Liam I shake off the annoyance of the morning’s visit, rolling my shoulders as I get ready for
the first date with my wife. It took me a week to get the date set up by pulling some strings
with Elizabeth Pryce-King. “It’s for my first date with my wife. She adores seafood, and La
Mer is the best place for it.” “I can definitely set you up for Friday night. My standing table
should be free. But you’re still going to honor the bachelor auction result, right? You still
owe a date to... London Bickham, wasn’t it?” “Don’t worry. I’m not going to ignore it.” Even
as I say it, my mind whirs to find a way to get out of it gracefully. I don’t want to give Olivia
any reason to suspect I won’t be faithful to her. –Me: When are you done at work? –Olivia:
We can just meet at La Mer. It doesn’t make sense for you to spend an additional hour
fighting traffic to pick me up from work. –Me: I left work early. –Olivia:
Slacker!: smiley-emoji: –Me: So I’ll pick you up. –Olivia: Okay. I should be done by five. I go
to the cutting garden and carefully clip the flowers and get them ready for our date. She
deserves the very best I can provide, and I love these flowers the most. They remind me of
the radiance glowing within her. “I’ve never seen you smile like this.” I turn and spot
Frederich coming out with a bag of fertilizer. “Wasn’t married before.” He laughs. “Married
life seems to agree with you. Kind of surprising.” “Why wouldn’t it?”
“You always seemed detached from what few dates you had before.” He squints slightly.
“Tell me honestly. Were you measuring them all against Olivia?” “No.” My answer is
automatic and fast, but then I stop. Was I? He snorts. “All of those women with dark hair
and blue or gray eyes.” “So? I happen to have a type.” “About five-eight...” “Oh, come on.”
“Just pointing it out.” I wrap a simple silver ribbon around the flowers. “You should be
pointing fewer things out and putting more fertilizer in around the plants. See how sad
these shrubs look?” “Yes. They’d look better if some heartless person hadn’t just come by
and clipped all the flowers off.” His tone couldn’t be drier. “Ha. I didn’t plant them to smell
them.” “No, you were planting them for her,” he murmurs softly. “I’m glad you’re feeling
yourself again after the dinner last week.” I shrug. “They aren’t going to change.” “No,
although your grandmother tried to do something about them. Anyway, enjoy your date
night.” I grin. “I will.” Whistling, I drive the freshly washed Spectre to my wife’s office in
Culver City. 3:15. Plenty of time to make it despite the crappy traffic. This explains why
Gideon has a helicopter. Maybe I should consider buying one, too. Olivia would enjoy the
short jaunts, and we wouldn’t waste so much time on the road. Two fender benders slowing
down the traffic are irritating, but can’t kill the excitement pounding in my heart. This is it.
My first real date with Olivia. Himeko was nice, but the circumstances were different. Olivia
was upset and needed comfort. She probably only said yes because she needed someone to
hold her—figuratively—in that moment. But this is something she agreed to without any
kind of emotional upheaval. I pull up in front of her building right at five. She’s already
coming down, looking as fresh as she did this morning in a bright sunshine-yellow dress and
white stilettos. Simon follows in a gloomy black suit. I scowl. He just rubs me the wrong
way, sort of like an ugly painting your otherwise
perfect spouse insists on hanging in your living room where you’ll have to see it all the time.
If I could, I’d ask her to let him go with a generous severance bonus. Hell, I’d pay the
severance myself. But de ep inside, I know that won’t work. She’s allowed me into her life,
but that doesn’t mean she’ll allow me to dictate her business decisions. I climb out and open
the door for her before Simon can get it. He gives me a cool smile. “Hello, Liam.” “Simon.”
“Thanks for picking me up.” She kisses me, and that’s enough to calm me. Simon’s fierce
glare lands on my head. Watch and we
Ep I put my hand at the small of her back and pull
her closer for a de eper kiss. She curls her fingers around my shoulders. “Liam.” She
flushes. “Wanna get going?” She nods, then waves at Simon. “Have a great weekend.” He
gives her a smile that almost looks genuine. No clinging to her over the weekend, Simon. I
close the door behind her. “You so don’t deserve her,” he grinds out softly. “When she’s as
happy to see you as she is to see me, you can talk.” Simon turns a de ep red. Score one for
me! I smirk, then get behind the wheel and start toward the restaurant. “Thank you,” she
says. “I’m so excited. I’ve never been able to get a table there.” “Why not?” “Didn’t have the
patience to wait? The maître d’ always said it’d be two months. I want my dinner now, not
two months down the road.” She rolls her eyes. I chuckle softly. “I hear you, but that place
has gotten even more popular. The owner knows what he’s doing, and you’re in for a treat.”
