Modern Cleopatra: A Summer Love Story [COMPLETE] 📔

LAST WINTER | CHAPTER III : The Difference

Date two in two days; Cleo hadn't ever experienced this before. Not in New York, at least. Back on the island, a date could last an entire day, often stretching into night. She had spent many a date with Theo this way, but in The City, where people's lives were full and frantic, the slow and steady joie de vivre, that following-the-moment Greeks did so well, often got lost in the shuffle. Gab had been intent on booking their next date though, and after she'd pulled away from her improvised kiss, he had insisted they see each other again, and soon. Cleo agreed. She figured the alternative - moping about over Theo in her room and avoiding writing the third chapter of her thesis - seemed a lot less appealing than another potentially exciting evening with a guy who couldn't get enough of her.

Gabriel took her to dinner that night to a small, clandestine Italian restaurant called Cipriani Wall Street. It was one of many in the city - Cipriani was one of the finest hospitality businesses in the industry - and while Cleo had been to their other locations a handful of times, the spot on Wall Street was for investment bankers, high level suits, and sometimes even presidential candidates. When Gab had suggested it as a location, Cleo had been amazed, and moreover, impressed. It seemed like Gabriel Kash had all the right moves.

It had been an uncharacteristically mild night given that December was right around the corner, so Cleo took the opportunity to wear her favourite little black long-sleeved dress with black nylon stockings and thigh high suede midnight black boots. She looked herself over in the mirror, her pin straight shoulder length bob so perfectly coiffed and cut, and thought herself chic, almost Parisian-looking in her date night getup. It was something her cousin Ana might be caught wearing on a night out. She had wondered what Gab would say when he saw her, too. Gauging his reaction was becoming something of a fun little game for her, especially since she already knew how attracted to her he was. She hadn't been disappointed; his jaw practically hit the New York City concrete outside her family's brownstone when he arrived to pick her up.

He put a hand over his chest at the sight of her.

"My God, you're beautiful." Gab said, awestruck, when Cleo finally descended the last step and met him by his car: another Porsche, this time a Cayenne, midnight blue again.

"Thank you." Cleo said graciously. She leaned in, and they double kissed one another hello. "New ride?"

"What can I say? I'm a Porsche guy." He joked, then he opened the car door for her. Cleo climbed in and threw him an appreciative look. He gazed at her one last time before closing the car door, his eyes twinkling, shaking his head if only to himself as though to say; how did I get this lucky? Cleo was eating the attention up with a spoon; it was like putting a Band-Aid on the bullet hole. She was still young, and beautiful, and worthy of love to somebody. Maybe she could eventually learn to want Gabriel, too.

When they reached the restaurant, Gab opened the door for Cleopatra, and as she walked in she couldn't help but marvel at her surroundings. Cipriani Wall Street was clandestine, but thoroughly decorated nonetheless, with rich mahogany wood and pristine white tablecloths. The giant chandeliers above her were brilliant and looming, so big that they overwhelmed her upon entering the establishment. Waiters buzzed by with some of the most delicious Italian food Cleo had ever seen, immediately triggering her mouth to water at the sight of Cipriani's signature vanilla meringue cake whizzing past her on a tray.

The pair sat comfortably at a quiet table, and Gab turned to her with a grin.

"You really are beautiful, you know that?"

"Okay, you're gonna have to stop." Cleo said, taking a sip of the bellini that had been placed before her.

"Why?" Gab perused curiously. "Have you never had a man compliment you before?"

"I have, just not as frequently as you're doing now."

"Well, that's their mistake, then. You should be appreciated every minute, and I can tell you this: you should be told you're beautiful every single day."

"Told, or be made to feel?" Cleo wondered aloud.

"Ideally both." Gab answered.

"Well, you look very handsome too." Cleo told him, and he did. He was wearing a white button-up shirt, open collar, and a simple black suit tailored to perfection. Cleo had to admit it: he looked fly, almost as though he had taken a wrong turn off Via Condotti in Rome, a vision in his immaculate outfit. He was obviously materialistic, that much was apparent, but Cleo was beginning to appreciate how much he liked nice things. He seemed to curate every inch of his life, prioritizing luxury; Cleo figured it wasn't a bad way to live should one have the means to do so.

"So what did you do today?" She asked Gab as she munched on a piece of fluffy white bread.

"Hung out with my parents, mostly. Changed the batteries in my mom's Apple TV remote."

Cleo held back a chuckle.

"What?" Gab asked, amused.

"I'm sorry. It's just... look at you. You don't look like the kind of guy who fixes TV remotes."

"Well, my butler Raoul was off today."

"Really?" Cleo almost choked on a breadstick.

"No, Jesus!" Gab exclaimed, laughing. "I'm not that baller. I am a suit, but I'd do anything for my mom. That includes killing spiders, by the way. Seriously. Whenever you need a spider killed, I'm your man. Just a phone call away." Gab smirked.

Cleo grinned into her open menu. "I'll keep that in mind."

When she was through surveying her options, she looked up from the pastel green menu and realized Gab had been studying her instead of the dinner selection.

"What?" Cleo asked self consciously, clutching the menu to her chest defensively.

"I like talking to you." He said to her. "Not many people in my line of work listen as well as you do."

"I've heard that before." Cleo said absent-mindedly. She knew Gab wouldn't really know what she meant by that, but Cleo hadn't forgotten. Theo had said the very same thing to her.

I like listening to you talk, he had told her all those moons ago.

That's right, Cleo thought to herself. That's what he said.

I like listening to you talk.

And therein lay a difference that Cleo wouldn't notice, or understand, until much, much later.

△

The night had been defined by pasta, and way too much champagne. To Cleo's surprise, she actually had a good time with Gab; great, even. Tonight's date had gone better than the first, and when he'd reached over the table and put his hand on hers, for a moment Cleo felt butterflies. It was a sensation she welcomed, an indication that maybe the potential for more was possible with someone else, someone other than who was currently occupying her heart.

Gab drove her home that night, and Cleo lazily watched the lights of the city as they rolled past skyscraper after highrise. He pulled the Cayenne into park outside the Callas brownstone, walking across the front of the car to open the door for his breathtaking date.

"Thank you," Cleo said as she took his hand to disembark. She moved towards the sidewalk, but Gab was still holding her hand. He gave it a dominant, powerful pull, twirling her backwards and into his arms.

"You can't just strut around in your pretty little dress expecting not to get kissed," Gab growled at her, pulling her closer to him. "There's only so much a man can take before..."

He trailed off as he buried his face in the curve of her neck, her back arching as he did it. The champagne and his lips on her collarbone were in perfect harmony, and for the second time that night, Cleo felt butterflies, and so she let Gabriel Kash kiss her with abandon. She pulled away and looked into his eyes, only to find what she could see in them. Darkness and desire. That was all, for now. Perhaps it was the darkness brewing in her own heart that drew her to him, or just the simple feeling of being wanted again. She watched him drive away, and as she did, the goodbye smile she had worn for him faltered, and began to fade. He wouldn't be enough to make her forget, and she knew it then; the memory of Theo Dimitriou had planted seeds, sprouting in her mind, a forest of lush and dewy green she couldn't burn down if she tried.