13. Charlotte

13

CHARLOTTE

I can’t shake the nerves as I start to get ready for my date.

Jaz helped me pick out the dress yesterday from Velvet Luxe, a silky dark blue dress with a diagonal hemline and an off-the-shoulder neckline. She comes back to my apartment with me after work, relaxing and sipping a glass of wine together until it’s time to get ready. Then she perches on the edge of my tub, waiting for me to come in to do my hair and makeup.

“Oh my god, you look stunning.” Her eyes widen as I walk in, still barefoot. I don’t want to be in the heels we picked out any longer than I have to—Jaz finally convinced me to buy a pair higher than two inches, telling me that wearing my usual kitten heels with this dress would constitute an actual crime.

“Thanks.” I bite my lip, glancing in the mirror. Much like the dress I picked out for my failed anniversary dinner—that I then wore to Masquerade—this one is sexier than what I would normally wear. I feel like half my chest is exposed, even though it’s not that low-cut. But my collarbones and shoulders are shown off in a way that seems sexier to me than even a very deep v would be, and the balconette bra I’m wearing under the dress has my cleavage pushed up to look firm and supple in the gently curving neckline of the dress. The silky blue material clings to my every curve, necessitating more of that seamless underwear, and I feel my cheeks heat a little at the memory of the masked man at the club slowly sliding them down my thighs.

“Ooh, you look like you’re thinking about something fun. Picturing Ivan later tonight without his shirt?” Jaz grins at me, taking another sip of her wine, and I shoot her a glare.

“I’m not going home with him tonight,” I tell her firmly, getting my curling iron out to start heating it up. “He’ll be lucky to get a kiss.”

Jaz pouts. “I thought new Charlotte was going on the date tonight.”

“She is.” I clip a large part of my hair atop my head, leaving the bottom layers free to curl. “But what if I actually like him, Jaz? I told him I’m not looking for anything exclusive, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t want to see where it goes. If I’m interested in more than one night, then I can’t sleep with him on the first date.”

Jaz rolls her eyes so hard that I think they’re going to disappear for a second. “Anyone who says that is either a dick or living by some really outdated rules,” she says, shaking her head. “Plenty of men date women who fuck them the first night. Case in point—” she gestures to herself. “Remember that one guy I dated like two years ago? Jax?”

“How could I forget? He was really into the matching names thing.” I let a curl slide free and let down more of my hair. “You slept with him on the first date?”

“Girl, do you remember how hot he was?” Jaz looks at me wide-eyed. “I let him put it in my ass on the first night. And he still dated me for eight months. Trust me, men don’t play by those stupid rules.”

“You—” I can’t quite get past the first part. “Never mind. I don’t want details.”

“Oh, don’t tell me you’ve never done that.” Jaz takes another gulp of her wine. “Okay, actually, I believe it. And Nate would have never disrespected you enough to ask.” She rolls her eyes. “But I thought maybe some other guy, before him?—”

“It’s not like my love life has been all that prolific,” I tell her dryly. “So no. I haven’t done—that.”

“Try it,” Jaz suggests cheerfully. “It can be pretty hot, in the right circumstances.”

I’m not really sure what those circumstances would be. But I also don’t have time to ask, because I need to finish getting ready in less than thirty minutes, and my hair is only half-styled. Jaz has distracted me more than I should have let her.

By the time I’m done, my dark hair is loose and bouncy, with thick, fluffy waves, my makeup done in muted shades of champagne, with a dark nude lip. I slip on the sharp-toed, high-heeled shoes that Jaz talked me into buying—although I made sure to get them in nude and not red, so they’d go with more—and suck in a deep breath as I grab my clutch.

“It’s going to be great,” Jaz reassures me. “You’re going to have a blast. And I’ll clean up here and then go home, just in case—” She wiggles her eyebrows at me, and I shake my head.

“I’m not sleeping with him tonight. But thanks for cleaning up.” I give her a quick hug, and then head to the door.

When I get downstairs, I see Ivan waiting in the lobby. I see him before he sees me, and my breath catches, heat sweeping over me.

He’s undeniably gorgeous. He was when he interrupted my lunch, and he’s even more so now, in a perfectly tailored light grey suit, his dark blond hair styled away from his face, and his strong jaw perfectly clean-shaven. I can see his tattoos peeking out of the suit, down his hands and in the open space where the top two buttons of his shirt are undone, and the contrast between the dark ink and the expensive suit sends a shivery feeling down my spine.

