Page 139 of Unholy Union
My smirk deepens as I return to my iced tea.
It’s not long before our food arrives and I realize we’ve ordered way too many entrées for only being two people.
But it doesn’t matter because we indulge anyway, eating what we can and sharing bites from each other’s plates.
We leave the restaurant satisfied and full, feeling relaxed and a little lazy.
Cato takes us to a jazz club next that plays live music.
The club is tucked under a restaurant, down a narrow staircase that opens into a velvet-draped room with brick walls. The air smells of aged wood, spicy liquor and cocktails, and faint notes of floral perfume.
Jazzy notes of a saxophone fill the small, blue-tinted club that has only about twelve small tables and a modest, round stage.
The atmosphere is intimate but cozy, like the restaurant we dined at.
I can’t help smiling at the setup. It’s a more lowkey vibe I can appreciate on a night like this, where it’s just me and Cato enjoying ourselves.
Cato pulls my chair out for me, ever the gentleman when we’re alone, then takes the seat beside me. His thigh brushes mine under the table, his arm settling along the back of my chair. Occasionally, his fingers toy with a strand of my curly hair like he can’t keep himself from touching me in some way. His other hand nurses the drink he’s ordered while we watch the musicians play.
Or hepretendsto.
Because I’m watching them, but he’s shifting his gaze to me every so often. He’s glancing at me out the side of his eye, like I’m part of the show and once again he can’t help himself.
I know that look. It’s not boredom or impatience or that he even prefers to be somewhere else.
He’s here because he knows I enjoy stuff like this.
But he enjoys watching me enjoy stuff like this—and he’s gradually starting to enjoy it himself.
The version of Cato I first met—the sharp, cold, aloof Valente heir—would’ve scoffed at smoky jazz bars and theatrical ballets. He would’ve called them boring or sentimental or beneath him. But the man who sits beside me now as the trumpet player’s fingers glide across his instrument, nods to the beat.
He’s open to the experience and enjoying himself if it means he gets to be with me.
It warms my heart, reminding me how much can change in a short amount of time. We’ve truly become each other’s other half.
During one of the slower numbers, as the piano dips and the bass hums, a few couples drift onto the dance floor. I smile at the sight, then flinch when Cato suddenly stands and offers his hand.
“What?” I ask, startled.
“Dance with me, principessa.”
“I thought you weren’t much of a dancer?”
“Exceptions can be made. You happen to always be one of them.”
He doesn’t give me a chance to argue, taking my hand and leading me onto the floor, guiding me into his arms as if it’s where I belong. I melt against him, tucking myself close, arms looped around his neck as the jazzy music fills the club.
His hands slide down the curve of my bare back, his touch eliciting an instant shiver out of me. His thumb strokes me in a slow circle as he peers down at me, his gaze dark and intense.
“You’re so easy to unravel.”
“Only for you,” I whisper, nuzzling my face into his neck, breathing him in.
We sway together, our bodies pressed close, the band fading into the background as we enjoy our slow dance.
“Oh… oh… Cato!”
His name falls from my lips as my body arches against my will.
