask her anything else.

~His name?~

~Francesca has a male roommate?~

I grab my phone and dial the only person who might know about this.

“Chambers.”

“It’s me.”

“Hey, bro. What’s up?”

“Did you know Francesca has a male roommate?”

“Cheer? Really?”

“You didn’t know.”

“I thought she lived in a one-bedroom place, but maybe she moved. Cheer has a habit of falling hard for the guys she dates. She’d move in with one in a heartbeat.”

“Hmm…”

“Why does it matter to you?”

“I was just curious. I finally got her to agree to a date.”

“Good for you,” Leo says, his voice strained.

“What’s—”

“I’ve got to go,” Leo interrupts, ending the call abruptly.

I’m still not sure what happened between Leo and Francesca; they’re both tight-lipped about it. They didn’t talk for nearly two weeks before the wedding.

I hope Francesca realizes she was just Leo’s backup, his plan B if things didn’t work out. Leo is a user; he’s my best friend, but I know his type.

He’s a ruthless businessman who doesn’t let anything stand in his way. I know because I’m the same.

Women are disposable.

In a CEO’s world, as long as the woman fits the image of a beautiful corporate wife, that’s all that matters.

I used to believe that; I honestly thought I needed to find a wife who looked good on my arm. Our personal pleasure could be found elsewhere, as long as we looked happy together.

It’s sad, I know, but my family wasn’t exactly a great example. My mom died after having me, and my dad was always more interested in his business than in me.

My dad remarried, and I honestly feel bad for my stepmom; she’s just for show, and the worst part is she loves every second of it.

My mom’s parents raised me, and it wasn’t until I turned twenty-one that my dad even bothered to reach out.

He was pleased to learn about my position at QB Enterprises and quickly offered me a spot in the company that will eventually be mine.

Until Francesca, I didn’t know this kind of attraction; women were always just tools for my pleasure, ways to pass the time.

I never felt the need to make sure they were satisfied or safe or cared for, but that all changed the moment that fiery, beautiful blonde sat next to me in first class.

The look of pure joy on her face when she realized where she was sitting made my heart swell.

Unable to get Francesca off my mind, I dial her number.

“Isn’t it a bit eager to call a girl a few hours before the date?” She picks up after only three rings.

“At least you’re admitting it’s a date, kitten. What are you up to?” I ask, eager to keep her on the line so I can hear her voice.

“Is this one of those ‘what are you wearing’ calls?”

I can’t help but laugh at her comment.

“Do you want it to be?”

“Christian.” I can almost see her narrowing her eyes at me, and I’m a goner if I picture her standing there with her hands on her hips.

“I’m just curious, Francesca.”

“I just got off work, and now my friend dragged me shopping to find something to wear tonight. Apparently, none of my options were good enough.”

“You always look beautiful,” I say sincerely.

“Tell her that when I introduce you, okay? Anyway, I’m in a store I shouldn’t even be near, trying on clothes I can’t afford.”

I smile, knowing she wants to introduce me to her friend.

~Oh, god.~

“Where?”

“Saks, Fifth Avenue.”

“You’re going all out.” Even though she can’t see me, I raise my eyebrows in surprise.

~That’s not like Francesca.~

“Her choice, not mine.”

“I’ll let you get back to your shopping, then. I can’t wait to see you, gattina. I hope you like Italian.”

“So far I seem to,” she says, and I can’t help but grin.

“See you soon, kitten.”

“Bye, Christian.”

As soon as she hangs up, I dial a few more numbers on my phone.

“You’ve reached Saks Fifth Avenue, this is Chloe.”

“Chloe, my name is Christian De Luca, I’m sure you know who I am?”

“Of course, Mr. De Luca.” Chloe giggles. “What can I do for you?”

***

I walk into Del Porto at quarter to eight, hoping to beat Francesca there.

It bothers me that she wouldn’t let me pick her up from her apartment. I want nothing more than to spoil her, to show her that I genuinely care.

“Mr. De Luca!” The head waiter rushes over to me. “Your dinner guest is already here.”

“Did you show her to our table?” I ask, but he avoids my gaze.

“Actually, sir, she chose to sit at the bar.”

~Figures.~

“I’ll bring her to the table.”

“Of course, we’ll have everything prepared for you.”

I head toward the bar, spotting Francesca right away. Her blonde hair and curvy figure are hard to miss.

She’s perched on a barstool, elbows resting on the counter. She’s wearing the same tight red dress from Beth’s bachelorette party.

~I thought she was getting a new dress.~

It doesn’t bother me that she didn’t, but I can’t help wondering why. Did she wear ~that~ dress because of how I reacted last time? It doesn’t leave much to the imagination.

I watch as she flips her blonde hair over her shoulder and throws her head back in laughter.

She’s smiling freely, and I narrow my eyes when I see she’s smiling at the ~male~ bartender. I quicken my pace, catching snippets of Francesca’s conversation.