I’ve never dated a man with tattoos. Never slept with one. Logically, I know tattoos aren’t really all that wild, and half the people in my department either have a few I’ve seen or probably have some hidden away. But it’s more than just the fact that this man is tattooed. There’s something about how he wears them, the presence that he has and the way they’re a part of that, that makes me feel like I’m approaching something dangerous. That he’s a wild predator, and I’m tonight’s prey.

It should terrify me, but like a mouse hypnotized by a snake, I only want to draw closer to him.

He turns, and the way his gaze sweeps over me, taking me in from forehead to toes with a sudden heat flaring in his eyes, makes me feel electrified. I can see the way his lips part, the breath he draws in as he looks at me, and no one that I’ve ever gone on a date with has ever made me feel this beautiful with a single look—made me feel this wanted. He hasn’t even said a word, and I feel like his entire world has just narrowed down to only me.

“I’m glad you didn’t stand me up,” he says with a grin, and that smile softens the perfectly polished, dangerous edge of his look tonight. “I was starting to get worried.”

“I’m five minutes early.”

“I thought you’d be so excited, you’d be down ten minutes before.” He flashes me that grin again, and it takes everything in me not to playfully sock him in the arm. But we’re not that close yet. I can’t be that casual with him on a first date. Can I?

“I thought I should keep you waiting.” I smile back, to let him know I’m just teasing, and he chuckles as he leads me out of the front door of the building.

“For you? I’d have waited all night. But they might have towed my car.” He gestures to the vehicle waiting for us, parked at the curb, and I briefly freeze, staring at it as if I’m not sure I’m seeing correctly.

I don’t know a lot about cars, but I know enough to know that there’s an Aston Martin parked at my curb—silver with a black leather interior, bringing to mind James Bond. I’ve ridden in some nice cars, but nothing as fancy as this.

Nate would be so fucking jealous , I think as I look at it, and immediately feel bad. This man deserves better than to just be an outlet for my rage and pettiness toward my ex. But the thought is there, all the same.

“This is gorgeous,” I breathe as I step towards the car, and Ivan opens my door for me. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.” His gaze flicks over my dress again, and down to my legs as I slide into the car. “I also didn’t mean to match you tonight.” That grin returns, and I realize what he means as I take in the powder blue color of his shirt.

“It’s not dark enough to be matching,” I tell him with a laugh as he gets in. “But I see why you would think that. It’s nearly white, though. In the right lighting, no one will even notice.”

“Oh, good.” He puts the car into gear, his mouth quirking up as he glances over at me once more. “I wouldn’t want you to think I was stalking you.”

The statement feels so ridiculous that I laugh again. And I realize, as he pulls into traffic, that I’ve laughed more in ten minutes in this man than I did in probably the last six months with Nate—-at least that I can remember.

I don’t want to keep comparing. But it’s hard not to. And that, too, makes me think of if I’ll have another date with this man. At some point, if we keep seeing each other, the past will start to fade away. It really will become about just he and I. And I wonder what that would look like.

I can already tell he’s different from anyone I’ve ever dated before. But surely not so different that this couldn’t possibly be real?

Sinking back into the soft leather of the seat, I run my fingertips over the buttery surface, taking it all in. Ivan is obviously much wealthier than I realized when he approached me at lunch. It’s not something that matters to me in a man—I never cared that Nate made top-dollar lawyer money at his firm. I make enough on my own to keep myself in the style that I like, and I don’t need or want to rely on a man to buy me things. That’s not my love language. But there’s something about the way Ivan wears his wealth that’s attractive to me.

Nate liked to be flashy. He liked to order the most expensive bottle of wine at a restaurant, get the items on a menu that were so rare the price wasn’t even listed. He kept a brand-new Corvette garaged, even though he almost never drove it and knew nothing about cars. He wore name-brand suits to the office, even buying a couple of Tom Ford suits to wear to meetings. It was always about others seeing that he had money. And I’m just now realizing how off-putting that was to me.

But Ivan seems to treat it like it’s a second skin, one that he’s comfortable in, with no need to show off. And that makes me like him more.

“Where are we going?” I ask curiously, and he flashes me a grin.

“Are you alright with it being a surprise?” he asks, and I nod, my eyes widening a little.

“Of course,” I tell him quickly, a warm feeling washing over me at the idea that he’s putting in effort for this date. That it matters to him that he makes a good impression with me, instead of just assuming I’ll fall at his feet.

