Page 28 of Replay
Santino takes me to Dishoom in Shoreditch. It’s a vibrant, trendy little place that has a line around the building. However, Santino bypasses everyone, and a man by the name of Keenil immediately ushers us to a cosy little two-seater right by the window. When I ask Santino how we got seated so quickly, he waves me off, saying the owner is a big football fan.
“Drinks?” the waitress asks, her pen and paper in hand.
“I’ll have a chai tea, please.”
“Make that two,” Santino adds.
I frown. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Do what?”
“Drink tea. You can have a drink. I won’t start convulsing at the table.”
“I love the chai tea here. Truly.”
The waitress takes off, not the least bit interested, and I exhale slowly. Santino ordering a non-alcoholic drink feels dangerously chivalrous, and that was one of the rules I did not want him to break tonight. I don’t need a reason to be attracted to him.
But if I’m being honest, the gesture is really sweet.
Throughout dinner, I find myself stress-eating naan and talking incessantly about Freya’s pet clothing selections for Harrods and how she continues to gain followers on Instagram. I think I even tell a long-winded story about how her cat Hercules won’t let me try any of the clothes on him because he hates me and hisses anytime I go near him. Then I share how her cat Jasper and I get on well and he sleeps on the spare pillow on my bed every night now, and oh my God, I sound like a crazy fucking single cat lady. Who fucking cares about Freya and Mac’s stupid cats right now? What is wrong with me?
I take a long drink of tea to calm my mind because I know what’s wrong with me. I’m talking a lot because I’m nervous. And I’m nervous because Santino looks stupidly hot tonight.
Don’t get me wrong, he’s always been sinfully attractive in his tailored suits and slicked-back business hairstyle. But tonight, he’s casual sexy in a pair of soft, faded jeans and trainers plus a sort of expensive-looking jumper that I’m sure cost more than my entire outfit. And his black hair is soft without a spot of gel in sight. Its natural waves continually flop over his forehead, reminding me of the times we were intimate. He would be on top of me, driving deep inside, his hair a mess from my fingers raking through it. The vivid memories of how he made me feel when we were tangled up cause a warmth to spread within me.Stop it, Tilly. Stop it right now. This is not a walk down memory lane. This is not a date. This is a business meeting.
In fact, he told me to dress comfortably, which means he wanted to be sure I didn’t show up in a sexy little black dress and heels. That means Santino doesn’t want a walk down memory lane either.
So this is good.
I can just…relax and be myself tonight.
I become a bit less twitchy as we go over the new contract he drew up. It’s perfect in every way, and I find myself truly grateful for Allie forcing him on me because if Harrods can agree to this, then it’ll be full steam ahead after our meeting on Friday.
When we order coffee and dessert, I find my curiosity about how Santino has changed knocking too hard in my head to ignore. Biting the bullet, I ask, “So, tell me about this two-month chump nickname I hear you have?”
Santino’s dark brows lift as he holds his cup of coffee to his lips. “Sorry?”
I fight back a smile. “I hear you’re some kind of monogamous heartbreaker nowadays.”
Santino shakes his head and rolls his eyes. “Who told you that?”
“Freya via Allie, Allie via Roan, I think?”
“One thing you need to know about the Harris family and all their friends and cousins is that there’s no such thing as a secret. Not that my dating life has anything to hide, but when there’s any bit of gossip offered to someone, everyone will hear about it. And I mean everyone.”
Giggling, I stab my fork into a sweet Modawk dumpling stuffed with nutmeg and saffron. “So, what does it mean exactly?”
“Pretty much what it sounds like.” He sighs heavily. “I can’t seem to make a relationship stick for very long. Some end after a few weeks, some after a couple of months.”
My brows furrow because Santino seems so different and mature now. Going on annual trips with his mother, volunteering to help out Freya and me. This definitely isn’t the same sleazy nightclub lad I met five years ago, but maybe deep down, he’s still a womanizing arsehole who can’t commit. “What’s the problem you think?” I inquire, even though I probably already know the answer.
He shrugs. “Lack of connection, lack of interest, lack of…good sex.” His dark eyes narrow on me, and I feel a flutter in my belly that really needs to go away.
“Sounds…lacking. How many have there been?” I swallow the knot in my throat because I hate that I keep asking more questions. I never cared who he slept with even when we were sleeping with each other, so why do I give a toss now?
“God, I’ve lost count.” He reaches across the table and snags a dumpling off my plate. “At first, I was letting the Harris wives set me up, then I tried to find someone on my own. It’s not for lack of trying, I’ll tell you that.”
“What inspired this sudden change of heart for you?” I ask, watching his square, whiskered jaw as he chews his sweet treat. “Last I knew, you were running away screaming from commitment.”