She grins, all the shadows in her eyes gone. She looks a decade younger —like that moment
when I first laid eyes on her. It was the first day in calculus, and she sat alone in the front of
the room, her hair pulled back into a high ponytail that revealed the soft line of her nape.
Unlike most students who were chatting and checking their phones while waiting for class
to
start, she was writing something in a notebook. From her slightly pinched expression, it
seemed serious, but she set it aside the moment the professor walked in. Our eyes met
briefly, and my mind went blank as the sound of my heartbeat pounded in my head. She
blinked, then gave me a smile, which disappeared as soon as I smiled back. Her cheeks
flushed slightly before she turned to the lectern. The route to the restaurant isn’t as
congested as the one from Point Dume to her office. Half an hour later, I toss the fob to the
valet and grab the flowers from the back. I forgot them earlier in my hurry to get out and
interc ept Simon—my car, my woman, and I’ll open the damn door for her myself. Her eyes
light up at the sight of the white and pink camellias. “These are absolutely beautiful, Liam.”
She curls her index finger around the silver ribbons. “Did you put these together yourself?”
I nod. “Love them.” She blushes, the shade matching the pink of the camellias, but she’s
prettier. She kisses me. “Thank you. I should’ve thought of bringing something for you,
too.” “You brought yourself. That’s more than enough.” I place a kiss on her forehead and
gaze at her shy smile with giddiness bubbling in my chest. We head inside the restaurant
and into another world full of carefully curated marine life set against soothing de ep blue.
“Wow.” She looks around at the tall aquariums serving as partitions. I watch the light in her
eyes, glad I picked this place. The maître d’—probably the same guy who told her to wait
two months —gives us his most professional smile. “Your name, sir?” “Liam Kingswood.” He
checks his list. The corner of his eyebrow lifts. “This way, sir.” A sharply suited man comes
out to take us to the dining area. A giant aquarium soars in the center, and more aquariums
are used to provide privacy. “Ms. Pryce-King asked us to reserve this table for you,” he
explains. “Is this acc eptable?” I glance at Olivia. She cranes her neck to look at the huge
circular water tank filled with various types of seaweed and colorful fish. To our side is
another—this one flat with a blue background and a trio of huge orange-
gold jellyfish floating inside. This table has the best view of the aquarium and privacy. “Love
it,” she murmurs. I nod. “This is fine. Thank you.” He inclines his head, then pulls out a
chair for Olivia. She takes it, eyes glued to a particularly large jellyfish. He asks about any
allergies, and we shake our heads. He leaves and brings out two flutes of Salon Blanc de
Blancs Le Mesnil and two oysters on the half shell. Finely shaved frozen mignonette granita
sits on top of them like snow. “Compliments of the chef.” I smile. Must be Elizabeth’s doing.
I push the small, elegant blue-and- gold-edged plate toward her. “Go ahead.” Olivia’s eyes
sparkle. She picks up one of the oysters, and gently pushes the plate toward me. Her eyes
go round when she takes the shellfish into her mouth. I sample mine. Holy shit. It’s
amazing, with just the perfect balance of brine, shallot and fruity tartness. Well worth
calling in the favor with Elizabeth. “Oh my God. I didn’t know oysters could taste like this.”
Olivia flushes. “I want to ask for more, but I feel like the chef’s going to look at me funny.”
She leans forward. “I heard he’s French and won’t listen to anyone.” “So you’ve read up on
him?” She shakes her head. “It was one of those in-flight magazines.” “I’m sure we can ask
for more. For a Spectre—albeit used—he’ll do it.” She laughs. “Don’t you dare!” “Nothing’s
too much to satisfy my wife.” “I’m not walking home.” “Car service.” I smile, take her hand
and toy with the Rubedo. I should see if the lab can make something that can rival this
stone, so I can give it to her for our first anniversary. It would be fun to create a new stone
every year. When we’re old and gray, we can look at them and recall the stories and
memories that go with them. And eventually pass them down to our children as heirlooms.
