5. Bella

5

BELLA

“ E w. No. Don’t wear that one. What about that silky light blue dress?”

Clara’s scrunched, disapproving expression is visible from the iPad screen, angled against my dresser so that she has a full view of the dresses I’ve been trying on. I’m currently looking at my reflection in the full-length mirror on the opposite side of my room, examining the tan cashmere knit dress I just tried on. It’s knee-length, with a high turtleneck collar and long sleeves. I have a pair of dark brown knee-high leather boots that would go perfectly with it. It’s also definitely a dress meant for an autumn wardrobe. Not June in New York.

I know exactly what dress Clara is referring to. A few months ago, I would have happily put it on—a featherlight silky sundress with a floaty hemline that came a few inches above my knees, a slight v-neckline, and thin straps. The light blue color always looked perfect on me, highlighting my eyes.

Now, the thought of putting it on, of being that uncovered, makes my stomach turn.

“That one’s too sexy.” I shake my head. “I don’t think I want to wear that one.”

“Sexy is the point . Didn’t you say he was good-looking? And young?” Clara demands. “Better than that Thomas guy, or whoever you said it was that your dad picked out for you.”

Earlier, I made the mistake of describing the man I collided with in the hallway to Clara. I still don’t know his name. I was too thrown off last night when I was talking to my father to think to ask, and I haven’t seen him all day. I’ve pointedly avoided going to his office. Now it’s six p.m., and I have an hour to finish getting ready.

But one description later, and Clara is fully on board with the idea of this being a real date, not one I agreed to so that I can let him down gently.

“I’m not interested.” I shrug out of the turtleneck dress, tossing it on my bed as I start to rifle through my closet. “At all.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t write this one off so quickly. He asked you out, right? Like a normal person. To be fair, he asked you out through your dad, which is weird—but if you look at it through a certain lens, it could also be a little bit romantic. Like Bridgerton , or something.” Clara lets out a choked noise as I slip on a different dress, this one a black sheath dress with a square neckline and long sleeves. “Oh my god, Bella, you look like you’re going to a funeral. Even if you’re not going to tell this guy, yes, at least make him wish you would.”

I let out a sharp breath through pursed lips. “I’m not wearing the blue one.” The last time I wore it was months ago, at a charity dinner that I accompanied my father to. I remember the way the men in that room looked at me then. I didn’t mind it so much at the time—I felt pretty, sexy, attractive in a way that didn’t feel threatening, because they couldn’t touch me. I was safe.

I no longer feel safe. And most of the time, I wish I could disappear altogether, because I know all too well how quickly that veneer of safety can be stripped away. How little the promises of others mean, especially when they’re the promises of safety from a man, coming from other men.

Clara rolls her eyes. “Okay. What about the dark green? That’s not too sexy, right?”

I slip out of the black dress, sending it to join the tan-colored one as I sift through my closet again, pulling out the dress I think she’s talking about. “This one?”

“ Yes . Not exactly what I would pick, but better than what you’ve tried on so far.”

The dress in question is a forest green, with thick straps and a square neckline that accentuate my sharp collarbones, fitted all the way down to just above my knees, with a small slit on either side. By itself, it’s sexy; with a blazer thrown over it, it could work for a business dinner. Which, considering this man is trying to negotiate with my father for a marriage, it basically is.

The thought of this man looking at me and finding me sexy, being aroused by me, makes me feel like refusing to go altogether. Just the idea of his gaze sliding over me, taking me in with that leering stare that I remember so well from those hours after I was taken from the church—it makes my skin crawl. I rub my hands over my arms, trying to chase away the feeling.

There’s no way I’m wearing it out without covering up, and I don’t own a blazer. But I might have something else?—

I slip on the dress, Clara’s approval echoing as I reach up on a shelf for a shawl I inherited from my mother, and rarely wear. It’s beautiful, embroidered with velvet and lace flowers in sprays of green, marigold yellow, and deep blue, with a dark grey fringe. It will go perfectly with the dress, and I fold it over the back of the chair in front of my vanity, sitting down as I move the iPad over so I can keep talking to Clara. I’m hoping, too, that the shawl will seem more like an accessory, rather than a cover. Maybe it will keep him from asking too many questions that I don’t want to answer. I don’t plan on seeing him after tonight, so the last thing I want to do is delve into all the reasons why I feel this way.

“It’s not a real date,” I repeat, as I reach for my makeup bag and dab on a little foundation, squeezing out a few drops of liquid blush onto my fingertips. “I’m just going to hear him out, because I appreciate him actually bothering to talk to me about this face-to-face, and then I’m going to tell him no.”

