Page 22 of Crimson Fate
When I called and asked Gia to dinner earlier in the day, I asked if she preferred a certain restaurant. When she named one of the most exclusive Italian restaurants in the city, I instantly knew it was a test. After all, nobody gets in there without making reservations months in advance. I simply replied that I would pick her up at seven and left it at that. I’m sure she thought I would be calling her back to inform her I needed to change the restaurant, but what she doesn’t understand is just how far the King family name reaches in this city. A single phone call and the reservations were confirmed.
I glance at the time and turn toward the elevator, picking up the dozen roses I had secured earlier in the day from the side table. My regular driver is off for the evening, but Marco has agreed to fill in. When I reached the lobby, Walter, the man at the front desk, informs me that Marco wanted him to tell me he would pick me up out front. I exchange mild pleasantries with the man I have known for countless years before exiting.
Marco waits for me at the curb, and I waste no time as I slide into the back seat.
“Looking good, boss,” he says over his shoulder. Marco always called me cuz, that is, until my father’s death. It still feels uncomfortable when he refers to me as boss, and I often find myself fighting the urge to look around for my father when I hear the term.
We move through the city in silence until the black luxury sedan pulls up to Gia’s elegant brownstone. I step out, a portrait of confidence and composure. With the roses in hand, I adjust my cuff links once more before climbing the steps to Gia’s front door.
The door swings open before I have a chance to knock, revealing Gia standing there, a vision of sophistication and allure. Her eyes, a mesmerizing shade of blue, meet mine, and a smile dances across her ruby-red lips.
“Vincent,” she purrs, her voice smooth like silk, “you look very handsome.”
I extend the roses in her direction. “Thank you, Gia. These are for you.”
Her smile widens as she accepts the bouquet, delicately inhaling its sweet fragrance. “How thoughtful of you,” she says, holding the roses close to her chest before turning and placing them on the entry table near the door. “I’ll put them in water as soon as I return.”
“You look absolutely stunning,” I say as I offer her my arm. She wraps her hand around my bicep, and we make our way toward the waiting car. Marco stands outside now, holding open the door for us, and as we settle into the back, I catch a fleeting glimpse of admiration in Gia’s eyes and Marco’s lingering stare at her beauty. I can’t blame him. She is a beautiful woman.
When we arrive at the restaurant, the hostess knows who I am immediately, despite never having met in person. I’m confident the call I made to the owner to secure the reservations has been relayed to her, and they aim to help me impress my date. The restaurant is exactly how I remember it. La Stella Nascosta is a gem tucked away in a street that thrums with the city’s heartbeat yet remains untouched by its chaos.
We are led to a private booth upholstered in deep red velvet, the color of wine and secrets. Around us, the warm glow of candlelight dances off the terracotta walls, casting an amber hue over the tables draped in crisp white linens. The air carries the scent of rosemary and garlic, a promise of the culinary delights to come.
“Would you like something to drink?” the server asks as he hands me a wine list.
“Do you have any preferences?” I ask, though the act feels uncomfortable because I usually make the decisions for my dates.
She smiles. “Surprise me.”
I peruse the extensive wine list, my fingertips tracing the names of prestigious vineyards and vintages. The server hovers patiently as I search for the perfect selection that will complement both the ambience of the evening and the food.
Eventually, my eyes settle on a bold red, a rich blend of Cabernet Sauvignon and Merlot. It’s a wine known for its velvety texture and hints of dark berries—a taste I believe will match Gia’s allure perfectly. I relay my choice to the server, who nods approvingly before disappearing into the depths of the restaurant.
As we wait, Gia leans back against the plush booth, her sparkling eyes gleaming with intrigue. “Vincent,” she says in a low, velvety voice, “I must admit, I didn’t expect you to pull off a reservation here.”
“But here we are,” I respond with a smirk, leaning closer. “Never underestimate the power of the King name.”
Gia chuckles softly, her laughter intertwining with the gentle melodies playing in the background. “Well, you have definitely surprised me.”
The server returns with the bottle of wine, expertly uncorking it and pouring a small amount into my glass. I swivel it gently, watching as the dark red legs run down the sides before taking a sip. The taste dances on my tongue.
“It’s exquisite,” I murmur, raising my glass to toast after they are both filled. Gia joins me, her delicate fingers wrapping around the stem as our glasses clink together.
“To unexpected surprises,” I say, my eyes locked with hers. I then inform her that I have another surprise for her. I have asked the chef to prepare a special tasting menu just for us. It’s one thing to score a table at the last minute, but this is certain to impress her.
Gia’s eyes widen, a mixture of curiosity and excitement dancing within them. “You really know how to make an evening memorable,” she says, her voice laced with anticipation.
A tantalizing aroma fills the air as the server returns, carrying a silver tray adorned with a selection of delicate appetizers. Each dish is a work of art—colorful arrangements of fresh seafood and vibrant vegetables, all expertly plated with precision and care.
The conversation flows effortlessly between Gia and me as we savor the exquisite flavors that grace our palates. As the meal progresses, the wine continues to flow, enhancing the already enchanting atmosphere. The flickering candlelight highlights Gia’s radiant beauty. If I were to be forced into an arranged marriage, it didn’t escape me how fortunate I was for it to be with a woman like Gia.
We exchange stories, each anecdote another brushstroke on the canvas of our burgeoning connection. This banter with her is effortless—like we’re two old friends.
The server interrupts our merriment with plates held aloft, steaming dishes emitting scents that promise pure indulgence. Before us, he sets down a dish of linguine alle vongole, the clams nestled in their pasta bed like pearls. The aroma of garlic and white wine sauce wafts up, mingling with the rustic scent of freshly baked bread sitting in a basket between us.
“Wow,” Gia breathes out, her eyes wide with delight. “This looks incredible.”
The symphony of flavors hits me: the briny sweetness of the clams and the sharpness of the garlic tempered by the buttery smoothness of the sauce. I savor the rich complexity, letting out a low hum of appreciation.