The living room had the most impressive flower arrangements, made with roses and a few other flowers he didn’t recognize. Was it him or did they clash with the calla lilies on the table?
André set plate after plate of the most gorgeously prepared food on the table. “They really ought to be served in courses,” he muttered.
“But I don’t want a server,” Dane said again, doing his best not to snap at André, lest he spit in the food.
“Oui, oui. Romance. I understand. Still.” The stocky Frenchman sighed. “At least you have good wine. And I have outdone even myself on the duck.”
Dane looked at the thinly sliced duck in some sort of dark, glossy wine sauce. If it tasted half as good as it smelled, it was going to be amazing. Assuming he could choke it down past the big fluttering lump in his chest.
After the chef left, Dane paced, unable to sit still. Excess energy jittered inside him like soft Jell-O. One more minute and Sophia would be here.
Right on cue, a firm knock sounded.
Taking a deep, calming breath, he opened the door. Sophia stood on the other side in a fitted black dress—the same one she’d worn to Elizabeth’s function all those months ago. Unlike that time, she’d put on a pair of flats, and her loose hair curled around her delicate face.
“You’ve lost weight,” he said, hating that he was the cause.
“So have you. Your mother was impressed with your diet.”
He allowed himself a small reluctant smile. It was like his mother to say something like that. “Come on in.”
“I thought you were taking me out.” Sophia bit her lower lip. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea for me to come in.”
“Nothing’s going to happen unless you want it to.”
She rolled on the balls of her feet, then nodded. “Of course.”
She crossed the threshold, and he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
Finally.
He shut the door.
* * *
Sophia clutched her purse as she took stock of the penthouse. This wasn’t just a dinner. Candlelight cast a warm glow around the huge space, and every nook and cranny had flowers in it. Where Dane had gotten the food was anyone’s guess, but it smelled incredible. Despite her nerves, her mouth started watering.
“André—the chef de cuisine from Éternité—prepared everything himself,” Dane said as though he’d sensed the direction of her thoughts.
“Wow. Does he often cook for private parties?”
“Never, but I called in some favors.”
He raised a hand like he wanted to touch her, then dropped it. The gesture sent a sharp pang through her heart. They used to be more openly affectionate and physical. Now they couldn’t even touch each other without feeling awkward.
For a moment, she wished she didn’t know the truth. Then she would’ve been able to continue to live a sweet fantasy.
He pulled out a chair for her, and she sat down at the beautifully set table. “They’re lovely,” she said, looking at the calla lilies.
He flashed her a quick smile. “I’m glad to hear that. Wine?”
She shook her head. “If you have some ginger ale…”
“Got it.”
With the methodical efficiency of a waiter at an upscale restaurant, he served her ice-cold ginger ale and followed up by giving her the best pieces of food from the platters set out on the table.
Finally when he sat down, she took a bite of some poultry on her plate. The meat was tender with a nice texture, but she couldn’t taste anything. Sweat slickened her palms, and she tightened her grip on her silverware. “It’s good.”
“Thanks.” A piece of food quivered on the end of his fork. He hadn’t eaten anything. He put down the utensil and drank some wine. “I don’t even know why I insisted on a minimum two hours. What I’m about to say won’t take much time at all.”
Her mouth dried. “You don’t have to say anything. I’m not here to listen to you apologize about what happened in Paris.” She didn’t think she would be able to stand it if he did. She couldn’t bear to hear him tell her every happy moment between them was just him working on his guilty conscience.
“I didn’t ask you here to apologize about the accident, although I am…inexpressibly sorry that I took so much from you. I was angry, rebellious and impulsive back then.”
“Dane—”
He raised his hands, palms facing forward. “Hear me out. Just…let me talk. Please.”
She settled back and nodded.
“I was attracted to you from the beginning—when we first met in Mexico. But you weren’t like most of the women I preferred to date. You saw too much.” He dragged in a shaky breath. “I didn’t want to leave myself that vulnerable to someone. When you’re vulnerable like that, you get used.” His forefinger followed the delicate line of his wine glass stem. “Become a pawn in someone else’s game.” He met her gaze. “I couldn’t let myself believe you might be different. People with power always want to use the ones without it…and then discard them.”