“What if you like him, though?” Clara presses. “It would be better than whatever other men your dad has picked out for you to choose from, right? Maybe? At least this one you could sort of decide on yourself.”

“Yesterday, you were telling me to just leave.” I reach for my eyeliner, drawing a thin wing on either side. “Now you’re on board the arranged marriage train? Next stop, St. Patrick’s?”

Clara makes a disgruntled sound. “No. But you’re the one who said you didn’t have any way out. That you can’t leave, and you won’t come stay with me. Because you’re worried about being a burden, or whatever. Your words, not mine,” she adds pointedly. “So I’m just suggesting that if that’s the case, maybe this is the lesser of two evils. But my offer still stands. You can come stay with me until you can figure things out.”

I cap my mascara, letting out a slow breath. Maybe I should do that. Tonight isn’t going to end in an engagement, but I know my father isn’t going to take no for an answer. Before too much longer, he’s going to force a betrothal with someone. And I’ll have no real say in who it is.

The thought of taking up space in Clara’s tiny studio apartment makes me feel sick with guilt. For all that I know, her offer is genuine; it feels like an awful imposition. Like I’m taking advantage of how much she cares about me. I have no idea how long I would need to take her up on that offer for—I have no degree, no special skills, just a hobby that involves taking pictures, and New York is an astronomically expensive city. Even from my privileged perch, I’m aware of how much things cost, and I know I would have a hard time making it in New York on my own. The other option would be to move away—from my family, from my only friend—and that thought makes the panic well up fast and choking, until I want to strip the dress off and crawl back into bed.

“Bel?” Clara ventures. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah. I’m fine.” I sweep a dark terracotta shade of lip stain over my mouth, slipping it into a marigold silk clutch that matches the shawl. I slip on my rose gold jewelry, and I’m ready to go. “I need to head down. I’ll fill you in on how it goes when I get back.”

“You better.” Clara presses her fingertips to her mouth and then to the screen. “Try to have fun.”

I snort. “Sure. Text you later.”

“Byeeee.” The screen goes dark, and I let out a long breath, staring at it for a minute before I get up and go in search of my high heels.

At ten minutes to seven, I drape the shawl around my shoulders and over my arms, looking in the mirror. It has a sort of eccentric twenties feel that I don’t mind, and I sweep my hair over one shoulder, happy with the thick curls that I managed to get it to fall into. I look presentable, and most importantly, I feel shielded enough to be able to leave the house.

I head downstairs, my heels clicking against the hardwood of the stairs—and I see him , standing at the foot of the staircase. He’s talking to my father, his deep voice echoing a little in the cavernous space of the foyer, and it gives me a moment to just look at him again before he sees me. His voice surprises me a little—there’s a rasp to it that I wouldn’t have expected from someone so polished. It sends a shiver over my skin, and for once, I’m not entirely sure that it’s a bad thing. It almost feels pleasant, for the first time in a long time.

I’m struck all over again by how handsome he is, as if I didn’t get the full impact of it yesterday in the chaos. His dark hair is tucked behind his ears, curling softly at the nape of his neck. He’s wearing fitted charcoal suit trousers and a deep blue button-down, the first two buttons open to show a hint of dark hair just below his collarbone. He’s also wearing a watch, and two rings on his right hand—a flat signet ring with a black onyx stone in the center of it, and a broad gold band.

He looks relaxed, head tilted and shoulders dropped, one hand in a pocket and the other loose at his side, as he stands there talking to my father. He seems utterly at ease and self-possessed, without the arrogance that I’m used to from the younger mafia sons I’ve known, or the stuffiness of the older mafia men. A man with nothing to prove, unlike the younger men I’ve known, but also one who doesn’t think as much of himself as my father, or other associates of his that I’ve met. Just as he did yesterday, he seems—different. Like someone I might actually not mind getting to know.

I push the thought away as soon as it enters my mind. Regardless of how handsome he is or how different he might be, he wouldn’t want me if he knew that I wake up crying at night from nightmares, or that I have panic attacks every time I think about being touched. Whatever he thinks tonight is, I remind myself, it’s just a dinner to me. And I’m going to tell him politely no, thank you, at the end.

He turns to look at me as I reach the bottom of the stairs. For a brief second, his eyes sweep over me, and I see a look of frank appreciation in his gaze. Not lust, or desire, but something gentler—something less frightening, to be honest. It doesn’t remind me of those leering looks I’ve so often gotten from men in the past, and that helps set me a little more at ease. It’s enough to almost make me think that I might be able to enjoy the evening for what it is—a dinner out with pleasant enough company.

