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His brow arches slightly. “Wine?”
“Yes.” I close the menu and sit back, trying to steady my voice. “I think I need it.”
The corners of his mouth lift in the faintest hint of a smile, and for a moment, I think he’s going to tease me. Instead, he nods. “Red it is.”
When the waiter arrives, Zack barely glances at the menu before ordering with the kind of confidence that seems second nature to him. “The veal saltimbocca,” he says, his voice smooth, “with a side of sautéed spinach and roasted rosemary potatoes.” He hands the menu back with a nod, adding, “And a bottle of Brunello di Montalcino—2015.”
The waiter nods appreciatively, as if Zack’s choice carries a weight he respects, before turning to me. I glance down at the menu again, my fingers brushing the edge as I search for something that feels right. “The ravioli al tartufo,” I finally say, my voice a bit softer, “with the garden salad on the side.”
The waiter writes it down without missing a beat, and I hand him my menu, feeling a little unsure but masking it as best I can.
Zack speaks up again, this time his tone more deliberate. “And decant the wine for us,” he adds, leaning back in his chair with an air of quiet authority. “Let it breathe.”
I glance at him, surprised by the attention to detail. He catches my look and raises an eyebrow.
“What?”
“Nothing,” I say quickly, shaking my head. “You just seem… particular.”
“I am,” he replies simply, as though that explains everything.
The waiter disappears, and I try to focus on the conversation, but the weight of Zack’s presence and his easy command of the situation leaves me feeling oddly out of place…and yet drawn to him even more.
I reach for my glass of water, needing something to occupy my hands. But as I lift it to my lips, the memory of last night flashes unbidden in my mind…the wine we’d shared on the balcony, the tension that had hung heavy between us. The way he’d looked at me, like he could see right through every wall I’d ever built. My grip on the glass tightens, and I force the thought away.
The silence stretches between us, comfortable in a way I didn’t anticipate, until I find myself speaking again.
“There are probably so many other people you’d rather be having dinner with right now,” I say, the words slipping out before I can stop them. My tone is light, teasing, but there’s a genuine curiosity beneath it. “Business partners. Girlfriends. I mean, just look around. There are so many beautiful women in this city.”
His gaze doesn’t waver, his expression unreadable. “What are you trying to say?”
I shrug, the movement small, almost self-conscious. “Nothing. I’m just… wondering. We’ve known each other for years, but we’ve never actually spent time together. Not like this.”
He holds my gaze for a moment longer, the weight of his attention making my pulse quicken.
“Unless it’s a business dinner. I don’t like eating with unfamiliar people.”
“Oh,” I say, feigning nonchalance, though my heart skips a beat. “So I’m familiar, then.”
His lips twitch, the faintest hint of a smile breaking through. “You could say that.”
For a moment, the air between us shifts, something unspoken lingering in space. I glance down at the table, my fingers tracing the edge of my napkin. The city lights outside blur slightly as my focus turns inward, the quiet realization settling over me: Zack isn’t like Brett at all. The more time I spend with him, the more the difference between them becomes stark, and I cannot help but admit to myself that maybe, just maybe, I might prefer the dangerous heat that Zack stokes in me to the warm and sweet one that Brett does.
The silence stretches as our food arrives, each dish a work of art plated so beautifully it feels wrong to disturb it. Zack doesn’t speak, but I can feel his presence like a weight in the air. He watches me as I take my first bite, the rich flavors melting on my tongue, but his gaze is so steady, so unreadable, it makes my pulse skip.
I try not to fidget under his scrutiny, but the longer we sit, the more I find myself wondering what’s going through his mind. He seems so composed, so perfectly in control, but beneath that polished exterior, there has to be more. And for reasons I can’t quite name, I suddenly want to know. I want to understand who he is beyond the commanding presence, the calculated looks, the unreadable silences.
“You came to Rome for business, right?” I ask, my voice breaking through the quiet. It’s a simple question, but it feels like the first step toward unraveling him.
He pauses, his fork hovering over his plate before he answers. “Partially,” he says, his tone measured. “I plan to take some meetings, but I’m treating the rest of the time here as… a sort of holiday.”
A holiday? The word feels strange coming from him, like it doesn’t quite fit. “You?” I tease, raising a brow. “Taking a holiday?”
He leans back in his chair, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. “Right.”
The corners of my mouth lift despite myself. “Well, you should. Rome’s beautiful. I might just do the same.”
“You should,” he says, his gaze unwavering. “You’ve earned it.”