Page 9 of Where Quiet Hearts Scream (Dark Hearts #3)

S erafina

I feel lighter than I have in a while as I check in for my morning shift. I spent the rest of the previous day staring at the flowers I’d arranged in plastic bottles of varying sizes, and replaying the words Andrew Stone had said to me. Most notably, “I’d like to see you again.”

I can’t believe a man like that would be interested in me . He’s impossibly handsome, quietly charismatic and obviously successful. I’ve noted the expensive cut of his suits, the high specification of his car and the gold Breitling wrapped around his wrist.

A small part of me wonders if he’s playing a very convincing game—that he really is just a closet gangster and he’s using me to get to my brother-in-law.

But he’s shown no interest in that part of my life, and only interest in me.

It takes a lot of self-talk to entertain the possibility that his interest is genuine.

“Morning Angela,” I chirp, as I reach the front desk.

“It is a good morning,” she replies in a conspiratorial tone. “Especially for you.”

She slides a folded note across the desk and gives me an exaggerated wink.

“What’s this?” I unfold it and take in the neat handwriting and brief request.

“Sera. I check out in 2 days. Would you like to join me today for lunch? Andrew.”

My heart stops .

I glance up at Angela who is biting back a grin. “Is this for real?”

She nods and glances about before leaning into me and lowering her voice. “You should go. Like he says, he’ll be leaving soon. There’s no way I’m going to stand between you and a date with the Obscenely Gorgeous Man.”

“It’s not a date.” My voice quivers.

“Call it whatever you want. He hasn’t asked anyone else here to join him for lunch, you know what I’m saying?”

I stare at the note. “How am I supposed to reply to him?”

Her chin drops and she arches a brow. “I don’t think you ‘reply’ to someone like Andrew Stone, Sera. You just do as he asks.” She shrugs and logs into the computer. “He’ll show up when it’s time.”

I re-fold the note and slide it into my pocket where it burns hot against my hip.

I wish I’d worn a little more make-up, or chosen a slightly looser-fitting uniform today since I’m struggling to grasp enough air.

But it’s too late now. Andrew Stone will just have to take me as I come— au naturel , trussed up and short of breath.

I watch the clock slowly tick toward midday.

My shift finishes at twelve and I have no idea where I’m supposed to meet Andrew.

At exactly one minute before, he appears at the check in desk, his usual crisp-cut suit and shoes replaced by dark jeans, a black T-shirt and black Nikes.

His eyes seem lighter, an air of playfulness dancing on his lips.

It’s not a date, it’s not a date , I repeat to myself, hoping it calms the nerves in my belly. Even so, my mouth suddenly feels very dry and I have to swallow a few times before I can speak.

“Hi!” I smile, a little too brightly. “It’s a beautiful day. Shall we sit on the terrace?”

He pushes his hands into his pockets, throws back his shoulders and looks down through his lashes. “Sure. That sounds good.”

I wave to Angela, nervously, then follow Andrew out of the lobby to the terrace. Once in the fresh air, I take a deep breath, but I still feel as though oxygen is being unfairly rationed.

He chooses a small table tucked away in a corner in the shade and pulls out a chair for me to sit. Nerves suddenly thump through me like a jackhammer and a shiver physically wracks my spine .

“Are you cold?” he asks, his dark eyes narrowed in concern.

“Oh, no, not really. I just need to acclimate after being indoors all morning.”

I cross my legs, pull the hem of my skirt lower and twiddle my fingers beneath the table. I feel like a fourteen-year-old girl—it’s ridiculous.

Needing to fill the quiet with something, I flick my lashes up at him, shyly. “Thanks for the invitation.”

“I told you I wanted to see you again.” His voice is low and intimate and my stomach has turned to actual jelly.

He has one leg bent, his ankle resting across his knee.

With that pose, along with his perfectly chiseled jaw, flawless skin and hooded eyes, he wouldn’t look out of place in a tourism brochure.

I avert my gaze, coasting it along the foliage surrounding the terrace.

I feel as though looking directly at him will burn my irises.

“I wanted to say thank you for letting me drone on about your birth chart. Not many people like me to talk too much about those kind of things. They believe it’s the work of Satan or something. I think it scares them.”

When he doesn’t reply, I look up and suck back a breath. He seems closer somehow. Or maybe it’s just his gaze wrapping me up in his orbit, making me feel as though I’m the only other person in his world.

His low voice vibrates through me, drawing me in deep. “ Nothing scares me.”