“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting.” I smile faintly at him, and he smiles in return.

“Not at all. You’re right on time. The car is waiting outside, so—?” He gestures towards the door, and I nod.

“Let’s go then. Mr. D’Amelio.” He nods to my father, and starts to walk towards the front door.

He doesn’t offer me his arm, which surprises me, but I’m glad that he doesn’t. It spares me the embarrassment of flinching at his touch, and the necessity of being forced to touch him. Instead, he holds the door open for me to walk out, and then follows me out to the steps.

I stop almost as soon as I walk outside, startled at what I see.

I’d expected him to show up in the usual transportation for a wealthy mafia man—a town car or SUV with a driver, always black with heavily tinted windows. I don’t think I’ve ever encountered anyone who drove themselves. But instead, a bright, cherry red Ferrari is sitting in our driveway, empty of anyone. It’s gleaming in the early evening light, sleek and gorgeous, a symbol of pure luxury and a clear hint of the kind of money the man I’m spending the evening with has. But there’s a classic elegance to it that I can appreciate, something that tells me this man prefers style over excessive displays of wealth for the sake of it. It makes me like him a little more, seeing what his taste in luxury items is, and the fact that he drives himself.

“She’s worth staring at, isn’t she?” The man’s voice comes from my left, and it occurs to me that I still don’t know his name.

“We haven’t actually been introduced yet.” I turn towards him, tugging my shawl a little closer around myself. “My father didn’t tell me your name. You must know mine—I’m Bella.”

He smiles. “I’m sorry, Bella. That was rude of me. Gabriel Esposito.” He holds out a hand. “At your service.”

I wince, reaching out to quickly shake his hand before withdrawing mine. His hand feels smooth and cool, his long fingers brushing against mine, and my stomach twists as I quickly shrink back. The touch sends a shudder through me, and I do my best to hide it. If he notices, he’s polite enough not to mention it. “It’s nice to meet you. Again.”

Gabriel laughs. “This is better than the first time,” he agrees. “For one thing, there’s dinner at the end of this.” He motions towards the Ferrari. “Shall we?”

I nod, realizing we’ve been standing awkwardly on the steps for several minutes. I walk down to the waiting car, more impressed by it the closer we get. It’s gorgeous, from the cherry-red shine to the soft, buttery tan leather of the interior. I feel a faint flutter of excitement at the idea of going for a drive in it, and that all on its own makes me feel a mixture of nerves and a small flush of happiness. It’s been a long time since anything has made me feel excited at all. Even this small bit makes me feel hopeful that maybe things are starting to get at least a little bit better.

But that feeling goes away as soon as I remember that even though I don’t intend for this date to go anywhere, eventually, my father will make me say yes to someone. And that sends me crashing right back down, into the depths of that hopeless dread that weighs me down every minute of every day.

Gabriel opens the door for me. “You look like you’ve never seen a Ferrari before,” he says with a laugh, and I give him a sheepish look.

“I haven’t. Not in person, anyway. Cars aren’t really my father’s thing.” I sweep my hand over the edge of the seat beneath me. It’s so soft . “Not what he chooses to spend his money on.”

Gabriel chuckles, sliding into the driver’s side and starting the car. The engine purrs, and he glances over at me. “Maybe later, I’ll show you what she can do.”

It’s an innocuous statement, but I feel myself tense immediately at what could be perceived as a flirtation. I don’t want to lead him on, not when I know I’m going to refuse his offer at the end of the night. He seems nice enough—nicer than most men I’ve met—and it feels wrong to give him any ideas that I don’t intend to follow through on.

What if I did? For just a moment, I let myself entertain Clara’s idea that maybe it would be better to accept an offer from a man who at least respects me enough to ask me in person, rather than being stuck with one of my father’s choices. I sneak a glance over at Gabriel, considering. He’s handsome, gentlemanly, and he seems kind. Based on his choice of car, he’s obviously wealthy enough that my father would probably be very pleased if I chose him as a potential match.

But I think back to him shaking my hand on the porch, and the instant, visceral response I had when my skin brushed against his. The feeling of panic that instantly surged up in me, making me want to run back into the house. It took everything in me to keep going, to walk out to the car, instead of telling him that I was sorry, and couldn’t do this.

