His To Love Part 10

Without missing a beat, Malik pressed a b.u.t.ton in the car and began speaking. "Johan. Change of plans. Dinner will be on the Palace's terrace. Please make the appropriate arrangements and cancel our existing reservation."

A clear voice responded, "Certainly, sir. We'll be there in twenty minutes."

Malik let go of the intercom b.u.t.ton. I hadn't been able to see the driver due to a privacy screen that had been in place the entire time I was in the car. My eyes widened. "What did you just do?"

Malik simply smiled. It was gentle and kind and did weird things to my heart rate. "You will find, Gabriella, that if there is a woman on my arm or in my company, I will do whatever is necessary to see her desires fulfilled."

His voice had deepened by the time he finished the sentence. My heartbeat went more erratic. All I did was mention stars. And I racked my brain for a restaurant called the Palace Terrace but came up empty. Still, whatever he was doing, he seemed to think it would please me.

"Thank you," I whispered, my voice thick with unease and surprise.

- "Your home is called the Palace?" I asked with wide-eyed wonder as the car pulled into a wide, curved drive.

Not that I didn't get why. It was ma.s.sive, with peaks, gables, and gray stone that gave it the appearance of a castle. His home must sit on acres. I couldn't see another home or even a streetlight anywhere in the vicinity as we drove up his driveway. I realized that I hadn't seen any for several minutes before that.

But there was one thing I clearly saw as my eyes scanned around me after he a.s.sisted me out of the car.

Millions of things, actually.

Stars. Millions of bright lights danced all over the sky and my stomach fluttered and flipped.

Then it did the strange warm, flipping thing again when he guided me toward his house.

"Some of my men took to calling it that when it was my father's place, and the name stuck."

I nodded, only barely listening to him. My eyes flickered between the house and the sky and I was so overwhelmed that I almost felt the need to stop and catch my breath.

Without much fanfare, he opened the front door and ushered me in. He continued guiding me, a gentle hand at the small of my back, through his house. I could barely take in the opulence as I got small, fleeting glances, but everything I saw screamed rich and fabulous and money in an incredibly elegant way. Much like my own home. These men not only had power, they had cla.s.s, despite the fact they ran the seedy underbelly of Detroit and other cities in neighboring states.

The thought, the reminder, was heady and I almost stumbled over my own feet. Trying to hide my discomfort, I blurted, "Did your wife decorate this house?"

Malik's jaw went tight, and an indescribable mixture of pain and fury boiling in his onyx eyes made me look away.

Clearly I had blurted out the wrong thing.

"Sorry," I muttered quickly. "I'm so sorry."

I was going to apologize again when Malik reached for a sliding gla.s.s door, opening it without a sound.

The cool breeze that billowed in helped me breathe again.

"It's fine."

It wasn't fine. I only knew his wife died approximately five years ago, but it was clearly still a sensitive topic. Silently, I cursed my brain to filter malfunction.

The horrific energy continued to pulse off of him while he led me to a beautifully decorated outside dining area on his covered patio. Small, twinkling white lights were wound around wood beams and through an overhead trellis. The table had been set with china and crystal, and there was a set of candles in the center of the table. They were well-used, all melted at different heights and, combined with the glitter of the lights, they created an incredibly romantic setting.

My pulse leaped inside my chest as I took my seat. Behind me, Malik pushed my chair in. I fought for more words to apologize, to get us over my fumble while he sat down in the seat across from me. His square jaw, completely free from any hint of stubble, was still flexed tightly and his hands fidgeted with the silverware before he finally pulled his eyes up and landed them straight on me.

I swallowed, so unsure of what was to come when it seemed as if he was fighting to relax.

"No one speaks of her anymore."

Blinking rapidly, I-again-stupidly said, "Why?"

Gah! Shut up. I reached for a gla.s.s of ice water and took a large sip. Perhaps I could choke on an ice cube and die.

With a heavy sigh, Malik looked away from me into the darkness of his yard behind me. I felt him go to another world as his eyes gla.s.sed over and his features softened. Even at forty-three, his attractiveness was certainly undeniable.

I had only vague memories of his wife, when she had accompanied him to events I was allowed to attend or dinners at my house. I remembered she was beautiful and refined, with a hand always on Malik's forearm and a smile that seemed more slick and calculating than warm and loving.

But it wasn't for me to judge someone else's relations.h.i.+p when I'd had so few of my own.

"a.n.a.lise pa.s.sed in her sleep, in our bed, of unexplainable causes."