“I want to impress you,” he says, as if he can hear what I’m thinking. “I figure I might only get one shot at it, so why not go all out?”

“You’ve already impressed me,” I admit, rubbing one hand over the soft leather of the seat again. “On time—early, even, the car, and now a well-thought-out date that you want to surprise me with? You haven’t missed a step yet.”

“That sounds like the bare minimum I should be doing.” He turns the car smoothly down a side street, and I see that we’re nearing the nicest part of downtown Chicago. The view is beautiful, as it always is—there are cities with bigger skylines, but I never get tired of ours. “It sounds to me like men haven’t been treating you the way they should, Charlotte.”

“Maybe not,” I admit. I let out a slow breath as Ivan slows the car, pulling up in front of Ascent, a new Michelin-starred restaurant that I heard a couple of my coworkers talking about just the other day. I press my lips together, a thrill of excitement fluttering through me, and I can feel Ivan’s eyes on me as he opens his door, taking in my reaction.

I watch as he hands his keys to the valet, coming around to open my door. I look up at him as he holds a hand out, putting my hand in his as he helps me out of the car, and I feel a slight jolt as my skin touches his.

I told Jaz I wasn’t going to sleep with him tonight, but that might prove harder to do than I expected.

Just that thought startles me. I’ve never slept with anyone on the first date. Never even come close. And the idea that I might have to exercise self-control to keep myself from doing it tonight momentarily blurs my thoughts as I step out of the car and up onto the curb next to Ivan.

“Are you alright?” he asks, his eyes crinkling a little at the corners. He looks amused, but not in a malicious way.

“I’m just caught off guard,” I tell him honestly. “I didn’t expect all of this.” I glance back at the Aston Martin. “Honestly, I’m still not past the fact that you picked me up in James Bond’s car.”

“He made me promise to have it back to him by midnight,” Ivan says, not missing a beat as he takes my hand and tucks it into the corner of his arm. “So we should probably be getting to dinner, shouldn’t we?”

I can’t help but laugh at that, nodding as a smile spreads across my face. Ivan feels warm next to me, solid, someone that I can lean into. Someone who will plan an entire night for us, without me having to do a thing.

A pretty, polished-looking hostess is standing at the front of the restaurant, dressed in a dark red bandage dress with her brown hair slicked back into a smooth bun, her makeup absolutely perfect. She flashes us a toothpaste-commercial smile as we walk up to the dark wood hostess’ stand, looking directly at Ivan. I don’t miss the way her gaze flicks enviously over him, and that gives me a bit of a warm glow, too. Whether or not this goes anywhere, he’s with me tonight.

“Reservation for Ivan Vasili,” he tells her, and she motions for us to follow her through the dimly lit restaurant.

It’s beautiful, clearly new, furnished in dark wood with gold accents, greenery lining the tops of the walls that we walk past on our way to the dining room. Faint string music is playing in the background, and Ivan and I are led to a dark wooden round table with matching chairs upholstered in red velvet, the place settings resting on gold chargers. We have a view of the kitchen from the small, walled-off area where the hostess brought us, with only four other tables around us, two of them occupied. This is clearly an exclusive area of the restaurant.

The red and gold remind me of Masquerade, and I sneak a look at Ivan as he pulls my chair out, looking for some hint of recognition. Could it be him? I wonder for a brief second as I sink into the chair. Is all of this some hint that he’s the man from the club, and he tracked me down?

But it’s not possible. Jaz extolled at length how carefully encrypted the records at Masquerade are, and how difficult it would be for anyone to uncover the identities of the people who visit there. I’m honestly not sure I would have gone, otherwise.

It’s a coincidence, that’s all. If I were a more superstitious woman, I might say it seems like a sign.

“What do you think?” Ivan asks, as the hostess leaves us there to wait for our server, and I look around at the surroundings.

“It’s gorgeous.” I bite my lip, reaching for the soft white cloth napkin to arrange it on my lap. “I don’t usually go out to places this fancy.”

I start to tell him about the plans for my failed anniversary dinner, but I bite my tongue. I’ll tell him eventually, if this goes anywhere, but it strikes me that maybe talking about my ex isn’t the best way to start off a date that Ivan clearly planned to be special. I wish Nate wasn’t so much on my mind, but it all still feels so fresh. And I can’t help thinking that this kind of attention is what I was missing all along. Not the flashiness of the date, but the thoughtfulness behind it.

“Good evening.” The server’s voice interrupts my rambling train of thought, and I look up to see an older man with a trimmed, greying beard and neat black uniform setting a carafe of still water on our table. “Would you like sparkling as well?”

