Page 37 of Wicked Dares
And the look he gives me… it’s like the rest of the room only started existing now that I’m here.
He stands before I reach the table and pulls out a chair for me with a radiant smile on his face.
“Butterfly,” he greets me, his voice dipping low on the last syllable.
“Hi, there.”
I sit and fold my hands in my lap. Levi resumes his place opposite me, and the maître d’ signals to the waiter, who swiftly brings a bottle of wine over to us.
Levi watches me while the waiter uncorks the wine and pours us each a glass.
“We’ll be ready to order in a few minutes,” Levi tells him.
“Certainly,” he replies and saunters away.
“Enjoy your evening. We are at your service,” the maître d’ says, handing us two menus. “Let us know whatever you need.”
“Thank you, Raul,” Levi answers.
Raul dips his head and leaves us.
“This place is amazing,” I beam, looking around at the beautiful décor. It looks authentic European. I hardly feel like I’m in New York anymore. And I may be underdressed in my camisole top and pleated skirt.
“Glad you like it.” Levi winks. “Though I realized I should have asked if you liked Italian food. I was hoping you would.”
“I love Italian food. Apart from takeout pizza; I haven’t had anything decent in a while.”
He grins back. “Well, you’re about to have some of the best in New York. This place is great because it tastes like homemade food straight from Italy.”
“That sounds really good.” I rest my hands on the table and decide I should try to relax. “It also sounds like you have experience with homemade Italian food.”
“I do. My family has an interesting mixture of Italian and English roots. Though there are more relatives on the English side, we’re obsessed with anything Italian.”
“I’m genuinely intrigued by that. Now, that’s interesting. My family were… mostly farmers, all from Tennessee.”
I love my family with all my heart, but once again, I feel that sense of difference between Levi and me—that I don’t measure up to him.
Compared to him, my life is painfully ordinary. Small-town roots and hand-me-down furniture versus private clubs and billion-dollar companies.
“Farming’s good. Taste the wine.” He gestures to the glass.
I pick it up and take a sip. Once again, it’s another heavenly-tasting wine and the scent is like…jasmine and honey. The perfectly cadenced aroma is one I’ve never smelled before.
“Oh my God. What on earth is this? It’s fantastic.” I can’t even pretend I’m not blown away by the taste.
“Château d’Yquem,” he replies as simply as if we were talking about fries.
I smirk. “I’ve never heard of it.”
“It’s one of those wines you have to go to certain places to find.”
“I gathered that.” I chuckle. “And I’ll bet it’s expensive. But do you think like that?” I hope I don’t sound rude.
“Yes. Just not with wine. Taste is a priceless experience you never forget when it’s memorable.” His gaze drops to my lips, and heat creeps up my neck. I know he’s not just talking about the wine.
“Do you ever drink regular wine?” I try to school my mind and stop it from running away.
“No.”