I gasped and my fingers pressed against my lips. "I'm so sorry. Malik, truly, I had no idea, and I'm so sorry for bringing her up."

"Yes." He nodded, still looking somewhat forlorn-perhaps confused that he said so much. But he quickly shook off whatever he was thinking about and smiled sadly at me. "No one speaks of her, as if she didn't exist. I'm not angry with you, I was just surprised."

I licked my suddenly dry lips and took another sip of water. "I'd like to move on from this, if you'd like."

His smile grew wider, slightly more genuine. "Please. Tell me about Colorado."

I normally could speak of Colorado all day long. There was so much; from the farm, to the animals, even my online college cla.s.ses at CU. I knew this because yesterday, the words had flowed so easily with Tyson. But when staring into this man's eyes, a man who still seemed sad, a little bit angry, and a whole lot intimidating, my memories simply didn't come as easily. I fumbled through them and began telling him about working on the farm, and then watched as his expression morphed into something that appeared to be disgust.

"Does your father know you were doing this?" he asked abruptly while I was in the middle of telling him about collecting eggs from the chicken coop.

My head jerked back. "Well, he's never specifically asked what I spent my time doing," I replied, thrown by the question.

"I can't believe your father, the man he is, would want his daughter digging in dirt and doing manual labor."

The words dripped from his lips with disdain. I could only think that I was sure my father didn't give a d.a.m.n. But to say that to Malik would certainly not go over well.

I was saved from having to answer at all when a server, an older woman dressed in black slacks, black s.h.i.+rt, and a white ap.r.o.n appeared on the patio. She pushed a silver cart, loaded with a bottle of wine, chilled in ice, and two dome-covered plates.

Everything sparkled and gleamed in the lights and I was suddenly bothered by all of this.

The show.

The formality.

The romance feigned for a stranger.

It was all a seductive dance by Malik to secure his spot as leader by having a Mafia princess on his arm, and I realized I didn't care if he didn't like what I spent my time doing. I didn't care if he found me acceptable. As he thanked the server, a woman whose name I didn't catch because I wasn't introduced to her, as if either she-or I-was insignificant, I forced my lip not to curl when he spoke to her in Italian.

Based on his accent, and his fluency with the language, it was clear he had lived there at some point in his life and for quite a while.

Still, it annoyed me. It felt as if he was brus.h.i.+ng me off by not even attempting to include me in a conversation. She strolled from the patio and, in an effort to calm myself, I reached for the wine he poured for me.

"It's delicious," I said, trying to get away from emotions coursing through me. This whole night was a waste of time.

I no longer cared if this request was from my mother, or my father. I didn't particularly care that this man could fill my wallet, closet, and jewelry boxes with more riches than I could possibly dream of.

Through Eleanor, I had learned those things in life didn't matter.

Through my mother, I had learned that love mattered most.

I blinked away the thoughts, unwilling to show my frustration and my anger. It was not a revelation that I was being used. It was simply one that hit home as I took in an elegance that was completely...not me. Not at all. My name may have been Gabriella Galecki, but I'd always been more Blue or Ella than my given name. I fought it for the first twenty-eight years of my life, and I refused to give in now.

Not when I had come so close to being able to live free.

"Is the meal not acceptable to you?" Malik asked, bringing me back to the moment and the company.

He gestured to my untouched plate of lobster and scallops with a knife and arched a brow.

I reached for my silverware. "Sorry. Just distracted tonight." Flas.h.i.+ng him a smile I hoped appeared honest, I said, "My apologies."

"Forgiven." His penetrating gaze seemed to evaluate me for several moments before he took a bite of his own meal.

Between bites, he told me about his family's history and his house. I asked appropriate questions at appropriate times, feigning interest. I became truly interested only when he told me about the gardens at the back of his house that were currently hidden in darkness. While in Colorado, I had learned to love nature and its simple beauty and majesty.

But while Malik spoke, I felt apprehensive and uneasy, stuck in a chair at the most disastrous job interview. He was trying to prove himself worthy of my family and me, while at the same time, I was under interrogation to see if I was a fitting wife. A trophy wife. A sign of his strength.

He was charming and smooth. I couldn't deny that. I also believed he could have his choice of women. The fact he wanted me spoke volumes. He was raised in a family similar to mine, where impressions and perceptions were more important than what was hidden behind the veil, what was spoken in private rooms. He was willing to do anything to get what he wanted, which was success, money, and more power and more influence.

I wanted a home and a family and a career I was proud of.