The waiter returns and asks us if we’d like to order. Olivia looks at him with the excitement
of a child about to ask Santa for her first present. “Does the chef still offer ‘His Choice’?”
“Yes.”
“That one for me.” “Whatever she’s having,” I say, since the night isn’t about food for me.
After he’s gone, I turn to her. “What’s in ‘His Choice’?” “You don’t know?” “No. But I
figured you wouldn’t have gotten it if it sucked.” She chuckles. “Thank you for your trust.
It’s basically the chef deciding what we eat. Sort of like omakase. He selects the wine
pairing, too. I always thought it looked interesting and wanted to try.” The waiter returns
with some paper-thin slices of fish on a huge green and white plate for each of us. But
shouldn’t it have more than just some tiny slices of citrus fruit of unknown origin on top?
The white crystal flakes look like salt or something. At least the wine is Chablis Grand Cru,
something I recognize. “Hirame crudo,” the waiter announces, his back straight. He isn’t
looking down at us, but something about the way he stands makes him seem just a tad
condescending. “Slices of flounder, caught in the icy waters off Hokkaido, Japan, and
dressed with fermented yuzu and fleur de sel. Enjoy.” “I think the chef forgot to finish
cooking this,” I whisper after he’s gone. “Don’t you think our waiter would’ve pointed it out
before bringing them here?” “He could’ve feared for his life.” She laughs. “Or it’s just the
way it should be? Don’t you like sashimi?” “No, sashimi’s fine, but this doesn’t even have
wasabi. I’m very traditional when it comes to raw fish.” She picks up a piece on my plate
with her fork and brings it to my mouth. “Ahhh.” “Wait, what is it?” “Come on, don’t be
scared. Try it. My arm is getting tired.” She starts to shake her arm theatrically. Laughing, I
take the bite. The fish is cold, but it’s so fresh that it doesn’t need anything but the hint of
citrus and salt. “What do you think?” she asks, her eyes shining. “Good.” Then I frown. “Are
you using me as a taster?” She giggles. “Maybe. I’ve never seen it presented like this
before.” She eats a piece, then nods. “Mmm. Definitely worth it. You undersold it by just
calling it ‘good.’”
We eat in companionable silence for a few moments. “So. What have you been doing since
school? I mean, until we met again so fatefully.” After the conversation at Grandmother’s
place, I’m curious. “Well, nothing as exciting as you founding a lab diamond business,
obviously.” “I have you to thank for that. When you said there’s beauty to turning something
common and unnoticed into a dazzling treasure, I was like, ‘Yup, that’s it.’” “Did I say that?”
“Yup. It was during a case study.” “Really.” She chews for a moment. “Huh.” “So how about
you? Doing something similar?” “Not quite. I work for a small company.” When she doesn’t
elaborate, I ask, “What does it do?” “Guess.” She sips the wine, her eyes challenging mine. I
cock my head. “You have to give me a hint.” “Ever After.” “Weddings?” “Yeah, something
like that.” She picks up the tiny salt crystals off her plate with the tip of her finger and licks
them. Her eyes are lowered. “The only thing permanent and real in life.” “Did they plan that
wedding ceremony in Beverly Hills?” She laughs. “No. That was all me, choosing everything
specifically to make the day extra special. You have no idea how many hours I spent in
bridal boutiques to find just the right dress for my sister.” I cough, then wrinkle my nose at
the memory of that bitch at the wedding. She acted so proud after stealing Tyler from
Olivia. Not that I wanted to see Olivia with him, but it’s the principle. My brothers would
never steal anything of mine. “It, ah, sort of made her look wide around the hips.” Olivia’s
shoulders shake harder. “That was the point. It added twenty pounds on me, too, when I
tried it on, and I knew that was it. The sales clerk was so grateful she even gave me a free
veil.” I burst out laughing. “Devious.” “It was obvious what she was planning. She always
steals everything from me—my home, my mom... my boyfriends.” Pensiveness clouds her
eyes. I reach out and hold her hand. “She’ll never take me from you.” “Really?” She blinks
at me across the table. “Even if she were lying in your bed naked?” I shudder. “Ugh. No. I’d
have to burn the bed and fumigate the entire house, then have Jeremiah sue the security