“No, thank you,” I say at the same moment that Ivan does, and I bite my lip to stifle a giggle. I’m not sure he would appreciate that.

“We’re going to do the chef’s choice menu,” Ivan says smoothly. “With wine pairings.” He glances at me as the server walks away. “I hope it’s alright that I arranged that already. It’s the best way to experience the restaurant, I’m told. And I wanted this to be as special as I could possibly make it.”

“It sounds wonderful,” I tell him honestly. “I’ve always wanted to go to a restaurant and do that. I just haven’t gotten to yet.”

He grins. “I’m glad I could make all your dreams come true.”

I swallow hard as he says that, reaching for the carafe of water to pour myself a glass. I can’t let my mind run wild with all the dreams that he possibly could make come true, in just one night. I’ll end up making choices I might regret later, if I do.

The server brings our first course—two small white China dishes with what he says is slivered chicken liver topped with a thin dusting of caramelized sugar and jalapenos. I raise an eyebrow, looking at Ivan, and he shrugs, his mouth quirking up on one side.

He waits for the server to pour the wine pairing—a dark red, we’re told, with pepper and berry notes—and then chuckles. “Well, I don’t know how I feel about this one. What a way to start, right? But let’s see what it tastes like.”

He looks up at me as he says it, and the sly expression on his face makes me feel like we suddenly have an inside joke, a secret, like we’re embarking on an adventure together. I smile back, reaching for my fork as I cut off a delicate slice.

“It’s actually really good.” My eyes widen a little as I chew, the salty sweetness bursting over my tongue in the instant before the spice of the jalapeno hits. “I would never have ordered that on my own, but it’s delicious.” I reach for the glass of wine, which, of course, pairs perfectly with it.

“I would never have tried it either,” Ivan admits, taking another bite. “But that’s the point of a menu like this, right? To make you try new things? Broaden your horizons, when you might not have tried them otherwise?”

I feel a slight flush hit my cheeks as he says it. It no longer entirely feels like he’s talking about dinner. It feels a little like he’s talking about dessert—and not the one they’re going to serve us here.

“Do you go out to places like this often?” I try to switch the topic, reaching for my wine glass again.

“I’ve honestly never been to one of these Michelin-starred restaurants before,” he confesses with a grin. “I don’t go out as often as you might think.”

“So, what made you decide to do it tonight?” I know I sound a little incredulous, but I can’t help it. I’m sure this man goes out on plenty of dates, and it makes me wonder where else he takes them. Much like bringing up my ex, though, I feel like that’s something I shouldn’t ask on a first date.

“Well—” he pauses as the server comes back to take our plates, replacing them with the next course. It’s a baked scallop in a thick coconut sauce, set in the middle of a shell, with small wisps of seaweed and caviar on top. “I thought if I was going to try this new experience, I wanted it to be with you.”

The statement, said as casually as he does, takes me aback for a second. “Why?” I blurt out before I can stop myself. “I think—I think I’m actually the most boring one of my friend group, really. If you wanted an exciting evening, you should have asked Jaz out.”

He cocks his head slightly as he picks up a fork and deftly slices off a piece of his scallop. “I don’t think you’re boring at all.” He reaches for the wine, a sweeter pairing this time. “I think you just need to find what excites you.”

“You don’t even know me.” There’s a hint of defiance in my voice, and I wonder why I’m arguing for this man to find me boring. It’s the last thing I want, but there’s some part of me that doesn’t want anything about this interaction to be fake. I was grateful for the mask at Masquerade, but this man—something about him makes me want to be sure he’s seeing the real me, from the start. To be certain that if this goes anywhere, it’s because he wants me , and only me.

I’ve barely even gotten to know him, but I have a strange, and slightly uncomfortable feeling that if I were to find out that he wanted me because he thought I was something different than I am, I would be devastated. Maybe it’s just because my last relationship ended because of lies, but it feels imperative to me.

“That’s the point of this date, isn’t it? To get to know each other?” He smiles, taking another bite of scallop. It’s perfect, buttery sweet, with just a hint of spice in the coconut sauce, but I’m thoroughly distracted by the conversation we’re having now. “Maybe I’m just a good judge of people.”

“So what do you think of me, then?” I reach for my wine glass, feeling nervous for the answer. I’m not sure I want to know what he’s going to say in response to that. I’m not sure that I’m ready to hear it.