A handshake is a million miles removed from all the things I would need to do with a man I married. Things that make me feel like I’m going to crumble into a thousand pieces, trying to imagine how I ever would, now. And no one wants to deal with that. Not that, or the nightmares, or all of the other smaller reactions that color my every day now, every time something reminds me of that one horrible day and night.

I twist my fingers in my shawl, pulling it closer around me. Gabriel glances over at me as he pulls out onto the road, his expression curious.

“Are you cold?” He starts to reach for the temperature knob for the air conditioner. “I can turn it down, if you are?—”

“No.” I shake my head quickly. “No, I’m fine.”

A flicker of confusion passes over his face, but he drops his hand, his focus returning to the road.

“Are there any foods you won’t eat? Or don’t like?” He glances over at me. “I made a reservation at a new Asian fusion place in the city, but I can always try to get something different.”

I blink at him. “A half hour before we get there?”

Gabriel chuckles. “You know as well as I do that money can get you just about anything, if you throw enough at it.”

I do know that. What startles me is that he cares enough about my preference that he would throw money at a last-minute reservation to an exclusive restaurant, just to please me.

“No—your choice sounds fine,” I reassure him quickly. “It’s been a while since I’ve tried anywhere new, so that sounds lovely, actually. Our cook sticks to a pretty regular menu rotation, so something out of the ordinary sounds nice.” My voice is formal, stiff, but I have a feeling he’ll just chalk it up to the awkwardness of getting to know someone new. I hope so, at least.

“Good.” Gabriel smiles. “I’ve heard it’s excellent, so I’m looking forward to giving it a try. I haven’t been out in a while myself, actually. The occasional business dinner, but I stick close to home more often. So this night out is a treat for me, too.”

That does surprise me. He looks young—he can’t be older than his early thirties—and extremely handsome. Between that and his wealth, I would have expected him to be the kind of man who is out at a different restaurant, bar, or club just about every night of the week—with a different girl to go along with it.

I’m not entirely sure what to make of him. But I remind myself that it doesn’t really matter. After tonight, I’ll never see him again.

Gabriel pulls up in front of the restaurant a little while later, the drive going silent until then, other than the hum of the radio in the background, tuned to a pop hits station on low volume. It makes me wonder if he chose the station because he likes it, or because he thought I would, but I don’t ask. I’m curious, but I don’t know if I should be, when I don’t intend for this to go further than just tonight. And I toss the question of whether I should ask back and forth in my head for so long that by the time I start to think maybe I should just go ahead and ask, we’re going through the Lincoln Tunnel and into the city, and Gabriel’s focus is on the traffic.

The restaurant that we stop in front of is a tall, narrow, black stone building with frosted glass doors. He slips out of the driver’s side, coming around to open my door for me as he hands his keys to a valet and then offers me his hand.

My heart thumps in my chest. I don’t want to be rude. But I’m not sure my fragile nerves can handle touching him again.

I get out of the car myself, without taking his hand, and I wait for him to be offended. To say something. To shoot me a look that tells me he noticed, and didn’t like my refusal to take his hand.

But he doesn’t. He doesn’t seem even the slightest bit fazed by it. Instead, he just turns, leading us towards the front door of the restaurant and inside, up to the marble hostess desk where a pretty, thin blonde in a black uniform is standing.

The interior of the restaurant is beautiful. I can hear the soft tinkling of running water from a fountain somewhere, and it smells bright and fresh, like ginger and lemon, wafts of the food from the kitchen mixed in with it. The lighting is soft, recessed into the ceiling, and the entire restaurant is decorated in shades of black, grey, and white marble, the only color the bold swaths of greenery recessed into the walls behind the booths along the edge.

Gabriel gives the hostess his name, and she leads us to a table towards the back of the restaurant, with a view of the city from the large window just beyond it. It’s not especially romantic, per se—not like a booth tucked into the back of the restaurant might have been. Still, the entire aesthetic has a hushed, intimate vibe that makes my pulse beat slightly faster, and my hands feel clammy.

All the same, if this is the first and only date I’m ever going to go on—by my own choice, at least—I’m glad it’s with Gabriel, someone who has only been polite, kind, and respectful to me so far tonight.

I hope that doesn’t change, once I tell him I’m not interested. That rejection doesn’t turn him cruel. I would like to keep tonight as a good memory, of a decent person. It’s felt, over the past few months, as if there are fewer of those in this world than I once believed.

I sink down into my seat, taking the rolled-up napkin off of the table and spreading it over my lap. It gives me something to do with my hands. My shawl slides a little over my shoulders, and if Gabriel finds it odd that I’ve kept it on, he doesn’t say anything. I set my clutch in the seat next to me, and look up as a server in a similar uniform to the one the hostess was wearing approaches us.

