“Yes. And I don’t have the only method, though mine has proven highly successful, but I think the way I go about it works. It also helps to have a disinterested party involved who doesn’t have their heart in it. That’s me. I help people think things through rationally. I set rules so that physical lust doesn’t cloud everything else, doesn’t create a false euphoria.”
“And why don’t you apply it to yourself?”
She laughed. “Because. First of all, I can’t be my own disinterested party. Second, I don’t have the energy or the desire to do it again. I had one big white wedding and I do not intend to do it again.”
“Yet you watch other people do it. Get married, I mean.”
“Yes. But I find that it … helps. It’s restored my faith in humanity a little bit.”
The corner of his lip lifted in a sneer. “Was your ex that bad?”
She shook her head slowly. “Sometimes people change, and they change together. Sometimes one person changes. And the other person can’t handle it.”
It had been her. She’d changed. Her body had changed. And it had altered everything the marriage was built on. Their dreams for the future. It had been too much.
“You’re selling the institution so well,” he said dryly. He punched the intercom button on the limo divider. “Stop us at Gio’s.” He let up on the button.
“I’m not trying to sell you the institution. You have to get married.”
“True.”
“And most people who come to me want marriage, or need it for some reason. My personal story, just one of a sad, all too common statistic, will hardly dissuade them. And I’ll admit, most of them don’t bother to ask about my personal life.”
“I find that hard to believe,” he said, as the limo slowed and turned onto a narrow road that wound up a hillside.
“Do you?”
“You’re interesting. Your clothes for example—interesting. The things that come out of your mouth, also interesting. You beg to have questions asked of you.”
“You would be in the minority in that opinion.”
“Again, I find it hard to believe.”
“I’m very boring. I have a house in North Dakota. I grew up there. Obviously, I don’t work with many billionaires, royalty or socialites in North Dakota. I do a lot of work online, and I travel a lot. I’d say my house is empty at least eight months out of the year. I live alone. Can’t have a cat because … well, the traveling. So that’s me.”
“You skipped a lot.”
“Did I?”
He leaned in, his head turned to the side. Sort of like how a man looked right before he kissed a woman. If she could even remember back that far, to when she’d experienced anything close to it. “You didn’t tell me why you’re so prickly.”
She leaned in a fraction. “And I don’t intend to. Stop flirting with me.”
“Am I flirting with you?”
“I think so.” If he wasn’t that was just too horrifying.
“I can’t help it. You’re beautiful.”
She swallowed. “Look, I know women melt at your feet and all, but I have a job to do, so best you leave me unmelted, okay?”
He leaned back, his lips curving into a smile. “But you’re in danger of melting.”
She was afraid she might be. “No. Sorry.”
He chuckled and settled back in his seat.
The limo stopped in front of a small, whitewashed building that was set into the side of a mountain. The building was tiny, but the deck was expansive, filled with round tables, most occupied by diners. The tables overlooked the beach, with strings of white lights running overhead.
“Ready?” he asked.
She nodded and put her beer in a cupholder. He got out of the car before her and opened her door. “Isn’t your driver supposed to do that?” she asked.
He shook his head. “I always open the door when I accompany a woman.”
“Another one for your file,” she said.
“I’m not sure whether I’m nervous or aroused at the talk of this file. Makes me feel like I’m in trouble, which leads to the same conflicting feelings.”
Heat flooded her cheeks, her stomach. “That’s inappropriate.”
“You’re the only one who can make jokes?”
“No … but I didn’t make any that were that bad.”
“BA? Bedroom Activities?”
“That was serious!” she sputtered as they walked into the restaurant.
“Prince Stavros.” A maître d’ walked to the door quickly, her willingness to serve the prince obvious, as was the blush staining her cheeks. “I wasn’t aware you were coming today.”
He winked. “I’m being spontaneous.”
“Of course,” the woman said. “Your usual table is available. Shall I bring you your usual dinner? For … two?”
Jessica opened her mouth to correct the woman’s assumption, but Stavros cut her off.
“That will do nicely. I can show us to my table.”
He led the way through the indoor dining area, and heads turned as they passed. Stavros had a sort of effortless charisma that poured from him, touching everyone who saw him. She could imagine, so easily, the kind of woman he would need.
One who could match his ease. His strength. Someone to create the perfect image for Kyonos. Someone to carry on the bloodline and keep it strong.
She swallowed a strange, unexpected lump in her throat.
They exited the dining room through two glass doors that led out to the deck. There were only a few scattered tables out there, each partly shrouded by draping fabric hung from a wooden frame built over the porch.
Stavros held her chair out for her and she sat, looking out at the view of the ocean, because it was much safer than looking at the man sitting across from her. She wasn’t sure why. She had meetings with male clients, and very often they were lunch or dinner meetings, in very nice restaurants.
But being with them didn’t evoke this same strange faux-date feel that being with Stavros did. It was that darned attraction.
She opened her purse and pulled out her iPad. “So, I know we were going to talk about specific women to have come to your sister’s wedding.”
“Were