I swallow, hard. The intensity of his focus makes me a little uncomfortable, as though I need to make light of his comment. I force out a short laugh. “You’re lucky. Most things scare me.”

He watches me carefully. “That’s because you don’t know who you are. Yet.”

I shift uneasily. His observation hits a little too close to home.

“It’s not a bad thing,” he continues. “Just means the best is yet to come.”

My insides smile at those words and a lightness spreads across my chest. The sun is reflected off the small pond in the center of the terrace, casting him in a rippling gold light.

I suddenly want to remember this moment.

Even if I never see Andrew Stone again, his words have made me feel something and I want to freeze time just for a second so I can absorb it.

“Can I take your picture?” I ask, surprising myself.

His lips curl a touch, softening his frown. “Sure.”

I reach for my phone and position the lens at just the right angle. “It’s just… this light is perfect.”

This light … and you .

As nonsensical as it sounds, because I’ve known this man for all of two seconds, I’m so drawn to him.

My heart cries a little at the thought I may not ever see him again, and even if I did, he probably won’t be thinking about me in that way.

I’m just a quirky, infatuated hotel host keeping a guest from feeling a bit lonely, that’s all.

I snap the photograph then lower the phone and my gaze, because an embarrassing blush is now creeping up my cheeks.

“Can I see? ”

I bite my lip and hand him the phone. He looks at the photograph thoughtfully, then passes it back to me.

As I take it from him, he curls his fingers around mine.

The same spasm of electricity I felt when he caught me on the wet floor returns to my arm, taking my breath away.

Our eyes dart to each other and my lip pops free of my teeth.

Neither of us speaks.

“You have a good eye,” he says eventually, his words cracking on the light breeze.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

A waiter appears at the table and oh so slowly, Andrew uncurls his fingers and my hand slips away. I stare at my palm, half-expecting it to burst into flames.

Despite knowing this friendship is fleeting, the fact remains I still don’t know much about this man.

A birth chart can tell me a lot of things about a person, but not everything.

Not material facts like what he does for work, where he lives, whether or not he’s married…

And not knowing a single fact about him is eating away at the back of my mind.

I wait until we’ve placed our lunch orders and the waiter has left.

“What exactly do you do for a living?” I ask. He evaded this question previously with vague responses and I find the mystery unnerving.

I need to know he isn’t one of them . A criminal.

“You don’t want to know.” His voice is surprisingly soft yet it sends a dart of alarm into my braced chest.

I cough. “Why? ”

“It’s boring.”

My head tilts and I smile. “Can I be the judge of that?”

He sighs and almost rolls his eyes. “I own a company that specializes in data mining. See? Boring.”

“That’s not boring,” I laugh. “What exactly does “data mining” involve?”

He chews on his lip. “I collect data and analyze it. I look for patterns, then I sell the findings to people who can use them.”

I blink at him, not really understanding any more for his explanation.

“What about you?”

I shrug. “You’ve seen what I do.”

“No.” His voice cuts sharp. “I’ve seen you .”

A jet stream of lava winds its way down my spine. I need to pause before I try to form a sentence.

Then he continues. “Do you enjoy working in a hotel?”

My smile breaks. “Yes, I do. It’s always been my dream.”

He watches me attentively.

“I’ve been wanting to do an internship with a good hotel since high school. I got really lucky. My sister’s fiancé knows the owner and put in a call. They’re getting married here actually, my sister and Cristiano. In two weeks.”

I look away and his warm gaze caresses the side of my face.

“It’s going to be a big wedding. Lots of Italians.” I turn to catch him eyeing me thoughtfully. “Where are you from?”

He pans his gaze out across the terrace and shrugs. “I was born in New York. Brooklyn.”

“And your brother is still in the state?”

His gaze feels loaded. “Yes, he is.”

I bite my lip again, terrified of asking the one question I really want to know the answer to. “Are you married?”

His features lighten and his lips part in a soft laugh. “No.” He holds up his left hand, flashing it back and forth. “I’m definitely not married.”

He turns his head to look out toward the ocean. I follow his gaze but when I turn back around, he’s watching me out the corner of his eye, a devious smile cresting the curve of his mouth.

“Are you?”

The question stuns me so hard I laugh out loud. Me? Married? Is he insane? I’m having a tough enough time trying to understand why this man enjoys my company, let alone entertain the idea some man would want to marry me.

