Blossom in Winter (Blossom in Winter #1)(53)

He just replies with a side smile, looking tenderly into my eyes—or into my heart? I know he’d never say me, but somehow his gaze is enough to give me an answer. I can hear my own pulse bouncing inside my chest—not from excitement, joy, or happiness, but from fear that he’ll never go any further with me.

“Someone who cares about you,” he utters, his voice so soft and warm that I skip a breath.

Oh, Alex. I close my eyes for a brief instant, trying to contain feelings that I shouldn’t let emerge. We shouldn’t even have talks like this. I have to change the subject. “Is this dinner mostly to watch me because Dad told you so?”

He chuckles at my question. “Indeed. I’m just doing my duty, little Petra.”

Entertained with his own play, he takes his glass of champagne.

“I beg to differ,” I say, taking mine. “Cheers, then. To your horrors of having to dine with me.”

“Sounds like a good toast.”

And we clink our flutes.

When our waiter arrives, he orders the tagliatelle ai funghi porcini. This time I decide to follow his choice. It’s actually a great one. The pasta is delicious, and the red wine even better.

“You start at Columbia soon, right?” he asks, taking a sip from his glass.

“September fourth,” I reply, letting out a sigh. “I’m gonna miss my internship. But at least I’m glad the artwork I acquired is all leased. You’ll need a manager to take care of it, but I’m sure you can grow it and make it even more profitable.”

“This fund is yours, Petra. It doesn’t belong to the firm. We invested privately for you.”

“But...” I blink twice, confused. “What about the fund returns? I’m sure you want a commission.”

While smiling at me, he takes my hands, caressing them softly with his thumbs. “You know what I want?” Oh God, why does he have to look at me like that? Since words aren’t coming, I shake my head. “To see you happy. If economics at Columbia doesn’t appeal to you after the first semester, you’ll be able to focus on liberal arts and follow your passion. If your dad doesn’t support you, you’ll always have your own capital to finance your dreams.”

“So that was the plan from the beginning? For me to have my own revenue without Dad owning it?”

“Feel free to thank me later.” His eyes hold a glint of humor, and a charming smile emerges from the corners of his mouth right before he takes a sip of his wine.

In that instant, I feel a sudden urge to kiss him. This time not on the cheek. He’ll reject you, Petra. Don’t be stupid. Too afraid to be denied, I opt to entwine our hands and hold his fingers tight. He feels it. He probably also feels my heart pounding faster and louder as I look at him with parted lips. He brings my hand to his mouth, shuts his eyes, and gives it a lingering kiss. My breath stops for a moment. While my eyes devour his warm lips kissing my hand with relish, I wonder how it’d feel having them on my lips instead. I know he wants more… or at least that’s what I hope.

Unfortunately, it’s hard not to fall for him. Alexander is a great listener, a charmer, and an irresistible gentleman. In Manhattan, he’s a heartbreaker. But for me, he’s always been a confidant, a best friend, a protector. I have realized there is no one in this world I like to spend my time with as much as with him. And no matter how long I spend in his company, it’s just never enough. Oh boy. I feel like I’m seven all over again. Except now I'm no longer a child, except now we could really—

“Are you tired?” he asks while we are finishing our espressos, a bottle of Barolo from Bruno Giacosa later and the bill already settled.

“No, why?”

“I would like to show you something.”

We leave the restaurant, take a taxi, and go to the Trevi district. We walk down to the Piazza di Trevi. The ground is made of paved stones, making it difficult to walk in heels without tottering. He offers his arm for support, and I gladly take it.

We have finally reached the fountain, featuring a triumphal arch in the center with Triton guiding Oceanus’s shell chariot. The entire piazza and the white marble fontana are lit with warm mellow strobes. I get a twinkle in my eye while contemplating such a masterpiece. Some tourists are still wandering around, throwing coins in the water, while a guitarist is playing and singing an Italian melody.

“Do you know how to dance?” He reaches out and places a hand on the small of my back, while holding my right hand in the air. And before I can say no, I see my arm draping across his shoulder and my feet swaying to the music. I blush nervously, my gaze down.

As if no one else were here, we start slow dancing in the middle of the piazza. I laugh as he spins me around, my hair flowing. He brings my body closer to his, and cheek-to-cheek we move slowly back and forth with the music. Jeez! I love to feel his warm skin against mine. I can’t help but breathe in his scent deeply. My heart’s racing like never before. I tremble at the idea that he might hear it too. I’m dangerously close to his lips, and although I’d never dare to kiss them, I can’t help but wonder what they taste like.

“I wish everything could be this simple,” he murmurs, pressing those lips against my forehead.

I don’t reply back. It feels too hard. I just shut my eyes and enjoy the moment as much as I can—after all, I know it won’t last forever.