Part 29 (1/2)

I smile.

I've always considered myself an old soul. No one has ever noticed before. No one has ever really noticed me before. For some reason I can't seem to quite understand, Weston gets me.

And I get him.

We eat at The Signature Room at the 95th-it's sleek and contemporary. I'm not sure what I would call the decor, but it almost feels like modern art deco to me-glowing, cubist, hanging light fixtures abound.

As we take a seat next to the window, looking down at the fantastic views of the city, it occurs to me that I never truly appreciated the beauty of Chicago before I knew Weston.

”You're making me love this city, more and more every day,” I tell him as the server pours our wine.

”It's a beautiful city.”

Sitting across him by the window, up high, looking down at the landscape filled with tall buildings, I get a sense of dej-vu.

”You like to eat up high,” I point out, enjoying a sip of my wine.

He laughs. ”I do. I love to see a sea of buildings beneath me.”

”Well, you are an architect. Makes sense that you would love buildings.”

”Sitting up high like this...feels amazing to me.”

”Sitting across from you like this, feels amazing to me,” I say light-heartedly.

He smiles at me-that bright charming grin. And I have to remind myself not to let myself fall.

Because I could really fall hard.

We share a nice meal. I enjoy the salmon, and Weston has the New York strip. We share the French crpes for dessert-the most fantastic peach and blueberry crpes I've ever had. Our conversation is light, mostly about the city and our work. I've noticed Weston often s.h.i.+es away from more intimate subjects, and I fully respect that-he wants to keep a certain distance between us, and I think we're both better off for it.

Edward brings us to a secret destination. I laugh at Weston when he refuses to tell me where we're going. It seems he's always playing games, teasing. He likes to keep me on my toes. And I love that about him.

I stare at my fabulous sparkly shoes, which are surprisingly comfortable, as I hold Weston's hand.

”Thank you so much for the dress. I love it.”

”I thought you'd like it. It's very feminine. Just like you.”

”But you shouldn't have, Weston. You're not supposed to offer me gifts.”

”You deserve it,” he insists, squeezing my hand. ”It really isn't a big deal, Mirella.”

I try to justify it to myself. It's not a big deal. It's just a dress. It's not like he's bought me a car.

”Did you pick it out?”

He laughs. ”Well, I did have a little help from Anette. I dragged her to an auction. She was leaning toward a silky sleek dress. But I saw this one, and I knew it was you.”

I smile at the thought of him picking out my dress-it's so erotic.

”How do you know Anette?” I ask, curious. ”She...uh...knows about us?”

”She's a dear friend of my mother's. I've known her forever. She used to look after me occasionally.”

”Does she know...you and Bridget...about your lifestyle?”

”She does. She's a very modern, liberal woman. She's one of the few people who knows, in fact.” He pulls my hand to his mouth and kisses it. ”And the little girl in the polka-dot dress,” he adds. ”That's her granddaughter.”

”She was cute,” I say. ”And her mother was so elegant.”

”I think it runs in the family. Anika's just like Anette.”

I purse my lips, curious. ”You and Anika?”

”No...she's always been like a sister.”

I breathe a sigh of relief, not sure why I even care about his past. I suppose I don't like the idea of yet another woman in his life. I have enough with one woman to contend with.

”Do you see your mother often?” I ask, not sure if he wants to talk about his mother.

”No. She's back in London these days,” he says without emotion. And I let it go.

I rest my eyes on him...he's splendid in his tux. And I suddenly wish we had more privacy.

When Edward opens the car door for me, and I set my eyes on the majestic historical building with the large arched windows, I instantly recognize where we are-he's taken me to the symphony.

”You'd said you've never been.”

”I did say that,” I confirm, hiking up my dress-there's no way I'm letting it drag on the concrete.

Weston leads me to the first row on the first balcony. I am absolutely stunned by the beauty of Orchestra Hall-the light open s.p.a.ce, warm sparking glow of lights, and arches surrounding us. I marvel at the incredible architectural details.

The concert is wonderful, the music reaching deep to my very bones, it seems. The orchestra members seem so small-streaks of black, working in perfect unison. Weston's fingers are intertwined in mine, our hands resting on the fabric of my dress. He holds my hand throughout and squeezes it occasionally. I smile at him, enjoying the sight of him lost in something so wonderful.

I plop my rear down on the bed, my beautiful dress floating around me, and I slip off my sparkly shoes. ”So, Weston,” I say, with a coy smile. ”When do I get my much antic.i.p.ated foot ma.s.sage?”

He kneels at my feet, undoing his bowtie. ”I was hoping I'd get to kiss you a little first.”

I laugh. ”No...I want a foot ma.s.sage first. You're not getting out of this.”

He slides his hands under my dress, and drags his soft fingers against the skin of my legs. ”You obviously don't know what kind of kiss I had in mind,” he says, his grin playful.

I'm officially intrigued.

”What kind of kiss did you have in mind?”