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“DOES THIS MAKE ME LOOK too sexy?” I asked with concern, tilting my head this way and that as I looked in the mirror.
The red silk clung to me like a second skin, dipping down low where I wanted it to and making itself scarce just beneath my thighs. I’d selected the perfect shade of lipstick to match, pairing it with the slightest touch of gold shimmer above my eyes. And while it had all come together perfectly in my head, I was worried the end result was a bit...forward.
“You look gorgeous,” Rose said absentmindedly, shoving me out of the way so she could put in her earrings. “Not that I understand why you care...”
She had gone for a dress of deep sapphire blue—something that perfectly complimented her wide, luminous eyes. Her black hair was swept half off of her shoulders, while what remained fell in little spirals down her bare back. I’d like to say that she’d made just as concerted an effort as me, but in reality, she’d probably just slipped on the dress and put her hair up in a claw—such was the way with Rose.
“A horn honked from the street and she rolled her eyes. “Impatient little things, aren’t they?” She grabbed her purse and started heading to the door, but I caught her wrist on the way.
“Rose...” I began imploringly, giving her my best do-me-a-favor smile, “go easy on Michael. I told you, that whole kiss thing was a big mistake. We’ve both put it behind us, and to be honest, he’s been an invaluable friend to me in my first months here.” Her eyes narrowed skeptically, but I pressed ahead. “Please...for me?”
She studied me for another second, before shaking her head with a sigh. “Fine. But I still hate Tom.”
There was no avoiding that one.
“Understood.”
“Now can we please go? I’m sure they’re double-parked...the idiots...”
I cleared my throat sharply.
“I mean...your invaluable friend.”
Both men were looking as dazzling as ever in tuxedoes when we got to the car. Michael had hopped out the moment we stepped out onto our front porch, hurrying around the side to open the door before Rose could touch it.
“See, that’s what I mean—he’s desperate,” she groaned into my ear as we walked down the front steps.
“He’s sweet,” I corrected. “And he’s not desperate, Rose, he’s one of the most eligible bachelors in the world.”
“A player... And I won’t be played.”
“Just give him a chance...”
“Fine,” she growled, “but only because we’re friends.”
As we neared the car, she flashed a bright smile Michael’s way. He was temporarily stunned—returning it in full force with a beaming one of his own.
“You look beautiful tonight, Miss Bell,” he said respectfully.
She stared at him for what felt like a split second too long before she finally said, “It’s Rose. And thank you, Michael—you look rather handsome yourself.”
As we climbed into the car, Michael gave me a silent high five.
Tom’s eyes widened as he saw my dress (all two and a half feet of it), before he deliberately angled himself to look away, staring fixedly out the opposite window.
“Hello Thomas,” Rose said cordially. “We missed you at the staff meeting this morning.”
“Yes, I was in a meeting with my father,” he said stiffly. I flashed him a look, and he softened and gave her a bit of a smile. “You girls look lovely this evening.”
“Thank you,” I smiled sweetly, “and yes—we missed you this morning. I can’t remember the last time we actually spoke... At lunch, was it?”
His eyes narrowed at my teasing, and Michael bit back a smile.
“Yes, at lunch—when your friend ordered me that delicious squid.” He flashed her another faint grin, before double tapping the glass to get us moving.
A second later, we were racing down the street to Bello. Unlike the first time I’d eaten in that restaurant—when I’d had kissed Tom on the roof—the four of us had a private table inside, nestled away in the back where no one could disturb us. The moment we sat down, the manager appeared, flanked by three waiters, carrying two bottles of wine each. After giving us the highlights of each bottle (each two thousand dollar bottle, I might add), the manager turned to Tom and Michael for instructions.
Kicking Tom’s automatic response quiet under the table, Michael turned instead to Rose.
“What do you think, Rose?” he asked nervously. “Anything, in particular, sound good?”
Her eyes sparkled as they met his across the table. “I don’t know—why don’t we try them all?”
“How about you pick one, princess,” I muttered under my breath. “That’s twelve thousand dollars on wine.” But Rose only had eyes for Michael—pushing him playfully to the limits, seeing how far he was willing to go.