“I think you just need the opportunity to come out of your shell. Someone like your friend—” he pauses, as if thinking of exactly how he wants to say whatever it is that he’s going to say next. “She’s confident in who she is. I bet she knows everything she likes, and takes charge in every situation. And that’s a good quality. But what I think is even more interesting is someone who doesn’t yet know all of that, but is trying to find out. Someone who is learning about themselves. And I’d like to see who you become as you do that.”

I blink, startled by the raw honesty of the statement—and by how true it is. “I told you I’m not looking for anything exclusive,” I remind him, and he smiles.

“It’s just dinner, remember?”

“That sounds like a lot more than just dinner.” I bite my lip. “It sounds like you’re looking for something serious. Like you want a relationship, and not just a—a?—”

“A fling?” he supplies, that grin quirking the edges of his mouth again. “I don’t have any preconceived notions of what I’m looking for.”

We’re interrupted again by the server returning, this time bringing us another set of small plates with a quail leg set on a small pressed spoonful of mashed potatoes, a pool of egg yolk beneath it. He pours the next wine pairing, and I start to say something else about not wanting anything serious, but Ivan speaks first.

“Why is it that you think you’re boring?” he asks, and I hesitate. I’m a little afraid that whatever I say is going to convince him of it.

“I—” I let out a slow breath. “I’m not spontaneous. I’m not the kind of person who books a vacation on a whim, or who tries a new hobby without researching it to death first and doing a cost/benefit analysis on the amount of time I’d have to put into it to know if I’d like it or not. I’m not a person who likes adrenaline or who takes risks. I’ve never traveled outside of the country. If you’d told me where you were taking me tonight, I would have tried to look up a menu to see what I’d want to order beforehand. This dress is by far the sexiest thing in my closet. And?—”

“Well, I’m not sure that’s true,” he says, a smirk on his mouth, and I flush a little, thinking of the dress I wore to Masquerade. But there’s no possible way he knows about that.

“None of those things make you boring,” he continues. “I’m inclined to think that it just means that there hasn’t been anyone who made you feel comfortable enough to try acting differently, without fear of how they’ll react if it doesn’t go entirely right. If you don’t like your food and want something else, if you end up disliking the place you chose to go on a whim. That they’ll accuse you of ruining the fun instead of finding ways to make it enjoyable anyway—or just cutting the plans short.”

“What would you have done if I didn’t like the food here?” I look at him curiously. “You planned this whole date so carefully. Wouldn’t you have been offended?”

Ivan chuckles. “No. Not at all. We would’ve left and found somewhere else to go.”

I’m startled by his response. I take a bite of the tender quail, wanting a moment to think about what to say in return. Nate would have berated me for not being adventurous enough, for not appreciating his effort. “I think I might just be a little bit of a homebody,” I admit. “Or at least someone who really likes their routine. I tend to do the same things every week. Lunch at the same cafe, happy hour with my friends once or twice a week, brunch on Sunday.”

Ivan shrugs. “There’s nothing wrong with enjoying staying at home. I happen to really like my house, myself. And I like my time alone.”

I think about that as I finish the dish, wondering if maybe I’ve been too hard on myself all of this time. If maybe Ivan is right, and I just need a partner who won’t make me feel small and lesser if I don’t enjoy the leaps I might try to take.

After all, isn’t that what happened at Masquerade? I took a leap with Jaz, knowing that if I didn’t like it or if it was too much, she’d take me home and never make me feel bad about it. It makes me wonder what it would be like to have a partner who didn’t make me feel bad, either.

The last course is brought out to us—a delicate piece of honeycomb with vanilla ice cream and a puff of spun sugar, served with a sweet port. I’m surprised to see how quickly Ivan digs in, and it makes me laugh a little.

“You have a sweet tooth.”

He looks up at the observation, that same smirk at the corners of his mouth. “That surprises you?”

“Well—yeah.”

One eyebrow slowly rises. “Why is that?”

“I—-” I feel guilty for saying it, suddenly, like I’m judging him. “The tattoos,” I say finally. “I don’t know—I just thought you wouldn’t like sugar as much as you clearly do.”

He laughs, and I’m relieved to see that he doesn’t seem to be offended. “I’m different to you, aren’t I? Different from the men you usually date.”

Now I feel a little judged, but I can hardly say anything after what I just said to him. “Yeah,” I admit. “You are.”

“Well, now you know the two aren’t mutually exclusive.” He sips at the port, clearly still amused. “Here’s to a night of new things.”