team for its failure.” Olivia grins. “Seriously?” Although she’s smiling now, the hint of grief
in her eyes earlier was all too real. “Why would I want her when I have you? I’d have to be
blind and stupid.” She nods slowly. “Okay. I’m just a little... surprised.” “Why? You actually
think I’d go for her?” I ask in shock, thinking back on our time together. I haven’t ever given
Olivia a reason to believe that, have I? “It’s just that your parents are in an open marriage,
so I thought you might be...” She shrugs. “You know, a little, um, freer in your love.” “That’s
them, and I’m me. I don’t want an open marriage. And fair warning: I’m going to be a super
jealous husband if I find you with another man.” “Will I be—?” She draws a finger across
her neck, her eyes comically wide. I mock-frown, playing along. “No. I’ll just lock you away
forever.” After I murder the son of a bitch. “Hmm. Might be bearable. If you join me with
Frederich’s cooking.” She winks. “That goes without saying.” The waiter returns to clear
the table. Then he places langoustine with some foam on top along with two new glasses of
wine. “Langoustine, seared to perfection in brown butter and topped with bisque whipped
into a light foam and finger lime, paired with the chef’s choice of Château-Grillet. Enjoy.”
Olivia watches him leave with amusement. “He could’ve had a career as a herald in some
medieval court.” “Born in the wrong age.” This time I pick up a piece of the shellfish and
feed it to her. “You taste first.” Giggling, she takes it, then immediately covers her face.
“That bad?”
She shakes her head, waving at me to go ahead. I bite into it. Holy cow. Silas makes some
amazing seafood, but this is stellar. “Damn.” “Right?” she says, lifting her flushed face. I
smile, then for some reason remember the pesky event from the morning. She’s so happy.
Should I tell her about Hugh’s visit? But what if he tries to go to her next, whether to
intimidate her about having children or to complain about that minor tap I gave his jaw?
I’ve been a little irritated that I didn’t hit him harder. He should’ve at least lost a tooth.
“What is it? You look really serious all of a sudden.” Olivia frowns. “Don’t tell me you just
remembered you have a shrimp allergy.” “Ah... no.” I sigh. Please don’t let this ruin the
evening. “I was just thinking about Hugh. He came to my office this morning.” She goes still
for a moment, then bites her lip. “I’m sorry he interrupted your day.” “Don’t worry, I got rid
of him. He was just annoyed he couldn’t get through the security at home, and whatever.”
“How did he even find out where you live?” “Where we live. And it isn’t exactly a secret.”
“True,” she says. “Should we get a couple of large, extra-mean Rottweilers?” I laugh. “No.
Not necessary. I just wanted you to be aware—in case he decides to barge into your office.
He was loud. Obnoxious. The type to say stuff he shouldn’t to get what he wants.” “What did
he say to you?” she asks, her eyebrows pinching. “Some crap about how you’re using me,
nothing more.” I rub the furrowed spot gently. “Just a bunch of desperate bullshit.” Tell me
he was wrong—that your feelings have been changing. “Well...” She purses her mouth and
lowers her eyes. “Thank you for not indulging him.” Her soft words are like a knife cut, but I
ignore the pain. I can’t focus on that when her eyes are so dark with grief. After taking a
long swallow of wine, I paste on a cocky smile. “He doesn’t deserve it. He’s lucky I only
punched him.” She gasps. “You what?” “He put his hands on me first.” “He hit you?!”
I snort. “Please. Do I look like the type to get sucker punched by a weasel like him?” She
sighs, her shoulders sagging. “No, but who knows. Maybe you had your guard down.” “I
wanted to drag him to the stairwell and push him down all twenty- five flights, but figured
that might be considered excessive.” “Would’ve served him right, though. That’s how Mom
died—not the push part, but the falling down the stairs part. The sound—it can haunt you
even after twenty years.” Her chin wobbles. Fuck. I should’ve pushed him down the stairs,
damn the consequences. I get up and walk around the table, then silently wrap my arms
around her. I don’t tell her it’s okay—I know it will never be okay. But as she burrows into
me, I vow that one of these days, I’m going to make everyone who hurt Olivia pay the price.