THREE
The hours passed far too quickly in an anxiety-ridden day, and suddenly Rosie found herself preparing for the date. She hadn’t dolled herself up in ages—certainly never for work, where sweat rolled down her back, and where she couldn’t get away with anything but a ponytail and scrubs.
Rosie scrubbed her face and hair before folding herself in a luxurious towel and taking body creams to her skin; if anything came of the evening, she wanted to be soft to the touch. Her body sizzled at the thought. She hadn’t been intimate with someone in months and months. Did she even remember how?
She donned a green dress; one that highlighted the deep red of her hair. She swiped lipstick over her lips and checked her teeth with a clown smile. Everything was going to be fine, she told herself, her heart bumping in her chest. Taking one last look in the mirror, she realized with a jolt that she had cut herself shaving, and a slice of bright, red blood was drawing down her leg. God, why couldn’t she get it together?
Rosie took an Uber to the downtown French restaurant, not wanting to muss her hair in the bus. She’d passed the place many times before; with its high ceilings and chandeliers, it had always been clearly off-limits, especially with her current salary. In the past, she’d gazed at the diners, wanting to press her nose against the window and become a part of their foie gras and fromage world of finery. This was, perhaps, the only time she would feel such a level of luxury. She vowed to eat every bite, to really experience the meal, without feeling nervous about eating in front of Hakan.
She entered the restaurant, bowing her head slightly, as if recognizing that the other diners knew she was an outsider. She should have worn more expensive perfume, maybe. Or just called him and told him she was too ill to go out.
She stood by the door, waiting for the maître d’, wringing her hands slightly. Where was Hakan?
Her eyes swept the room, taking stock of every person, nibbling baguettes with perfect teeth. She was a bit early still, and yet she was terrified that she might have been stood up. It hadn’t happened to her before, and yet—somewhere in the back of her mind, she almost expected it to.
Suddenly, the maître d’ approached her. Her face grew red, tomato-like—akin to baby Marco’s—and she felt herself stuttering.
“Hello,” she began, uncertain.
The man bowed slightly, ever cool. “Bonsoir, mademoiselle. May I request your name?”
Rosie looked at him with deer-eyes. “Um, yes. It’s Rosie. Rosie Lund.”
The maître d’ nodded, gesturing. “Please, follow me, won’t you?”
“I’m waiting for someone—”
“His Highness is already here,” the man said softly. “He’s waiting for you upstairs.”
His Highness?
Hardly able to breathe, Rosie followed the man to the back of the restaurant, where they entered a private elevator. Rosie watched sadly as the doors slid closed, secretly wishing they could sit with the rest of the diners in that glorious room.
Her eyes lingered on the maître d’s face for a moment, trying to figure out what he was thinking. Did he think she was good enough to be seated with Hakan? Did he do this kind of thing for rich people all the time? Part of her wanted to lean toward him, to tell him she was normal, just like him.
But then, the elevator door opened to the roof. Rosie’s eyes widened as she walked out, taking in the beautiful, panoramic view. The terrace was decorated sumptuously, lit with flickering tealights and peppered with countless roses. Rosie grinned inwardly as she gazed out from the roof, seeing the exquisite view of her city below. Behind her was the water. She tried to make herself feel calm with the sound of the waves.
Beneath the tealights stood a table, decorated in the same finery as those in the dining room downstairs. Seated at the table was Hakan, who, upon seeing her, sprung to his feet, his dark eyes blinking quickly.
She walked toward him, her eyes assessing his immaculate suit, his deep maroon tie, and his perfect five o’ clock shadow. It made him look older, edgier. Something turned over in her stomach, and she felt herself smile at him.
“Hello,” she whispered. Around them, it seemed that the world had stopped.
Hakan met her by the side of the table and kissed her cheek, giving her a brief hug. “It’s good to see you again,” he murmured. “You look absolutely exquisite.”
She’d never been called that before. Cute, maybe. But exquisite?
She smiled up at him. “And you look great.” Great wasn’t a word that did him justice, but she went with it, instantly wanting to kick herself.
“It’s a wonder what you can do when you haven’t just been in a car accident,” Hakan said, making that playful smile stretch across his face once more. He chuckled, catching her off-guard in a joke.
And she loved it, shaking her head ruefully. She gestured toward the view. “Was this really the best you could do?”
Hakan took her elbow and led her to the chair. “I was pinched for time, you know. But I came up with something. I hope you like it.”
Rosie couldn’t kid any longer. She flung her head back, wringing her hands through her hair. “Hakan, it’s gorgeous! I can’t imagine the last time I saw such finery. Not on any vacation I’ve ever taken.”
Hakan shook his head slightly, fessing up. “As it happens, I had a slight advantage: I own this restaurant.”
Rosie’s jaw dropped. “You own a restaurant in Seattle? Even though you live in New York?”
“Restaurants are kind of a side passion of mine,” he explained, eyes gleaming. “I have some over in California, just this one in Seattle, and five scattered all over New York. It’s not anything I know so much about, the restaurant business. But I like being able to come to them and experience, say, the finer things. Like this. With you.”
In that moment, a waiter approached them, swinging a red wine bottle from behind his back and filling Rosie’s empty wine glass just a finger high, so that she could taste it first.
Rosie sipped it with tight lips, very aware that the two men were watching her. She paused for a moment, allowing the liquid to roll around her tongue, before nodding. “It’s good,” she murmured. Who was she kidding? She didn’t know anything about wine.
Hakan looked pleased. “I thought you’d like it. It’s one of my favorites, straight out of Washington. I always have it when I’m here.” He lowered his voice, then, his tone conspiratorial. “I know this must seem like a lot of grandeur, but I wanted to go all out for you. In reality, I like to live like everyone else. Burgers and fries, pizza, beer. Trust me, I can be very, very boring.”
Rosie doubted that.
The waiter filled their glasses with expensive Washington wine, and Rosie felt herself loosening at Hakan’s words. “I thought you might think I’m some kind of plebian,” she joked, sipping it. Liquid courage would do her good.
“Of course not,” Hakan laughed. “I just wanted to impress you on our first date. And cheers to that, by the way.”
They tipped their glasses together, and the sound tickled Rosie’s ears. She grinned inwardly. “So, are we going to be having French food? I don’t know so much about it…” She shrugged, sensing she could be honest in front of him.