Clearly, Rose didn’t yet know Michael. His eyes gleamed as he accepted the challenge without a second thought, nodding to the manager who left all six bottles on the table. She flashed him a little smile, pulling the nearest one toward her.
Tom, though happy for his brother’s success, glanced at her frostily. “Anything, in particular, strike you about all the vintages so you had to try?” he asked coolly.
“Actually, I don’t really drink wine,” she lied easily, tilting the bottle her way to examine it in the light. “I just liked the picture of the horse on this one.”
I rolled my eyes and kicked her under the table while Tom looked absolutely scandalized. Michael, however, threw back his head with a sparkling laugh that echoed throughout the tiny room. It was free and unrestrained, finally a glimpse of the real Michael, instead of the nervous dork he usually turned to in front of Rose. She leaned forward, intrigued.
“Is that right?” he asked, uncorking the horse bottle.
She shrugged coquettishly, finally starting to enjoy herself. “I could stand to try it.”
“Well then by all means,” he poured her a generous helping, “allow me.”
The dinner that followed blew our awkward lunch out of the water. Dare I say, that by the time the dessert course rolled around, the four of us were actually having fun. Four bottles of wine were already empty on the table before us, and we were already well into the fifth.
“Okay, so, first kiss,” I slurred drunkenly, gripping onto Tom’s leg beneath the table for support. Our refined dinner conversation had quickly digressed into a drunken adult version of ‘drink or spill.’ “I’ll go first—mine was with Tommy Moreto, fourth grade, he tricked me into meeting him beneath the monkey bars then planted one right on my mouth. Which was wide open, by the way.” The table laughed as I blushed furiously. “Not remotely romantic.”
“Really?” Tom asked with a wicked grin as the others launched into questions of their own. “Your first kiss was with a guy named Tom?”
“What can I say?” I muttered under my breath. “Can’t kick the habit...”
“What about you, Michael?” Rose asked, peering seductively from beneath her eyelashes.
“Me...?” His sunny face suddenly blanched. “I actually don’t want to talk about it. I’ll drink.”
He took a huge swig of wine, but the rest of the table erupted in anger.
“No—you have to tell us!” I insisted.
“Michael, come on, please?” Rose implored.
He held up his hands. “I’m drinking instead. That’s the game, right? Spill or drink?”
Tom chuckled quietly. “Just do it, Mike. It’s a funny story.”
Michael sighed. “Fine—but you can’t laugh. Do you promise?” He looked expectantly around the table and we all nodded solemnly, already trying to bite back our smiles. He sighed again. “My first kiss...was with Prince Harry. But it wasn’t what you think—”
His explanation was immediately drowned out by an explosion of laughter. I fell back against my chair, covering my face and gasping into my hands while Rose literally had tears in her eyes as she tried to pull herself together.
Michael glared. “Way to not laugh. Really. Congratulations.”
Tom patted him sympathetically on the back while Rose said, “Okay, so how did that end up happening? How old were you anyways?”
He ran his hands back through his hair, looking very sorry for himself. “I was six. We were playing one of those spin the bottle games, except we were blindfolded. We both thought we were kissing Princess Madeleine of Sweden, but it ended up being each other.”
We erupted in fresh laughter, and he traced with his knife on the tablecloth, looking sullen.
“Yeah, Will and all them thought it was really funny back then too...”
That just made it worse. Even Tom joined in this time. Rose half collapsed on the table, covering her face with a napkin, and Michael finally looked up with a rueful grin.
“By the way, that’s all way off the record, Bell,” he warned. “And what about you? Who was the first person that Little-Miss-Perfect over here kissed?”
She straightened up and pulled together a perfect poker face. “No one. I swear on my life I’ve never been kissed.”
This got almost as much laughter as Michael’s Prince Harry story. Our table was starting to attract attention from the rest of the restaurant—thank goodness they’d put us in our own room.
It seemed Rose had forgotten all about her profiles. I don’t think I heard her ask one question regarding work. At one point, she actually let down her hair, slipping the claw into her purse as she leaned forward over her plate of tiramisu to hear whatever Michael was saying. I watched with a secret smile as they angled closer and closer to each other throughout the course of the meal, so that by the end of it, their knees were touching under the table. As I saw Rose toss back her hair with a sparkling smile, Michael’s hand resting softly on her shoulder as he leaned in to whisper into her ear, I felt confident that she was no longer pretending. In fact, I’d say she was getting a bit smitten herself.
