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OKAY, TO START, I DON’T think a ‘good New York’ dinner came anywhere close to this. We were on a whole different playing field.
When I got to the restaurant that Dylan had chosen that evening, there was no record of a reservation anywhere. But just as I was pulling out my phone to text him, a gentleman in all white with wavy black hair and dark eyes appeared from nowhere. He hurried forward to make my acquaintance.
“Mrs. Murphy?”
He had a thick French accent.
“Um...” I tentatively accepted his gloved hand. “Yes, that’s me.”
“I’m Jean-Christophe Novelli.”
My jaw dropped. “Are you that French celebrity chef?”
“Oui. If you’ll just follow me, your table is ready and waiting.”
“Oh...thank you.”
I glanced anxiously around the packed lobby as the handsome gentleman escorted me gracefully through the throngs of hungry masses to an elevator in the back. People called out his name and pointed. One woman even took pictures on her phone.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” I breathed as he pressed the button.
He looked over with a courteous smile. “You’re going to have an unbelievable meal.”
“I’m in awe,” I said quickly, following him inside. “Nobody back home is going to believe this.”
He grinned. “They will if we take a selfie.”
I laughed. “Really?”
“Absolutely.”
I took out my phone and we took a picture together.
“Thanks!”
“Anytime, Mrs. Murphy.”
My pulse started racing the second the doors closed, and I smoothed down my dress with anxious, trembling hands. This was not the sort of thing I was used to doing. Escorted through a crowd to a secret elevator in the back of New York’s fanciest restaurant by a celebrity chef.
For that matter, this was not the sort of thing I was used to wearing.
At first, I’d thought Dylan’s secretary was just trying to be mean. Re-directing her rage at being shouted down by selecting something I couldn’t possibly wear out in public. But upon closer examination, the tiny sapphire dress was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.
It was made of the finest French silk—cut to look almost like a slip, although it hugged around my body in a flattering way. The sleeves were caps of delicate lace, and since the whole thing stopped just an inch or two above my thighs, she had taken the liberty of purchasing me a stylish trench coat as well. The heels, at least, were something I had experience with—although they were still some of the tallest I’d ever worn.
“Do you...do this a lot?” I asked conversationally, patting nervously at my dark tresses.
“Me? Oh no!” The man chuckled again, setting me strangely at ease despite his mid-seventeenth century attire. “I don’t work here.”
I paused. “You...don’t work here?” Oh—Dylan was angry after all. He’d hired this charming little parliamentarian to dispatch of me, I chuckled inwardly.
“No, my dear. Mr. Murphy flew me out here for a benefit yesterday and I was supposed to leave this afternoon for Paris. But then he asked me if I could stay for one more night to make a very special lady happy. How could I say no?”
“Thank you.” My mind spun, trying to keep track of everything as a bell chimed and the lift slowed to a stop.
“Are you ready to reach for the stars?” he asked. When I cocked a brow, he pointed upward. “Welcome to the rooftop.”
We stepped out, and I glanced around. A sea of tiny white rose petals traced a path from the door to a table—a solitary circle draped in sheets of silk. More flowers and low-burning candles dotted the arrangement, and four panels of sheer gauze were draped around it to create a room-like feel. The smells drifting off of it were delicious, even from here, and a tray of chocolate-covered strawberries and champagne lay ready and waiting.
“This is amazing,” I breathed out.
He walked me over to the fancy table. Above, dimmed string lights hung at random heights, so they swayed softly throughout the space. I stared at all the overhanging fairy lights strung across all kinds of greenery. The place was dripping with those little twinkle lights, and nothing was more romantic than this. There were candles, fancy linens, flowers, and fine china.
“Hello, Rose,” Dylan said.
“Dylan!” I said. “This is absolutely amazing!”
While I couldn’t have felt any more out of place, dressed up like a doll, he wore his tuxedo like a second skin—like some foreign prince or the son of a Prime Minister. His hair fell stylishly into his face, and there was an undeniable grace in the way he maneuvered his body through the stacks of cutlery.
As he breezed toward me, I couldn’t help but wonder where he learned it. We’d been raised in a town with one traffic light. How, in the brief years between then and now, had he somehow transformed into a movie star.
He extended his arms with a wide smile. “Welcome to New York City.”
I grinned.
“Come on,” he said, taking me by the hand, “our dinner awaits.”
It may have been a rooftop patio before Dylan’s secret team started on it, but it didn’t come close to resembling that now. The lights were my favorite part! They weren’t the big, awkward Christmas tree lights I was used to. They were each about the size of a pin—sparkling in huge clusters that stretched from the tiled floor all the way up to the sky. They created a beautiful glow around the entire rooftop, and from the second we set foot outside, the whole host of them seemed to settle in our eyes.
We had a waiter take a few pics of us. And they turned out adorable! I would post them to social media later.
“I don’t...” my voice was breathless with surprise, “I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything.” Dylan kissed me softly on the cheek before guiding me to my chair. “You just have to enjoy it.”
As he settled down into his own seat, I tried to pull myself together. I had come here with an agenda—I remembered that much. A solitary purpose: to cut and run—make a clean break and get back home where I belonged.