“Good evening. Can I start you off with something to drink? Wine, perhaps, or something from our fine sake list? And would you like still water or sparkling?”

“Still,” Gabriel says, and glances at me. I nod, feeling nervous. It’s not that I’ve never been out to a restaurant before or anything like that—Claire and I have gone out from time to time, and my father has taken me out to dinner for special occasions over the years. But I’ve never been out to dinner like this before, alone with a handsome man, one who undoubtedly thinks that this is a date.

“Still for us both,” he confirms. “Bella, do you want something to drink? I’ll have—” He opens a leather-backed folio, scanning down a list. “This sake flight.” He gestures to it, and then glances at me.

A glass of wine sounds good, but I have no idea what to order. I’ve never drank out before, and at home, if I do have a glass with dinner, it’s whatever my father has chosen to pair with our meal. “I’m not sure,” I murmur uncertainly. “Wine, I think, but?—”

“Do you like sweet wine or dry?” the server asks, and I feel another flutter of uncertainty. I wanted to seem poised for this date, not wide-eyed and unsure of myself, but I feel entirely out of my depth. I can only imagine what Gabriel must think of me—a twenty-something unable to even order wine confidently. And then I wonder, on the heels of that thought, why I care. It’s not as if it really matters what he thinks of me at all.

“Sweet, I think,” I tell the server.

“I can recommend a plum wine I think you’ll love,” he suggests, and I nod quickly.

“I’ll take that, then.”

“I’ll be back with your drinks in a moment.” The server hurries away, and I look across the table at Gabriel, feeling suddenly shy.

“Sake is an acquired taste,” he says, smoothing his own napkin in his lap. “It’s better cold than hot, in my opinion. The flavor profile comes out better. You can try a little of mine, if you like.”

There’s an intimacy to the suggestion that makes my neck heat, the idea of sharing a glass. I swallow, forcing a thin smile. “Maybe.”

Gabriel glances down at the menu. “Is there anything in particular that sounds good? I’m partial to seafood, and I hear their crispy shrimp appetizer is delicious. But I also considered the omakase, if you don’t mind being surprised. It’s chef’s choice,” he explains. “They’ll bring out a variety of small dishes for us to try.”

A wave of relief washes over me at the idea of not having to pick anything else tonight. “That sounds wonderful,” I agree, and Gabriel smiles.

“Alright then. We’ll do that.” He closes the menu, settling back in his chair just as the server reappears with our drinks. My wine is a pale rose color, in a long-stemmed, squared-off glass. Gabriel’s sake comes in three small ceramic cups, nestled on a dark wooden tray. He picks one up after the server leaves with the omakase order, tilting it towards me. “To a lovely summer night out.”

I manage to keep the small smile on my face, doing my best to hide my nerves, and tap my wine glass gently against his. “This place is beautiful.”’

“It is,” Gabriel agrees, taking a sip of his sake. He sets it down, gesturing to the small cup. “Do you want to try?”

I shake my head quickly. “No, I don’t know if I’m brave enough for that.”

He laughs. “It sounds like neither of us gets out much. I assume for you, that’s your father keeping you mostly under lock and key?”

“It’s not quite as dramatic as that,” I admit. “I can go out when I want to. I’m just a little more of an introvert, I guess. I have a close friend who lives in the city, so I come out to visit her sometimes. But she works a normal job—in computers—and New York is an expensive place to live. So we definitely don’t go out to restaurants like this. And my father only gives me a small allowance,” I add quickly, because I don’t want Gabriel to think I’m too stingy to treat my friend.

“Well, I’m happy I could expand your horizons.” He pauses as the server returns with two small plates, setting one down in front of each of us. There’s a soft bun on it with what looks like a glazed meat filling, with pickled vegetables and a creamy sauce. “I used to go out a lot more often than I do now.” There’s an odd note of sadness in his voice that startles me—it seems out of place for the conversation we’re having. He doesn’t seem like a man who would have a great deal to be sad about. “But these last few years, I’m afraid I’ve become a bit of a homebody, too.”

“I’m sorry for the way we met.” I bite my lip, feeling a quiver of nervousness as I look at him. “Running into you like that.”

Gabriel laughs, taking a bite of his bun. “I’m not,” he says frankly. “I doubt I would have met you, otherwise. And I’m glad I did.”

I can feel my cheeks warming, and my stomach twists in a way that makes me wonder if I’ll be able to eat even a bite of the food in front of me, as delicious as it looks. Why couldn’t I have met him before? He seems so genuinely good, and I feel bad that I’m going to have to let him down.