"Dinner was delicious," I said when I'd finished not only my entire plate but also a small plate of tiramisu that was deposited in front of me while he spoke of gardens and hedges. "And the view here is truly lovely."

"I hope you will return again, see the land during the day. I have no doubt you'll be impressed."

I was sure I would be. If I had any intention of stepping foot inside the house again. Yet, because of my deeply ingrained manners, I found myself saying, "Thank you for this. The stars are lovely out here, out of the city."

"It's my pleasure, Gabriella."

I forced myself to maintain a smile while at the same time I tried to figure out how the evening could end without risking blatantly offending the man. I needed time to figure out how to walk away without p.i.s.sing off my father, Rilotti, and my mother at the same time. Fortunately for me, his phone beeped on the table, illuminating the screen with an incoming call. Malik glanced down, scowled, and then pushed it to the side.

"You can answer if you must," I said politely.

With an almost sheepish grin, Malik leaned back in his chair. "It would be rude of me. I'm sure it's nothing."

I went to insist, only to again be cut off by more ringing. "Please." I waved my hand in his direction. "I'm not offended."

With a quick nod, he pushed back from his chair. "If you'll excuse me then, for just a moment."

I returned his polite nod and reached for the bottle of wine. Then I enjoyed the crisp, fruity flavor as it hit my taste buds, listened to the crickets chirping, and reveled in being able to see the stars. The night was cloudless with the faint hint of a crescent moon near the edges of a row of trees. It was so peaceful once Malik stepped inside and I was left alone with my thoughts.

My memories of Tyson.

How lobster and scallops in a beautiful setting couldn't compete with Cherry Yo-Ville. Any day of the week, I would choose yoga pants and fro-yo over cloth napkins and crystal goblets, much to my family's dismay, and perhaps my own.

"I apologize again, Gabriella," Malik said, his voice a bit more clipped than before. "Unfortunately duty calls."

I quickly pushed back my chair. "I understand."

"If you don't mind, I will have Johan drive you back to the hotel. I have other matters to attend to."

I smiled freely. It sounded perfect. "That will be fine, honestly, Malik."

His eyes did that calculating scan thing, and I saw only a hint of a disappointment in his glance when he reached my smile. I was too obvious. Too happy to be away from him.

"Very well." With a sweep of his arm, he gestured me ahead of him. "Thank you for a lovely evening. And hopefully there will be more to come," he said quietly when we reached the front doors. Johan stood with his back against the door, keeping it open for me to walk through.

I turned around and smiled again. "Thank you for dinner and the stars."

He leaned forward, brushed his lips across my cheeks, and whispered, "Thank you for being you."

Unfortunately, as I said my final goodbye and followed Johan to the waiting car, I didn't think that was a compliment.

I could find nothing good about me or my current position.

- I was halfway back to my hotel, sitting in the back of the town car with Johan at the wheel, when I checked my phone for the first time since I'd stepped into the Apollonio Hotel lobby hours ago.

I grinned, only to have it immediately falter after I read a text from the person I hadn't been able to stop thinking about.

Blackbird: Client's dinner was canceled. Can I see you?

The time stamp was three hours ago, and it was too late for me to see him now. It was almost nine and after the day I'd had, exhaustion had already begun making my eyelids heavy.

Me: So sorry. Just received this and on my way home. Raincheck?

I frowned when I don't get an immediate response and then shook off the ridiculousness. Sliding the phone back into my clutch, I told myself it was no big deal.

After arriving at the hotel, I gave my thanks to Johan and the valet before heading straight to my room and stripping off my fancy dress and heels. I threw on a tank top, washed my face, and brushed my teeth while my lethargy increased with every moment. By the time I finally collapsed into my bed, intent on falling asleep immediately, I was barely conscious when my phone on the nightstand began vibrating.

"h.e.l.lo?" I asked, my voice already sounding tired.

"Did I wake you?"

My lips stretched wide as I recognized Tyson's voice. "No," I said, quickly sitting up in bed and adjusting the pillows behind my back. "I'm awake, just tired. How was your night?"

A deep sigh echoed through the phone, hitting my ears, and then doing funny things to my lower belly as it vibrated through me.

"Long," he finally said and cleared his throat. "I'd give anything to be in that room with you right now, though. Are you in bed?"

"I am." My tank top suddenly felt too hot for my skin. I imagined Tyson picturing me in the bed where he woke up that morning. The thought to invite him over flickered through my mind, but I pushed it away. It was too late. "What are you doing?"

He huffed. "Packing, actually. Which is a bunch of bulls.h.i.+t."