The thing is...it was really hard to remember all that under the glow of all these lights.
“You met Chef Novelli on the way in?” he asked, that dazzling smile taking my breath away.
“Yes, he’s charming.”
Dylan grinned as he poured the champagne.
“Chef Novelli is one of the most sought after chefs in Paris. He’s a skilled master of the highest ranked French cuisine. And today...I had him make something a little different.” With a grand flourish, he pulled off the lids to the servings plates, releasing a small cloud of steam.
My mouth fell open into a huge grin.
It was a Tennessee feast!
Whipped yams, scorched artichokes, and chicken fried steak. As if that wasn’t enough, there was even a sweet potato pie—my childhood favorite.
“You made a French chef prepare all of this?” I giggled in delight—unable to picture it. I had automatically feared the worst and braced for snails. Dylan dipped a serving spoon into the nearest dish, dolloping a generous helping onto my plate. I froze with the fork halfway to my mouth.
“Dylan...” I set down the utensils and stared intently into his eyes. How did I say it? How did I even put it into words? “You know you never have to do anything to impress me. You never have. It’s just...you.”
For a moment, he seemed incapable of words. He just stared back at me in the soft light, a million things dancing behind his eyes.
“Nobody has ever done anything like this for me,” I said. “I’m beyond impressed.”
“You deserve this and more, Rose.”
I twirled my spoon playfully between my fingers. “I should’ve tracked you down years ago.”
He laughed.
I took my first bite and the food literally melted in my mouth. “It’s fantastic,” I said. “Absolutely delicious.”
“Best chicken ever,” he said.
We chatted over dinner and champagne and talked about everything. The conversation never went dead. We were already friends so we felt comfortable with each other. He told me college stories, and I told him stories about veterinary school, then about my practice.
“After x-rays, I could see objects in the cat’s stomach. The woman told me I was crazy. When I removed twenty-five red, blue, yellow, and black elastic hair bands, she finally believed me that her cat chowed down on rubber bands.”
He chuckled.
The wait staff was summoned and removed our plates with smiles, leaving us to feast on champagne and dessert. Before long, we were down two bottles and stuffed to the brim—laughing loudly at the events of the day.
“This is the best stuff ever,” he said, scraping the whipped cream off his final piece.
“It’s delightful,” I grinned, watching his thoughtful process. “I can’t believe you don’t eat the cream—it’s the best part.”
“Take it.”
“What are we—twelve? I’m not taking your whip cream, Dylan.”
He scooped it onto his spoon and reached across the table. “Then I’m afraid it’s going to go all over your face.”
“You wouldn’t—”
Turned out, he would. Just like we used to do when we were kids!
“Dylan!” I shrieked, wiping myself off with a napkin as he roared with laughter. I tossed what little of it was left over the table, spraying his tux with a grim sort of satisfaction. But my new trench coat was ruined, and I stood up to take it off with a sigh.
He stopped laughing immediately as I slipped it from my shoulders, revealing the tiny sapphire dress underneath. For the second time that night, he was momentarily speechless. I settled down in my chair with a hidden smirk, sweeping my hair off my shoulders with casual nonchalance.
He shot me a sexy smile. “What the hell are you wearing?”
I looked up innocently. “What...this?” My fingers fiddled with the edges of the neckline like I was pondering the question myself. “I don’t know, I just—”
“Seriously, Rose. What is that?”
I dropped the innocent act at once, bewildered by his angry tone.
“You said it was a formal dinner—”
“So you wear...” he couldn’t seem to come up with a word for it, only a gesture, “that?!”
My blood rose hot in my veins. “What the heck is wrong with my dress?”
“Everything! Rose—are you kidding me?!”
“What are you talking about?!” I cried. “It’s a perfectly legitimate—”
“I want more than friendship! And then you wear that?”
The words echoed over the suddenly quiet table. I swear, they could hear them on the street below. My mouth fell open in shock, more stung than I would have believed.
“We were supposed to do this,” Dylan ran his hands back through his hair, “this platonic thing—and then you wear that dress?!”
“I dress to impress,” I shot back, as lost in the argument as he was, but just as passionate.
“A dinner is one thing, but that dress?!”
“Your assistant bought me this dress! You told her to!” I cried in exasperation. “All my clothes got sent to Bangkok, and the outfit I was wearing got ruined by the hobgoblins of this wretched little town! All I have left is the dress!”
There was a moment of silence, and then—
“Hobgoblins? Who talks like that?!”
Maybe I had been spending a little too much time with Tommy...
“Oh, leave me alone,” I muttered, grinning in spite of myself. But then my eyes caught my reflection in the champagne glass, and I dropped my head into my hands with a sigh. “What the hell are we doing here, Dylan? This is more than reminiscing.”
He stopped laughing at once, and his face turned abruptly serious. He thought about it for a moment, then bowed his head as well—staring down at the table.
“I don’t know,” he murmured.
The man who knew everything, the man who basically ran this city...I’d just asked him the one question he didn’t know.