But it would be so much worse later on, when he would find out everything going on in my head, everything below the surface, and be disappointed in me in a dozen other ways.

“You are?” The question slips out, a way of stalling, but Gabriel just nods, dabbing his napkin against his lips as he finishes the small bun. Mine is still sitting untouched, and I force myself to reach for it, taking a tiny bite.

It’s incredible. Soft and sweet and salty and tangy all at once, and I take another bite without thinking about it, the first time I’ve really wanted to eat in months. I’m halfway through it before I realize I’ve forgotten my manners, and I set it down, feeling my face warm again at Gabriel’s amused smile.

“It really is delicious, isn’t it?”

I nod, taking another bite as I see the server headed our way with another course. He takes the dishes away, replacing them with two black ceramic bowls containing small, crispy shrimp in a sticky orange sauce, poised on top of a bed of pickled seaweed.

“You mentioned that your father didn’t think there was anything you could do besides get married.” Gabriel reaches for one of the sake cups, taking a sip. “What would you do, if you had the chance?”

“Go to college.” The answer comes out immediately. “But that doesn’t fit with his plan. To be fair,” I admit, “If I were a son, I’d probably get to go, but only to enhance the ability to run the family business. My father is a man who believes in tradition and legacy, not choices. Especially when it comes to his children.”

“Hmm.” Gabriel picks up his chopsticks, poking at a shrimp, his expression curious. “What would you go to college for?”

I balk at that question. I like Gabriel, for all that I know, tonight can’t go anywhere, and I don’t want to hear him mock the career I’d choose for myself. I don’t want the disappointment of knowing he’d see it as a glorified hobby, and I don’t doubt that he would. He seems different, but I very much doubt he’s that different.

I’m aware that I’ve put him up on a bit of a pedestal, but that doesn’t matter. Tonight will be the only time we see each other, and I want to keep this as a perfect memory, with nothing to mar it, if at all possible.

“I’m not sure.” I don’t like lying, but I also don’t want to continue this particular line of conversation. Not turned on myself, anyway. “Did you go to college?”

Gabriel nods, scooping up a shrimp with his chopsticks. I do the same, briefly closing my eyes at the taste. It’s perfectly crunchy, sweet and citrus and salt. As I scoop up another I decide this is my favorite restaurant in New York. I’m sure that there are others just as good, but this one has outstripped any other I’ve ever been to.

“I did,” he confirms. “Not for anything interesting, though. A business degree, so that I could continue the family legacy.” His mouth quirks upwards in a wry smile. “So my father wasn’t that different than yours, in that respect, I suppose.”

“Did you want to go for something different?”

He considers for a moment, then shrugs. “I’m not sure, either. I didn’t really think about it much, to be honest—I was always going to be expected to get a business degree, so I didn’t see a lot of purpose in thinking about an alternative that wasn’t going to happen.”

“That makes sense.” I reach for my wine glass. It’s crisp and sweet, and I take a second sip, enjoying the taste. I can feel myself relaxing a little, and I know it’s him that’s putting me at ease. He hasn’t made a comment about my clothing, pressed me about topics I’ve shied away from, or pointed out how little I’ve actually eaten of the undoubtedly outrageously expensive dinner he’s ordered for us. He simply seems to be enjoying being here with me, and I feel another small stab of regret that I’m going to have to let him down.

Gabriel goes quiet for a moment, waiting until the server brings us another dish—this time thin slices of raw fish on a flat bed of rice, with a dot of sauce and a sprinkle of caviar on each slice. “I have another question for you,” he says, pausing in a way that makes my stomach flip, and my palms start to sweat all over again.

Here we go. This is where the conversation takes the turn that leads to me having to tell him that it’s been a wonderful night, but that I don’t want this to go anywhere else. The thought makes me feel unexpectedly a little sad, but I push the feeling away. I might feel that way at this moment, but allowing this to go further, saying yes to anything more, is only going to hurt me and disappoint him in the end. I’m certain of that.

He takes a deep breath, finishing one of his small cups of sake, and his green gaze lands on mine. “How do you feel about children, Bella?”

My appetite flees instantly. I swallow hard, twisting my fingers into the thick cloth napkin in my lap. I need to put him out of his misery. This man has skipped past the part where he asks me if I’d be interested in marriage, and is already at the part where he finds out how many children I want. I would probably find his eagerness flattering, if this weren’t so impossible.

