Page 9 of Letters From Victor

“Relax. I’m not asking you to run away. Just let me help you indulge in a hobby.” I parked the car in front of Perino’s and turned off the engine.

After a long moment, she looked up at me, her eyes sparkling with determination. “All right. On one condition.”

I raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “And what might that be?”

“That we keep this…arrangement…strictly professional. I’m your secretary, nothing more. I won’t do anything to jeopardize my marriage or my family.” Her voice was firm, unwavering.

I couldn’t help but admire her resolve, even as a part of me bristled at the limitation she was placing on our interactions. “Deal.” I stepped out of the car and walked around the back to open her door for her. She slipped a gloved hand into mine as I helped her out of the car. “Have you ever been to Perino’s before?”

She looked up at the bright white building façade, her hand shielding her eyes from the sun. “Can’t say that I have.”

“Then you’re in for a real treat.”

As we stepped through the heavy wooden doors into Perino’s, the maître d’ greeted me with a deferential bow.

“Mr. Cardello, welcome back!”

“Always a pleasure, Joseph.”

“Your usual table?”

I nodded, lightly placing my hand on the small of Barbara’s back as Joseph led us through the elegant dining room. The warmth of her skin radiated through the thin fabric of her dress, and a slight tremor ran through her at my touch.

Joseph pulled out a chair for Barbara at a secluded table in the back corner. The stark white linen tablecloth gleamed under the soft glow of the chandeliers. I waited for her to be seated before taking my chair across from her.

“Champagne?” Joseph asked me as he draped Barbara’s napkin across her lap.

“Please,” I answered.

“At lunch?” Barbara asked after Joseph left.

I shrugged. “Indulgence, remember?”

Barbara glanced around the opulent dining room, taking in the gold-and-crystal chandeliers, the gleaming white tiled floor, and the gold-leaf embellished walls. She looked like a deer caught in the headlights, her eyes wide and uncertain.

“I’m not sure I belong here,” she murmured, her fingers nervously smoothing the linen napkin in her lap. “I’m quite underdressed.”

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table. “Nonsense. You’re stunning, and you belong anywhere you want to be, Barbara.”

She met my gaze, a tentative smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “It’s just…all of this”—she gestured around the room—“is so different from what I’m used to.” She paused as she glanced down at the table. “At least, it is now.”

Joseph returned with a bottle of champagne nestled in a silver ice bucket. He popped the cork with a practiced twist and poured two glasses.

I watched Barbara take a small sip of the champagne, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment. When she opened them again, there was a spark of something new—a glimmer of excitement.

“And what were you used to before?” I asked, taking a sip of my champagne. The bubbles danced on my tongue, crisp and effervescent.

Barbara traced the delicate stem of her glass with her fingers as she considered my question. “A different life,” she said softly. “One filled with dreams and ambitions that seem quite foolish now.”

“Says who?”

“Frank. My mother. Society, apparently.”

I took another sip. “They don’t matter,” I said with a wave of my hand. “Did you want to keep doing films? Or ‘lensing,’ as they say?”

Barbara smiled. “You have a good memory.” Her expression turned wistful. “Maybe. I enjoyed acting. The modeling too, but…”

“But what?”

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