Page 68 of Masked Seduction

“Am I dreaming?” I ask. “You’re really pulling off domestic god tonight.”

He gives me a sideways glance, smirking as he drizzles sauce with precision. “You haven’t even tasted it yet.”

“Doesn’t matter. Watching you do all of this in slacks and a dress shirt is already worth the trip.”

He chuckles, something in his face softening as he spoons risotto onto plates. “You ever cook?”

“Does Trader Joe’s orange chicken in a wok count?”

He snorts, then smirks. “Not even a little.”

“Well, then no.”

“I could teach you,” he says, glancing at me again, more curious than flirty now. “If you ever wanted to learn.”

I tilt my head. “You’d be patient with me?”

“Depends on how cute you look screwing up.”

“Oh, well, in that case, I’ll burn everything.” I give him a wink.

He grins and slides the plates onto the bar, pouring each of us a glass of sparkling water before gesturing toward the table near the floor-to-ceiling windows.

The view is breathtaking—the glamorous lights of Vegas stretches out below us as far as the eye can see, glittering and alive. We sit across from one another, and when we clink our glasses, his eyes linger on mine.

“To beautiful nights,” he says.

“To beautiful nights,” I echo.

God help me, I think I’m falling in love with this man.

The food is incredible. I keep taking slow bites just to stretch out the experience, but even then, my plate empties faster than I’d like.

“You weren’t lying,” I murmur between bites. “Your mother deserves a Michelin star.”

He smiles, his eyes settling on something behind me. I turn and see a small pile of toys tucked neatly in the corner of the hallway—colorful blocks, a plush dinosaur, a tiny pink handbag.

“What are those?” I ask.

“Oh,” he says, pouring more sparkling water. “For my nieces, Emma and Lilia. I’m planning on surprising them with a few more things the next time I see them.”

He smiles, bright and genuine. Seeing him light up like that, as if all the carefully arranged pieces of him just cracked slightly open, does something to me.

“You sound like a great uncle,” I say softly.

“Well, they’re great kids,” he replies, setting the bottle down. “Smart, wild. Denis says they get their wild side from me. He’s probably right.”

“And your nephew?” I ask, recalling framed photos on his desk.

“Charles. Mikail’s boy. That one’s got a steel-trap brain. He’s going to outsmart us all by the time he’s ten.”

He sounds proud. More than proud, attached. My heart stretches a little wider, wondering if he wants a family of his own someday.

“Do you spend a lot of time with them?” I ask.

“I like being able to visit. Spoil them, play the fun uncle, then come home and have my own space. My life is too full for much more than that.”

My fork pauses mid-air. I look at him, but he’s unaware of the quiet way my heart’s sinking.