Sugar

11

The petite lady led me through the building towards the back, leading me down a hall and to another dining room, this one very secluded and as I'd come to realize – only meant for private dining.

My cheeks reddened at the thought of how much Vincent must've paid for this, nerves dancing in my stomach.

"Mr. De Bellis has been waiting," she spoke softly, pulling open the door and ushering me in.

Her words echoed in my mind.

He's been waiting.

For me.

He's been waiting for little old me, a sad excuse of a girl and even sadder excuse of a date.

When the door latched behind me I realized the lady wasn't going to follow me in and I was left on my own to face the music. I gnawed the inside of my lip, turning my gaze back around towards the center of the room where I found Vincent De Bellis standing, hands in his pockets and a small smirk on his lips, seemingly even taller than I remember him.

"Miss Thompson, I'm glad to see you could make it," he stepped towards my general direction, cocking his head slightly as I stood there, feeling a mere insect.

"Of course," I smiled softly. "I said I would be here, so...here I am." I opened my arms slightly, motioning at the beautiful building around me.

Vincent chuckled, bowing his head slightly, probably thinking about how absolutely stupid that sounded.

Because that's sure as hell what I'm thinking about.

"Here, have a seat." He motioned towards the table and moved over to the opposite side, pulling out a chair.

I released a small sigh, moving towards the seat.

I glanced up at his towering frame, slipping into the seat before he pushed me in slightly. The scent of his cologne worked around me, filling my senses and probably stealing all my brain cells while it's at it.

He rounded the table, sitting down across from me with a secretive smirk on his lips.

"Is something funny, Mr. De Bellis?" I asked, finding a sudden surge of confidence as I glanced up at him over my menu.

He shook his head slightly, looking back down to the menu in front of him before folding it and placing it on the edge of the table between us for the waiter to grab. He'd already figured out what he wanted to eat and here I was, reading the menu but retaining none of the items.

He probably eats here often, my voice of reason chimed in.

"You just seem so...tense, Miss Thompson," he spoke, his voice silky as it escaped his full, parted lips.

His left eye that was partially brown, was ten times more alluring now that I was sat across from him. It was a stark contrast from the icy blue pooling in the other half.

"Your eyes," I spoke, "they're really pretty." I changed the topic once again, feeling momentarily like a squirrel with ADHD.

He released a throaty chuckle, bowing his head for a moment.

"I'm sorry," I blurted. "I'm sure you get that all the time."

He took a sip from his glass of what seemed to be wine before slowly placing it back down on the table and watching me closely.

"To be fair, you lasted longer than most people do before making some sort of comment about it," his lips tugged up into another one of those breathtaking smirks, quirking up more to one side than the other.