“Well, I’m more of a scotch girl, but if you think you can make a decent martini, go for it.”

“Your wish is my command.” The bartender leans in with a wink and starts mixing her drink.

“Francesca.”

She stiffens at the sound of my voice and slowly turns to face me.

“Christian.” She smiles at me, and I feel my resolve slipping.

“Here you go, Frankie.”

Francesca turns back to the bartender with a grin.

“Thanks, Eddie. Christian, do you want a drink?”

“We have a bottle of Merlot waiting at our table, kitten.”

“Oh.” She slides off the barstool, and I wrap my arm around her waist.

“Say goodbye to your ~friend~,” I murmur in her ear, feeling her shiver.

“Jealous?” Francesca whispers, and I want nothing more than to take her right here in front of everyone.

“Now, gattina.” I squeeze her waist, and she quickly murmurs a goodbye before I guide her toward my usual table.

“How come we don’t have to wait to be seated?”

“Kitten, when you pay as much as I do to eat here, you get certain privileges.” I chuckle as I help her into her seat.

“Ah,” Francesca says, her face falling slightly as she sits. She quickly places her napkin in her lap and rests her hands on the table.

I’m about to ask what’s wrong when the waiter interrupts us.

“Good evening, Mr. De Luca. The chef has prepared a variety of delicacies for you tonight. Shall we start with your requested wine?”

“Do you like red wine, kitten?” I ask, and Francesca looks up at me sheepishly.

“I don’t know,” she replies softly, her face turning pink.

“What do you usually drink?”

“Scotch. Or a beer,” she says with a shrug.

“Are you open to trying something new?”

“Okay…”

“We’ll have the 1947 Saint-Émilion.”

“Of course, sir.”

The waiter leaves the table. I turn back to my beautiful Francesca.

“I hope you like the wine.”

“I’m not one to turn down alcohol,” she says with a sly smile.

“You look beautiful tonight.”

“Thank you.”

“How was your shopping trip?” I ask with a smirk. Francesca narrows her eyes at me.

“Fruitless.” She shrugs. “Nothing worth the ridiculous price tag.”

“As I remember, it wouldn’t have been ~your~ money,” I say, eager to see her transform from my kitten into that fiery, feisty tiger.

“You should also remember I don’t like being bought, Christian,” she says through gritted teeth.

The waiter brings the bottle of wine to our table, temporarily halting our conversation, but that doesn’t stop Francesca from glaring at me.

The waiter pours two glasses before setting down the bottle and returning to his post.

I can’t hide my amusement when Francesca picks up her glass and downs the burgundy liquid in one gulp.

“What’s so funny?” She continues to glare at me as she sets down her glass and reaches for the bottle.

I say nothing, just keep smirking, clearly amused as she pours herself another glass.

“Well?”

“I’ve just never seen someone drink one hundred and thirty-thousand-dollar wine that quickly,” I say softly, bringing my own glass to my lips.

I watch as Francesca’s hand freezes mid-pour, and she looks up at me with wide eyes, processing my words.

“What?” She gasps, and the bottle slips from her grasp, shattering on the restaurant floor. “Fuck!”

Her curse draws the attention of the room, but I wave the people back to their meals as the waiter hurries over to our table.

“Mr. De Luca, can I get you another bottle?”

“Another?” Francesca squeals, and I can’t help but laugh. “Christian!” Francesca scolds me before turning to the waiter. “Why are you serving such expensive wine?”

“Uh.” The waiter looks between us, confused by Francesca’s question.

“What’s your cheapest wine?”

“The cheapest, Miss?”

“Well, I’ve ruined our evening, and I’m trying to salvage it. I can’t afford that one, so, what’s the cheapest wine?”

“We have the 1990 Cristal?” He looks between us uncertainly. “That is, however, a white. It’s nineteen thousand a bottle.”

“Nineteen!”

I wrap an arm around Francesca, pulling her into my side.

“Quiet, kitten.”

She pushes away from my chest and looks me straight in the eyes.

“I want to leave.”

Before I have a chance to say anything, she’s already scooping up her bag.

“Waiter, I’ll take the check,” I call out, hastily trailing after her.

I spot her on the edge of Tenth Avenue, pacing like a caged animal, mumbling to herself.

“Gattina?”

“What am I to you?” She whirls around to face me, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“What am I to you? Is this how you treat all women?”

“Francesca—”

“No, don’t!” She interrupts me, raising her hand to silence me. “I can’t believe I was actually excited about tonight. I can’t believe I let myself feel…”

Francesca shakes her head, and I realize she’s not talking to me anymore, but lost in her own thoughts.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’ll pay you back for the wine, maybe before I die.” She laughs bitterly at her own joke and raises her hand to flag down a taxi. “Goodbye, Christian.”

The taxi pulls up, and Francesca swings the door open.

~Stop her~, my mind screams, but I’m rooted to the spot, unsure of how to make things right.

“Kitten.” I reach out, but she’s already sliding into the cab.

“Goodbye, Christian.”