He frowns deeply. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” I say, swallowing the urge to continue laughing. “I’m not married either. Definitely not married.”

“Boyfriend?”

Is this guy for real?

“Nope. I don’t have one of those either.”

“Why?” He sounds incredulous .

“Um…” The look in his eye has thrown me for a loop and he looks kind of pissed. “I’ve been really busy with this internship, I guess,” I offer, quietly.

“But you say it like the idea of having a boyfriend is hard for you to imagine.”

“Well,” I start, “it is. I mean, I’ve never had a boyfriend. I’m not really girlfriend material.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m not skinny, or tan, or blond. I’m the opposite of those things.”

His tone cuts like a knife. “What’s so great about being skinny, tan and blond?”

It’s a good question and one I don’t have an answer for.

“Do you always talk down on yourself like this?”

The brevity of his second question stuns me further and I can’t think of a single thing to say.

Slowly, he uncrosses his legs and leans over the table toward me. I sit back a little, afraid to be in such close proximity.

“Are you looking forward to the wedding?” he asks softly.

“I am.” I’m relieved for the change in topic. “I can’t wait.”

He toys with the cutlery the waiter brought over. “How many guests will there be?”

I know the exact number because I’ve been managing the preparations. “Hundred and fifty.”

His brows arch and he grins. “That is a lot of Italians. The main function room here is pretty impressive. I’m assuming it will take place in there?”

“That’s right,” I say, smiling at the way he’s indulging me.

“And you’re a bridesmaid,” he states, to which I nod. “I’m guessing there are ushers, a best man?”

He lifts a fork and starts digging into his chicken.

I spear some pasta. “Two ushers and a best man. Benito, his name is.” Then I pop it into my mouth as delicately as I can.

The air around me grows a little cool and I lift my lids to see Andrew watching me with a rigid jaw, his gaze slightly distant.

“Is your chicken okay?” I ask, mildly alarmed.

He dips his gaze back to his plate and slices another piece. “It’s delicious.”

We eat in silence for a while, then Andrew lowers his cutlery and offers a small smile. “So, when does the wedding party arrive? I guess that’s the moment you’ll be run off your feet?”

I laugh. “You got that right. They arrive the Thursday, and the wedding is on the Saturday. Me and my sisters will be having a little bachelorette party to celebrate.”

He waits for me to finish eating then props an elbow on the table and rests his chin on his fist. My eyes are drawn to the ink covering the backs of his hands and wrists and I have to swallow for the millionth time since we sat down.

“I was a best man once,” he muses. “It was an honor, but there’s so much pressure to do an amazing speech. I think I wrote it out thirty times before the big day.”

“Was it funny, or a flop?” I ask. Working in one of the Hamptons’ most popular wedding venues has exposed me to many a best man’s speech and the quality is, let’s say, varied.

He wipes a knuckle across his mouth, stifling a smile. “If it was a flop no one would have dared tell me.”

His voice has dropped to a whisper so I don’t quite hear.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“I said, if it was a flop, no one told me.”

“Ah, of course,” I grin. “They wouldn’t have wanted to hurt your feelings. You must have some very considerate friends.”

Hie eyes narrow and he feigns an accusatory glare. “What are you saying?”

“Nothing,” I laugh. “I’m sure it was a very funny speech.”

We talk easily for a little while longer until I check my watch and realize, with a sinking heart, I need to change into a fresh uniform then get back on shift.

“I can’t believe it’s that time already. I have to go.”

I drop my napkin to the table and stand.

“It’s been a pleasure, Andrew. Thank you for inviting me.”

His chin tilts and his eyes sparkle like onyx stones in the sunlight .

“The pleasure has been all mine.” He swallows, then lightly bites down on his bottom lip like there’s more he wants to say, but no further words come out.

I shift awkwardly from foot to foot, unsure of how to leave our short rendezvous.

This was never going to become anything, anyway.

Maybe friendship at a push. But the second Andrew Stone checks out of the hotel, he’ll forget about me.

Another guest will take his place and another waitress will take mine.

That last thought tightens a fist around my heart.

Of course there will be another woman. Someone stunning, accomplished, slim.

My throat closes up and I feel like I might cry.

I would give anything to have a man like Andrew Stone want me.

But it’s a pipe dream. It’ll never happen. I’m stupid to even think about it.

“Okay, well, I’ll see you then,” I mutter, then turn on my heel and walk away quickly before he catches the swollen tear as it slides down my cheek.