Chapter Eleven

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Grayson stuffs yet another forkful of tagliatelle in his mouth, my heart somersaulting at the way his sculpted jaw moves with each bite

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Grayson stuffs yet another forkful of tagliatelle in his mouth, my heart somersaulting at the way his sculpted jaw moves with each bite.

How does he make something as simple as eating so sexy?

"I'm born and bred London," he says, swiping a slice of freshly cooked bread from a small wicker basket placed at the side of the table. "Been here all my life. Wouldn't have it any other way though. I've everything I need in this city."

He isn't wrong; everything I could need too would be somewhere in this city I'm sure. It's plenty big enough.

"And you work at Plasma?" I ask, crossing my arms to take a break from the huge yet delicious pizza; it is clear to see why Grayson's Dad loves this place.

"Yeah." Grayson smiles, his eyebrows raised. "That's another place my Dad owns. I've worked there for three years now."

He says it like it's no big deal...

My eyes pop. "So how many places does your Dad own?" I know I'm being somewhat nosy, but I'm intrigued to know more.

Gulping his lemonade, a smile plays on Grayson's lips; my nosiness wasn't very well disguised.

"One nightclub and three hotels," Grayson tells me. "All in London except for one hotel in New York." Holy shit. "He started off about twenty-five years ago—building his first hotel—and its grown since then. He's well off now, as you can imagine, and doesn't have much responsibility aside from overseeing the finances."

What a life.

"And do you live with your Dad?" I ask.

"God, no," Grayson laughs. "I've got my own apartment near the river. Dad paid for it, mind."

Of course he did...

"And does your Dad live close?" I can't help the flurry of questions that are spilling from my mouth, but I'm so curious to know more.

"He and my Mum live in Mayfair," Grayson admits like it's nothing. "In a three-story house. Mum doesn't need to work, so she spends her days playing housewife."

I nod my head gently, taking in Grayson's admissions about his life and background. But on some level, after hearing of his parent's wealth, I start to wonder what he thinks of me; I'm not rich in the slightest—nor are my family.

Grayson continues regardless, telling me that he has an older sister named Chloe who moved to Italy five years ago after she was offered a job as a luxury wedding planner. Her parents, too, bought her an apartment out there, and I wonder excitedly about how beautiful it must be to live in such a lovely part of the world.

Dreaming of Italian landscapes, I watch as Luigi takes our plates, replacing them with an indulgent—and all too large—ice cream sundae. Although I'm full from the pizza, I can't help but crave the delicious vanilla ice cream topped with warm chocolate sauce.

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