Page 22 of Shattered Oath
My throat tightened. Damn him.
"May I?"
I held out my wrist before I could think better of it. His fingers were warm against my skin as he fastened the clasp. The gold settled against my pulse point like it had always been there.
"Perfect," he murmured. "Just as I thought."
I stared at the bracelet. At his hands, still cradling mine. At the way the diamonds caught the afternoon light. Something dangerous was happening in my chest. Something soft and wanting that I'd spent eight years trying to kill.
"Have dinner with me," he said. "There's a new place in Kensington. French. Only twelve seats. I had to call in three favors to get a reservation."
"Tonight?"
"Unless you have other plans."
I should have said no. I should have said I was busy, that Milan was consuming me, that I didn't have time for restaurants and bracelets and the way he was looking at me.
"Fine," I heard myself say. He grinned, kissed my cheek, and strolled out of the room.
Naomi approached slowly, her expression unreadable. She looked at the bracelet, then at my face, then back at the bracelet.
"He's trying very hard," she said finally.
"I know."
"Is it working?"
I looked down at the diamonds glittering on my wrist. I thought about the restaurant with no sign. The forehead kiss. The daily texts that never demanded anything, just offered.
"I don't know," I admitted. "Maybe."
Naomi nodded slowly. "Just be careful, Isa. Grand gestures are easy. It's the small stuff that matters."
The helicopter was real. Of course, it was. Femi didn't do anything by halves.
We lifted off from a private helipad in Battersea as the sun began its descent. London spread beneath us, a glittering tapestry of light and shadow. I watched the city shrink until it was just a smudge of gold against the darkening sky.
"Worth it?" Femi asked, leaning close to be heard over the rotors.
"I'm reserving judgment."
"Liar. You love it."
I did love it. I hated that he knew me so well.
The restaurant was a converted farmhouse in the middle of rolling green hills. We landed in a field, actual sheep scattering at our arrival, and walked through a garden that smelled like lavender and rosemary to a door that looked like it hadn't been opened in a century.
Inside was another world. Stone walls, candlelight, a fire crackling in an enormous hearth. We were the only diners. Femi had booked the entire place.
"This is absurd," I said, settling into a chair that probably cost more than my first car.
"It’s just another Saturday." He poured wine—something French, old, excellent. "You deserve absurd, Isabelle. You work harder than anyone I know."
"I enjoy plenty of rewards."
"Name one. Something that isn't work-related."
I opened my mouth. Closed it.