Most importantly...this also gave Tom and me plenty of secret, shared moments when no one was looking. The more absorbed Michael and Rose became in each other, the more Tom was able to inconspicuously pull our chairs together. We talked softly, laughing and making eyes at each other, as his hand slid farther and farther up my leg under the table.
He had just reached the top of my thigh, when Michael suddenly said, “Let’s get out of here and go back to my place.”
I jumped up guiltily, and Tom pulled his hand away as we turned to see the other two watching us. Everything about our behavior screamed ‘caught in the act,’ but for once, both Rose and Michael were too carried away to notice it. At this point in the evening, they only had eyes for each other, and when Michael offered we move the party back uptown, she nodded discreetly behind his head to get my approval.
“Well then, I’ll just get the check...” I said lightly.
The entire table turned to me before dissolving in laughter once more. Although Michael had promised Tom and me that dinner was on him, he was clearly far too wrapped up in Rosalie to remember. As she took his hand and pulled him to his feet, he called to Tom over his shoulder.
“Hey, man—can you get this for me? I’ll get the next one...”
The next second, they were out the door.
Tom and I looked from the check to each other, before laughing ourselves.
“Do you kind of feel like we just chaperoned a date?” I asked between giggles.
Tom shook his head as he picked up the check. “You’re way too hot to be a chaperone. In fact, it was rather inconsiderate of you to wear something like that when you knew we were going to be out in public.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” I said with a sarcastic little grin.
“You should be—but you’ll pay for it later.”
A spread of goosebumps shot up my arm as he glanced at the bill. “Fourteen thousand dollars.” He shook his head and slipped his card inside. “Only flipping Michael...”
“You’re a good brother.” I patted his shoulder and walked out to join the others.
The cab ride back turned out to be just as fun as the restaurant. By now, all four of us were significantly drunk, and before we knew what we were doing, we were sticking our heads out the limo and screaming like a bunch of touristy teenagers. People on the sidewalks laughed and cheered, and by the time we got to Michael’s penthouse, we’d amassed a bit of a following.
“Thank you, thank you,” Michael said routinely, waving his arm to the adoring crowd as we clambered onto the sidewalk and headed into the lobby. “We’re here all week.”
We weaved through the star-studded crowd and made our way to the elevator in back, riding it up to the top floor.
“So you actually live in the hotel,” Rose asked in amused disbelief. She was openly flirting now, indifferent to who saw. And Michael...was he was clearly on cloud nine.
“Well, the City of New York refused me a housing permit,” he admitted, watching with the rest of us as the numbers lit to the top. “And then there’s the whole room service thing...”
The doors dinged open and we wandered inside, laughing drunkenly all the while.
“But seriously, Rose,” he was saying, “wait until you see this view—”
“Michael?”
The four of us turned as one first to the kitchen, then to the stairs as we successfully found the voice that had spoken. My heart fell when I saw her.
Tatiana. Michael’s beautiful, eastern European yoga instructor.
She looked as surprised to see us as we were to see her. Stunning, as always, she was eying Michael’s arm circling Rose’s waist with a strange mix of envy and excitement—as if maybe Rose was someone new Michael had brought to play.
Unfortunately, Rose noticed it too, and quickly took a frigid step away. It didn’t help that Tatiana was only wearing a thin robe.
“Tati,” Michael finally recovered himself enough to speak; he was staring up at the stairs, looking pale. “What are you doing here?”
“Well,” she spoke in broken English, “I landed in town a few hours ago, so I came to see you, of course. I missed you, Mikey.”
Either it was jetlag or the language barrier, but she seemed completely oblivious to the obvious tension suddenly emanating from our little group.
Rose took another step away, staring at Michael like he’d run over her cat.
“Rose, I can explain—” he said quickly.
“Rose?” Tatiana repeated hopefully. “Is she to be joining us?”
Without another word, Rosalie swept into the elevator and out of Michael Larchwood’s life forever.
At least, that was the plan...