It’s also another question I don’t know the answer to, because I’ve never gotten that far. A few months ago, I was just getting around to reconciling myself to the idea that I was going to have to marry a man I’d never met, before that man destroyed me and made it so that I can’t bear to touch or be touched any longer. And touching, as far as I know, is just the beginning of the requirements to have children.

“Gabriel—” Something flickers in his gaze when I say his name, and I try not to think what that might be. This handsome, kind man looking at me with genuine desire is more than I can take right now. “This has been wonderful. Really—this is one of the best nights I’ve had in a long time. But I meant it when I said that I don’t want to get married. I’m trying to avoid it for as long as I can, for as long as I can keep my father from finalizing everything, and?—”

He blinks at me, the expression on his face suddenly startled, which makes no sense. And then, before I can say anything else, he laughs .

I don’t know whether to be confused, offended, or something else altogether. I stare at him, my food forgotten, entirely unsure of what to do or say.

Gabriel shakes his head, setting his chopsticks down, his expression smoothing. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding, Bella,” he says kindly. “I told your father that I wanted to talk to you about this myself, but I didn’t think he’d leave you completely in the dark.”

“Completely in the dark about what ?” Now I’m just confused, and I feel a frustrated lump in my throat. The night has shifted from something fun and novel to feeling as if everyone is in on something involving me that I don’t know about, and after everything that’s happened, that feeling sends a surge of nausea twisting through me.

“I have an offer for you, Bella, but it has nothing to do with marriage, and I asked you to have dinner with me tonight so that we could discuss it. I wanted to talk to you about this privately—to make the offer between the two of us—without your father in the middle.”

“But he knows about it?” Confusion wars with suspicion, and I wonder if he’s about to ask me for something completely inappropriate, something that would absolutely shatter my perspective of him. The thought makes a cold sensation slither down my spine, and I bite my lip, hoping that’s not the case. But I can’t imagine what else it could be?—

“I want to offer you a job, Bella.”

I blink at him. “What kind of a job?” I ask warily.

“I’m a widower.” He says it flatly, matter-of-fact, but I remember that odd hint of sadness in his eyes when he said he used to go out more often, and a piece of the puzzle clicks into place. “I have two children. A daughter, Cecelia, who’s eleven, and a son, Danilo—we call him Danny—who is nine.”

“They sound lovely,” I murmur politely. I’m still not entirely sure what he’s getting at.

“You say you don’t want to get married, Bella. I can understand that.” He lets out a slow breath. “I don’t want to marry again, either. I think that’s part of what struck me when I met you. What made me want to suggest a different solution to your father.”

“A different solution?”

He nods. “I don’t want to get married again,” he repeats, “but my children need stability. They need someone who can fill that motherly role. I have help now, but the woman who helps me has other responsibilities, and I know she needs a break. My compromise between marrying again, and continuing on as we are, is to find a live-in nanny.” He pauses. “Someone who will live in my house, care for Danny and Cecelia, and be a part of the family. I’m happy to let you meet them first, of course, if you want. But I’ve already discussed this with your father. This would prevent you from having to marry so soon, Bella.”

For a long moment, I can’t speak. I’m too stunned to know what to say. The last thing I ever expected out of this evening was for Gabriel to offer me a job . I’m so stunned by it that I can’t even be embarrassed by how thoroughly I misjudged his intentions. Everything he just told me rattles around in my mind, jostling together as I try to put together the pieces.

A widower, with two children. Someone who obviously must have loved his wife, if he doesn’t want to get married again. Someone in need of help with them, who wants to hire someone full-time to help look after them. Something warms in my chest at that thought—he clearly cares for them, if he’s putting this much thought into it.

And he brought me here to talk to me about it one-on-one, like an equal. I’d appreciated it before, when I thought he was going to propose an engagement, but now I appreciate it even more. He could have easily arranged this with my father, shaken hands, and left me to be told that I was being shipped off to a new house to work for a businessman as his children’s nanny, but he took the time to make me the offer in person.

And I wouldn’t have to get married. Not right now. Not for a while, maybe. I have no idea how long this position is supposed to last, but he said his oldest child was eleven, so—a while, probably? As long as he’s happy with my performance, and my father is willing to allow me to stay.

It does occur to me, as I sit there with my thoughts spinning, that accepting his offer means I’ll be living with him—this very handsome man who is so much kinder than I expected. My heart does an odd flip at the thought, a nervousness that feels different from the usual, clawing panic that I’ve become accustomed to. Is he expecting more from me than to just take care of his children? That thought does send a shiver of panic through me.

