kids, nothing to cook or clean, nothing to wash, and nowhere we had to be.
We could just be us, together.
It’s been a perfect Saturday.
Tristan leads me into the restaurant by the hand. “Hello, Mr. Miles,” says the man at reception.
“Hello, Bill,” he replies. Tristan casually glances over at me, and our eyes lock. He gives me a sexy wink.
My heart somersaults in my chest, and I bite my bottom lip to stifle my over-the-top smile. It’s the strangest feeling. It’s like a heavy dark cloud has been lifted, and happiness is literally beaming out of me.
I can feel myself glowing.
Tristan Miles makes me happy . . . deliriously happy.
We follow the waiter as he leads us through the restaurant to a table for two in the back corner. The restaurant is small and darkened, and candlelight flickers on all of the tables. The waiter pulls out my chair, and we both sit down. “Can I get you something to drink?” he asks.
Tristan opens the wine list. “What do you want, babe?” he asks, distracted.
“I’m easy,” I reply as I go through the choices. Anything will be good, if I’m honest.
“Red?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I’ll have a bottle of the Malbec, please.” He closes the menu.
“Excellent choice, sir. We have a batch from France.”
“Thank you.” He smiles as he passes the menu back. The waiter walks off, and Tristan’s attention comes back to me.
“You come here often?” I ask.
He shrugs. “I used to. Mainly only now when my brother Elliot is in town. Nocello is one of our favorite restaurants in Manhattan. I used to be here a lot more than I am now.”
I smile over at him. “You’re close to Elliot?”
“Yeah, he’s in town this weekend, actually.”
“He is?” I ask, surprised.
“He and Christopher have flown in for an art auction that’s on tomorrow night. I was going to talk to you about it, actually. Do you want to go?”
My eyes widen. “They flew in from London just for an art auction?”
“Yeah,” he replies casually. “They fly around the world for art auctions. Elliot is into collecting art. He has a very impressive portfolio, actually. He started collecting back when we were kids.”
“How do you start collecting art when you are a kid?” I frown.
The waiter returns to the table with our bottle of wine. He pops the cork and pours a little into a glass. He hands it to Tristan, who takes a sip and swooshes it around his mouth like the snob that he is. “Hmm.” He rolls his lips. “That’s lovely. Thank you.”
The waiter then fills our glasses as I smirk over at my rich boy.
He comes from another world than mine. If I ever doubted it before, I know it now.
The waiter leaves us alone, and Tristan’s eyes meet mine. “What?”
“Nothing.” I smile dreamily over at him. “Carry on with your story. How in the hell does someone begin to collect art as a child?”
“Oh.” He breaks into a breathtaking smile. “He bought a picture from a yard sale with his allowance when he was fourteen, and it ended up being very valuable.”
I listen intently.
“Back in college, he would go to the art facility and buy paintings from the art students. He still has them all in storage. He has a real eye for evolving talent.” He sips his wine, as if he has this conversation every day.
“And Christopher?” I ask. “He’s into art too?”
“No, he’s just Elliot’s art wingman. He likes the thrill of the auctions. It’s a game to him.”
I smile into my wineglass. I love hearing the dynamics of his family.
“This auction tomorrow night is a big one.”
“Why is that?” I frown.
“Elliot is obsessed with this artist, has all her paintings that have gone up for auction.”
“Who is she?”
“We have no idea; her name is Harriet Boucher. She’s an older recluse, apparently. We have searched and searched for this woman. She’s been the topic of many a drinking session.”
I smile as I imagine them stalking a reclusive artist. “And you think I’m a weird person.”
He chuckles and sips his wine. “I suppose it does seem weird from the outside.”
“So how . . .” I pause because I don’t know how to articulate what I want to say.
“How what?”
“How was it decided what each of you boys would do in the company?” I shrug. “Like how were the positions given to each of you?”
He frowns and sips his drink, contemplating his answer. “I guess it was based on what we are individually good at.”