“I came here today...” I tried, before shaking my head. “I don’t know why I came here today. I don’t know what I was going to tell you, other than I don’t see how this can work. I can’t put my practice on hold indefinitely, and I can literally see the top of one of your billboards as we speak. Your place is obviously here.”
“It’s just for a year,” he said softly, looking up at me for the first time. “I’ll do anything that you decide—you know that—but I know exactly what this inheritance means to you. And not just the finances—the principle of the thing.” His eyes grew abruptly thoughtful as they stared into mine. “I want to do that for you, Rose. This is just for a year. We can make it work.”
I bit my lower lip, staring pensively into the candles.
“You know, the man downstairs called me Mrs. Murphy?”
A strange look passed across Dylan’s face before he cleared it with a smile. “Weird?”
“So weird,” I laughed shortly, “even though I guess it’s true.”
Dylan didn’t say anything—he just watched me talk it out.
“And then earlier, at your office...I was surprised.” I glanced up almost shyly. “That you confessed I was your wife.”
He smiled in surprise. “Confessed it? Like it’s some sort of crime?” His eyes swept over me, and he couldn’t help but add, “Like you’re something that anyone would ever want to hide?”
I felt my skin blush in the soft light. “Well, I don’t know how it’s going to affect your company, or—”
“Let me worry about that,” he interrupted, lightening the mood abruptly as he poured us more champagne. “For now, I just want you to enjoy New York and everything it has to offer.”
I wanted that too. I really did. But these problems weren’t going to go away on their own.
“But we still haven’t—”
“Rose, I don’t know how to say this...”
He stared into the flames for a moment, lost in thought. When he finally spoke, his voice was so soft, I could hardly hear.
“You’re so worried about people calling you my wife... I’m not at all worried about people calling me your husband.”
A single tear ran down my cheek. I didn’t know where it came from, or why. Maybe it was the altitude or the champagne. Or maybe it was the glow of the city lights.
“Okay,” I finally said, nodding with sudden determination.
He lifted his eyes tentatively to my face. “Okay?”
“Okay—I’ll stay here for a while, try it out.” Even as I said it, my mind started spinning with a million different plans. I’d have to figure out something for the dogs, and the practice, and see if there were weekend flights back so I could see Tommy and baby...
The list was never-ending!
“I’ll have to go back and get some clothes,” I said.
“I’ll buy you new ones.”
I grinned. “Afraid I won’t come back?”
“I’m never letting you go,” he said.
“I don’t want to complicate your life.”
“Rose,” his eyes twinkled with a huge grin, “it’s...it’s no trouble.”
It’s no trouble. Biggest understatement of the year.
Quite the contrary—the look in Dylan’s eyes promised nothing but trouble. A trouble that could suck me into his world forever...if I let it.
“Well, in that case,” I stood up suddenly, picking up my whip cream-covered coat, “I’ve got to go.” I shook it out over the patio.
“What are you talking about?” Dylan stood up as well, frowning in confusion. “Where are you going to go?”
“I have to find a hotel,” I said practically. “It’s getting late, and I don’t know what place around here would still have a room for me.”
“Stay with me.”
I stopped cold, my arms halfway into the jacket.
“I’m sorry...what?”
He shrugged his shoulders like it was the most natural thing in the world. “You’re technically my wife—we’re doing this whole thing to convince people that our marriage is legitimate. Why wouldn’t you stay with me?”
“Well, that’s...blurring an awfully big line, isn’t it?” I said bluntly.
He paused a moment, before giving me a little wink.
“I can control myself if you can.”
My heart started pounding away in my chest like it was determined to break out of there once and for all. No—I didn’t think I could. But that was a problem for another day.
“Dylan, I don’t want to impose.”
“Nonsense!” He slipped my arm through his and began leading me away. “If I had known it was possible to drag you out to visit, I would have married you a long time ago.”
“I just don’t...” I pulled him to a stop and spun him around to face me.
Big mistake. That face charmed and disarmed me before I could even begin, and I found myself closing my eyes to summon clarity to my thoughts.
“It’s just a lot, you know? We’re married, and now we’re moving in?”
“Actually, it seems to me like the natural progression of things. We’ll just have to slip dating in there somewhere and then we’re good to go.”
“Dylan.”
He finally sobered up, taking me seriously by the hand.
“Stay as long as you want. A day, a week, a month. The whole year, for all I care. You may technically be my wife, Rose, but you’re also one of my oldest friends. That’s real.”
I shook my head and stared up into his beautiful eyes.
“Why are you making this so hard?” I murmured.
He flashed me a devilish grin.
“I’m simply making you an offer.”
“No pressure behind it?”
“No pressure.”
He squeezed my hands with another one of his coaxing smiles, and I shook my head with a grin. “Fine. I guess we’re...moving in. On a day to day basis,” I reiterated. “No pressure.”
He held up his hands. “None.”
With that, we headed back to the elevator, leaving the magical rooftop behind.
“Although I’ve got the head of the National Guard on speed dial. He promised me he’d close the airports if tonight didn’t go well...”
Like I said. Trouble.