Page 43 of Roses are Royal

Walking into the kitchen, I don’t find Dante, which means he must be in the dining room already. What I don’t expect to find is the beautiful table setup Dante has laid out when I enter the dining room.

He has the formal place settings out, two long-stemmed candles lit in the gold vintage candlestick holders I found in an antique shop with intricate carvings placed in the center of the custom-built live-edge and resin table, bracketing the largest bouquet of deep red roses in a crystal vase. The lights have been dimmed to match the ambiance, and soft classical music plays in the background. I am now insanely glad I kept this dress on for tonight because I would’ve felt very out of place in my normal dinner attire of leggings and a T-shirt. Dante has really gone all out.

“Dante.” Stunned by this unexpected turn of events, his name is all I can say at this moment as I continue to take in my surroundings and lock eyes with the man who put it all together.

“Rose,” Dante mimics, but his use of my name, combined with the small smirk on his face, tells me this is exactly the reaction he was hoping for. And possibly why he seemed so eager for me to come down to dinner.

“This, everything.” I gesture around with my hands. “It’s beautiful. I’m speechless.”

“You, Belladonna, could never be speechless.”

And now he’s messing around with me? And was that a joke? Be still my heart.

“You know what I mean, Dante. I’m trying to compliment you, sir,” I add in mock annoyance but can’t hide my smile. This might be the most thoughtful thing someone has ever done for me, and he is my client. We aren’t even dating —we aren’t even...anything—yet.

“Thank you, Belladonna. And I know nightshades are your favorite, but when I saw these roses, they made me think of you, and I couldn't resist. Now, would you like some wine to start? I’ve also prepared the ingredients for espresso martinis, but I thought those would pair best with dessert.”

Mouth open. Jaw on the floor. Mr. Whiskey Neat is going to make me an espresso martini? And was thinking about me earlier when he bought the flowers? Oh god, is he about to fire me? Is this how he lets me down easy? I don’t think I’ve done anything wrong with the work, and if anything, I’ve kept the project under budget, which is a feat for me, considering my expensive taste. Maybe he wants me to finally get a different place to stay while I’m here? And this is just a final dinner before he sends me off. Am I attending my own personal Last Supper? Jesus! Is he going to kill me? Well, not Jesus, because if this is my Last Supper, then I guess that makes me Jesus, and I am about to die. Why on earth is that where my brain goes immediately? Being fired and then death? It’s just a drink and some flowers... Chill out, Ro.

“Rose.” From Dante’s tone and volume, I’m guessing that isn’t the first time he said my name. “Where did that brain of yours just take you? I assumed you liked espresso martinis, but based on the crease of your brow and the frown on your face, maybe I was mistaken. Or is it the flowers?”

“Oh shit, sorry. No.”

“No, you don’t like espresso martinis?”

“Jesus, no! Not that! I looooove espresso martinis. Really anything with coffee or caffeine, but espresso martinis happen to be my favorite. And the flowers are absolutely gorgeous, but you shouldn’t have gone to all the trouble.” Maybe it would be best if Dante killed me tonight before I die of mortification.

“Good, I’m glad. Please sit, and I’ll pour us both some wine. I think we could both use it,” he adds with a wink, somehow knowing my brain just went full spiral on me.

“Wine sounds perfect, thank you. I can’t get over how beautiful this room looks right now, all set up for dinner. You must give me the name of your designer. She did a spectacular job.” Now my face is in a full beaming smile, and I wink to break the tension.

“Yes, she is truly one of a kind.” Dante is looking directly into my eyes and responds with no trace of humor and only sincerity in his voice, ensuring I hear the compliment for how he intended it.

Blushing, I cover the need for a response by taking a sip of the wine that Dante hands me. Well, shit, this is delicious too. Maybe I can sneak a picture of the bottle when he isn’t looking so I can buy some when I’m back in the city.

“So, what’s for dinner? It smells amazing!” There, good job, Ro. That is a very normal thing to say and a good segue to safer topics of discussion. I give myself a mental pat on the back because giving myself an actual pat on the back right now would definitely be weird. Right?

“I made braised lamb shank with roasted asparagus and garlic mashed potatoes. I hope everything is to your liking.”

Letting out an audible groan of satisfaction, I say, “If this actually is my Last Supper, at least I’ll die happy,” before I can catch myself and realize I just said my internal thoughts out loud. Face, meet palm.

“Your last supper? What are you talking about?” Dante looks very confused and rightfully so. He wasn’t privy to the internal monologue spiral I just had.

“Oh, it’s just a saying of mine. Ignore me.” I fake laugh to cover the cringe I feel inside and wave my hand as if I could erase what just happened.

“Impossible.”

“What?” Now I’m confused.

“It would be impossible to ignore you.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, oh. Now, hand me your plate, and I will grab our food.”

“Yes, sir.” Why do I keep calling him sir? New kink unlocked? I need to stop. First Daddy and now sir? I think I’ve read too many romance novels, and they are taking over my brain.

Once Dante returns with our plates of food, I immediately cut into the lamb shank, and of course it is tender and cooked to perfection. It has a red wine and tart cherry glaze on it, and I let out a moan of satisfaction as soon as the taste hits my tongue. I look up to see if Dante noticed, and his eyes are locked on mine. Wait, no, not on my eyes but on my mouth.