Royal Chase(31)
We had a short limo ride where he refused to tell me where we were going. You would think it would have been weird with all the cameras and people watching us, but honestly, after a while I started to forget they were even there.
The limo pulled up in front of an adorable restaurant that overlooked the ocean. Dante helped me out of the car and then escorted me inside.
Where there was only one table for two, set up with candles and more lemon lilies. Very beautiful. Very romantic. Very intimate.
Very terrifying.
I’m engaged, I’m engaged, I’m engaged.
He helped me to sit, and after I had scooted in, he handed me a menu that had been left on the table for us. “Do you like sushi?”
“Where I’m from we call that bait.”
He laughed as he picked up his own menu, and we fell into a comfortable silence. I figured this probably made for boring television. Two people choosing what they wanted to eat.
Especially because there was no way we would actually eat.
A waiter came out, and I ordered lobster risotto and the salmon entrée. Dante said that it sounded delicious and that he’d have the same. When the waiter left, we were alone.
With six people watching us.
He reached over and put his hand on top of mine. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”
A million different things ran through my mind. What had he been meaning to ask me? Would it be inappropriate? Would I be embarrassed and unable to ever hold my head up in public again after the shame?
Would I be tempted to say yes?
“How did you get your name?”
That was so not where I thought that was going. I pulled my hand away and put both of them in my lap. I couldn’t be trusted while he was holding my hand and giving me all the feels. “My great-grandparents met at a barn raising, and started dating or courting or whatever they called it back then. They shared their first kiss under a lemon tree on the family ranch. They named their first daughter Lemon, and my parents named me after her. My grandparents and parents all shared their first kisses under that tree.”
“It’s still there?”
“It is.”
He looked thoughtful. “You’ll have to show it to me sometime.”
The skin on the back of my neck felt hot. I prayed that my cheeks weren’t blushing, too. Because the idea of showing him the lemon tree made me think things that I shouldn’t be thinking.
I hoped he couldn’t tell.
Chapter 9
Quick, lemon tarts or lemon meringue?
I need something sweet to tide me over until I see you again.
“Favorite color?” he asked.
“Red. You know that.”
“I certainly do.” He winked at me, and I was glad he didn’t elaborate. America did not need to know about the time I’d given him a pair of my red underwear.
“What about you? What’s your favorite color?”
“It used to be green, but I’m more partial to red now.”
I turned my head slightly away from the camera because I was sure by now that I was definitely blushing.
He saved me from further embarrassment by asking another question. “Favorite way to spend your free time?”
“Watching old movies. You?”
He leaned back in his chair with one of his playful smiles. “Being with you.”
“Be serious.”
“You always think I’m not being serious. I am serious. I love being with you, and you are you, so it works out well for us to spend time together.”
For the nine billionth time, I reminded myself that he was just a flirt and a flatterer and it meant nothing.
My heart, unfortunately, was not on the bandwagon.
“Your turn to ask me a question.”
I shouldn’t have said it, and it was probably a clear indication of where my mind was. “Who was your first kiss?”
“Frederica Antonelli.” He pronounced it in that Italian way, rolling his Rs. “I was at boarding school and I was twelve. She kissed me, I’d like to state for the record. I was a helpless victim.”
“Oh please, I bet you were a charming heartbreaker even back then.”
“I don’t break hearts. I am very fond of hearts.”
Okay, now that definitely wasn’t true. It still made me smile, though.
He didn’t ask me about my first kiss. Probably because I’d already told him, and he didn’t seem keen on bringing the ghost of Sterling into this conversation.
Our waiter reemerged with a man who introduced himself as the restaurant’s sommelier, who said he wanted to recommend a wine based on our menu choices. Dante held up his hand. “We won’t be drinking tonight, thank you.”
From the expression on the poor sommelier’s face, it was like Dante had said, “We just murdered your entire family, thank you.” The waiter put his arm around the sommelier when they left. Like he was trying to cheer him up.