I blush a little. I don’t think I’m missing the innuendo in that sentence. “I loved all of this,” I tell him honestly. “But you really didn’t have to do all of this to impress me. I’m much easier to please than this. I mean—” My blush deepens, as I realize all of the ways that sentence could be taken.

“Well, I know I said it was just dinner, but—” Ivan pauses. “I also have tickets to a show for us, if you’re up for that. I don’t know how you feel about the theatre, but Les Misérables is playing at Chicago’s Broadway right now, and I’ve heard it’s good.”

I laugh, shaking my head at him. “You’re right, that isn’t ‘just dinner.’ But I’m more than happy to continue the night for a little while.”

“Good.” He looks pleased. “I like spending time with you, Charlotte.”

“I feel the same way about you.” I bite my lip, feeling nervous at the admission. “And I like—all of this.” I look around at the restaurant. “But I really am just as happy with simple dates. I want you to know that. What I want is—” I hesitate, wondering if this is too much. If I should be telling him what it is I want when, just a little while ago, I made sure to emphasize how much I wasn’t looking for anything serious.

“What do you want?” He looks at me keenly, as if I’m on the cusp of telling him something vastly interesting, and I’m not sure how that makes me feel. I don’t think I’m really all that interesting, and I can’t help wondering if he’s faking the interest to get me to go home with him. It’s clear that he finds me attractive, but what I can’t figure out is why it would be more than that.

“I want someone who wants to spend time with me,” I tell him simply. “No matter what the date is. I want someone who’s just happy that we’re together.”

His gaze doesn’t leave mine, even for a second. “What is your preferred date then, Charlotte?”

He hasn’t tried to shorten my name once, I realize. It’s yet another thing that makes me like him more than I probably should.

I feel pretty certain that as soon as I tell him the truth, this carefully-crafted interest of his is going to start to fade. But I reason that that’s what I would want. I don’t want lies and pretense. I don’t need promises of forever, not right now, but I do need someone who will tell me the truth. So if he thinks my idea of a fun afternoon is silly, wouldn’t it be better to know now?

It’s a test, but I think it’s one worth giving him. I don’t think he’s the type to want to go on a casual, ordinary, get-your-hands-dirty kind of date, not when he drives an Aston Martin and takes me out to one of the most expensive dinners in the city, but now I want to know.

“It’s fall—my favorite season—so if I were choosing the date, we’d go apple picking,” I tell him. “And then we’d take them home and try to bake something together with them, and we’d get changed afterward and go to a movie. Just a normal movie, at a normal theater.”

To my surprise, he doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t look put off. He grins—a real, wide grin, and nods. “Alright, then. That’s our next date. Apple picking, baking—which I’m very bad at, by the way, so plan to either put me on dish duty or for the pie to be inedible—and a movie. I’m all yours.”

That last sentence sends an entirely inappropriate flood of heat through me. “I’m not—” I start to say, and Ivan chuckles, interrupting me.

“---looking for a serious relationship. I know, Charlotte. You’ve told me. Enough times that I’m almost offended.” The smile that’s still on his mouth tells me that he isn’t, really. “I understand that you’re just out of a relationship—with a guy who is obviously a complete moron, by the way—and you want to explore. That’s fine. I get it.”

I look at him suspiciously. I can’t help it. I don’t know Ivan well, yet, but everything about him looks like he would be possessive. Like he would hate the idea of sharing me with anyone. And a small part of me wishes that he would say that he doesn’t want to. That he won’t be satisfied with anything less than making me entirely, completely his.

“Most men wouldn’t like that,” I say slowly.

Ivan smiles. “I’m not most men, Charlotte. I think you’ll realize that sooner rather than later. And something else that you’re going to figure out, once we’ve spent more time together, is that I want you . All you need to realize is that I’m capable of being and giving you everything you need.”

It’s the most arrogant, high-handed thing he’s said all night. The possible crack in his veneer of casual carelessness.

But it also takes my breath away.

His dark blue eyes hold mine, as he reaches out to touch my hand, sending another shiver down my spine. “I’m fine with you exploring, Charlotte, because I want you to be all in when you realize it.”

It feels hard to speak, for a moment. I feel my fingers involuntarily curl around the tips of his, not wanting to let go of his hand. “Why?” I ask softly, and something gleams in his blue eyes, an emotion that I’ve never seen before and can’t entirely read.

“Because, Charlotte,” he says softly, “when that happens, it’ll be it for us both. Forever.”