But he’s been nothing but gentlemanly all night. Even the things I took as a flirtation, looking back on them through the lens of what I now know, only seem like casual comments now. Just Gabriel trying to get to know a woman who he’s considering bringing into his home.

He’s made it clear that he has no interest in marriage. In a relationship. And even if he did, I remind myself, he wouldn’t want me once he knew what else comes with the outer package.

And how is he going to feel about you watching his children, if he knows you have nightmares? That you jump at shadows? If he knows what happened to you?

I push the thought away. I can manage it well enough, I tell myself, to keep him from knowing just how deep the trauma from my monstrous ex-fiancé runs. And maybe being out from under the threat of another impending arranged marriage, having space from my father and his expectations, will give me a chance to heal.

“I’ll accept,” I say with as much confidence as I can muster, tilting my chin up in an attempt to look as poised and collected as I can.

I wonder if he’ll be startled that I accepted so quickly, but all I see is a look of relief that immediately crosses Gabriel’s face. “It’s a live-in position,” he repeats. “I just want to make sure that’s clear, before we move forward. I want someone who can feel like an intrinsic part of my children’s lives, who can become a part of their routine and schedules. I’m not asking you to be their mother, but—” He draws in a breath, and I see another flicker of that pain on his face. It makes me wonder how long it’s been since he lost his wife. It doesn’t look like a deep and immediate grief, but it does appear to have lingered with him. It makes me wonder, too, how he felt about her. The sadness looks as if it goes deeper than a marriage of convenience.

“I’m not asking you to be their mother,” he repeats slowly. “But I do want someone to fill that role. I understand, of course, that it’s a significant responsibility. A demanding job. But I wanted to offer it to you. And I won’t be offended if you back out.”

I shake my head. “No, I don’t want to back out. I want to take the job.”

Gabriel nods, his hands resting on the table. Our food seems forgotten—out of the corner of my eye, I see the server appear and then disappear again, seemingly waiting for us to finish our current dish before he brings a new one. “I don’t live in a mansion, but the house is large. You’ll have plenty of space to yourself. Anything you need, I’ll be happy to provide. I only keep a small staff—my housekeeper and her husband live on the property, and a few others that come and go. You won’t be taking over all of Agnes’ duties with the children immediately—you’ll have time to adjust, of course.” He lets out a breath, watching me as if he thinks I might change my mind at any moment. “It’s up to you how soon you want to start. But the children are starting their summer break, and Agnes is a little overwhelmed. So the sooner, the better. Within a week, if that works for you.”

“That’s fine with me. It’s not like I need to give anyone a two-week notice or anything.” I feel a bubble of laughter in my chest at that, and I stifle it, because I know I shouldn’t burst out laughing in the middle of this conversation. But it’s all overwhelming, and I don’t know what response to have. My entire perspective of the night has changed in a matter of minutes.

“Well, I wasn’t sure if you might need time to—I don’t know.” Gabriel shrugs. “I didn’t want to rush you. Whatever you need to make the move as easy on you as possible, I’m happy to provide.”

“I don’t think I’ll have much to bring. Just clothes, things like that.” I bite my lip. It all feels unreal. In a very short time, I’ve gone from preparing myself to let this man down gently in regards to an engagement, to accepting a job offer from him. A job . I’ve never had a job before. “My father knows what this is? He agreed to let me work for you?”

Gabriel nods. “We discussed it after you and I—ran into each other.” A small smile plays on the corners of his mouth, as if he finds that memory to be amusing instead of utterly embarrassing, the way I do.

He doesn’t elaborate on what exactly it was that they discussed. But I’m not entirely sure that I care. I sit there, looking at him across the table, and the entire feeling that I had about tonight’s dinner shifts.

Instead of uncertain and nervous, and a little guilty, I feel a flush of confidence. Of independence. I feel good , like I’m in a business meeting of my own. Like I’m making a decision about my own life, for the first time in my life.

I rub my sweating palm against my thigh, and hold out my hand, my breath catching in my throat. “Should we shake on it?” I ask, the slightest teasing note in my voice, and Gabriel smiles, extending his hand toward mine.

There’s the familiar surge of fear when I feel his skin brush mine, the urge to recoil, and I fight the shudder that threatens to ripple through me. But I force my hand to close around his, shaking it just once, before I pull it back.

“We have a deal,” Gabriel says with a smile, and I return it, feeling a sensation that’s almost foreign, it’s been so long since I’ve really experienced it.

For the first time since before I was engaged to Pyotr, I feel happy.