Chapter 3 Chapter Three Dinner’s Embrace Pt. 1

Val moved through the kitchen with practiced ease, pulling ingredients from the fridge and pantry. His hands worked while his mind clearly raced. He didn’t look at her.

She chuckled softly as she glanced over her shoulder and studied him. Her counselor instincts kicked in. Beneath his practiced movements, she caught glimpses of something he was trying hard to hide. For all his power and confidence, there was a loneliness beneath it, a vulnerability he kept carefully guarded. Someone had hurt this man badly, she was sure of it. There was fear there too, not of her, but of losing control, of allowing himself to be seen too clearly. Somewhere along the way, he'd learned that keeping the world at a distance was safer than letting anyone in.

“I can see what you meant about this being your place. You look completely at home in here. Who taught you to cook?”

He pulled out a stool for her while Enzo explored the marble floor, his nails clicking softly as he searched for anything that might have dropped. Val chopped the garlic with practiced precision, the knife tapping steadily against the board.

She watched him work. Here, he seemed different. More relaxed than he'd been since she'd met him. He added the pasta to the boiling water and moved easily around the kitchen, reaching for ingredients without having to think about where anything was. Yet even here, nothing was careless. Each ingredient was measured, each movement intentional, as though even cooking required a certain amount of control. A control he seemed to live by in everything he did.

Everything except her…

“Antonella taught me,” he said, keeping his attention on the stove. “She's been with me most of my life. My mother wasn't around much, so I spent a lot of time in the kitchen with Antonella growing up. She'd put me to work just to keep me out of trouble.” A faint smile crossed his face at the memory. “Eventually, I realized I liked it. Cooking was simple. You followed the steps, paid attention, and things turned out the way they were supposed to.”

He glanced over and caught Zora studying him.

“And you're analyzing me again.” His eyes narrowed slightly, though there was amusement behind them. “I can tell.”

Zora smiled at the way his expression softened when he spoke about Antonella and at his amusement over being caught analyzing him.

“She must mean a lot to you if she's still part of your life after all these years.” She hesitated. “Was there ever anyone else? Were you ever married?”

“Twice.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Twice?”

He gave a slight shrug, as if neither marriage deserved much weight.

“I wouldn't call either of them a great love story. They were beautiful women who looked good beside me. At the time, that was enough. They were more like trophies than partners, if I'm being truthful.”

“And since then?”

“Nothing worth calling a relationship.” He turned his attention back to the stove. “A few women here and there. No attachment, no expectations. I had needs, they had needs, and everyone understood what it was.”

Then his eyes found hers.

“You're the first woman in a very long time I've actually wanted to know.”

She tilted her head and replied, The counselor in her couldn't let it go. The questions came anyway. Enzo padded over to him, and Val absentmindedly reached down to scratch behind the dog’s ears-a small gesture of tenderness that contradicted everything about him.

“Hmm, and how does that work for you? Have you been getting your needs met, or just urges satisfied? That’s really lonely, isn't it?”

She asked with a hint of kindness and genuine concern.

He stopped. The knife went still in his hand. He set it down carefully and turned to face her. There was something broken in his expression—raw, unguarded.

“Urges. Always just urges. Needs require vulnerability. Needs mean someone has to matter more than your own survival instinct. I haven’t let anyone matter in a very long time.”

Their eyes met across the counter. Val's expression shifted, the openness disappearing almost as quickly as it had appeared. He turned his attention back to the stove.

“I've told you more tonight than I tell most people.” He glanced at her. “How about you? You seem to have me all figured out, but I know very little about you.”

Before she could answer, his gaze lingered on her.

“Although there's one thing I still don't understand. After everything you've learned tonight, you haven't once asked me to take you home. Tomorrow comes, the door is open. You could walk away from all of this and never look back. Are you going to?”

She looked up at him through her eyelashes.

“Why would I do that? We just got started. I want to see where this goes, and I can’t do that if I just run now, can I?”

He hadn't planned for her to stay because she wanted to.

A slow smile crossed his face as he turned back to the stove.

“Then I suppose I'd better make sure dinner doesn't change your mind.”

She laughed. “That's a lot of pressure for pasta.”

“I work well under pressure.”

“That doesn't surprise me.”

He glanced over his shoulder at her, catching the amusement in her eyes.

“Careful. You're starting to sound like you know me.”

Not yet,” she said. “But I'm working on it.”

Something about that pleased him far more than it should have. He turned back to the sauce before she could see it on his face.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“No, it's almost ready. You don't need to do anything but enjoy.” He paused, then glanced toward the cabinet. “Actually, you can handle the drinks. What would you like? I've got wine, liquor, probably just about anything you could ask for.”

Zora slipped off the stool and headed toward the cabinet, Enzo immediately getting up to follow her. She glanced back at Val.

“Ummm, okay... but I don’t much like wine. What kind would you like? I’ll get it for you. I’m more of a Kahlúa and cream kind of person.”

Something about the way she said it pulled him back to the first time he'd seen her:

She'd been sitting in that little coffee shop, completely unaware of him. Nothing about her should have commanded his attention. She wasn't dressed to be noticed. She wasn't trying to impress anyone. Hell, she'd looked almost out of place among the polished people rushing around her.

But she hadn't cared.

That was what had stopped him.

Everyone Val knew was aware of someone watching. They adjusted themselves accordingly. His world was built on appearances, power, and people constantly calculating what everyone else might think of them.

Zora hadn't been calculating anything.

She'd laughed at something, loud enough that a few people had looked over, and she hadn't even noticed. Then she'd gathered her things, walked outside, climbed onto that motorcycle, and ridden away like the entire fucking world belonged to her.

Not because she owned any of it.

Because she didn't need to.

He could still remember standing there watching her disappear down the street and wondering what it would feel like to be that free.

Now, watching her in his kitchen, completely unapologetic about something as simple as what she liked to drink, he felt that same pull.

That was it.

She didn't have his money. His name. His power. She didn't need any of it to take up space in the world.

Val owned almost everything around him.

Zora simply owned herself.

And somehow, that had been enough to make a man who could have almost anything stop and stare.

She pulled down a bottle of Barolo, dark and expensive.

“Barolo,” he said as the memory released him. “There should be a bottle up there.”

She found it and pulled it from the cabinet.

Then continue with his observation about her drink choice.

He plated the pasta and set it at her place at the counter, smiling as he glanced over at her.

“Here, come sit, eat. I get it don’t worry”

She giggled, sat down, took a bite of the pasta, and moaned.

He smiled, one that actually reached his eyes—genuine and unguarded.

Enzo shifted between them, a small anchor in the charged silence.

“Yeah, I’m not into living my life according to other people’s wishes, especially when it comes to what goes into my body or my mind. The whole ‘everyone is doing it’ thing changes every week. I go by my own heart.”

He settled beside her at the counter, his own plate untouched.

She handed him his wine, and he leaned back, taking a sip.

“That’s what I saw in you from the beginning. Not the counselor, not the woman who rides a motorcycle alone at midnight. The person who decides for herself.”

He watched her over the rim and noticed the way she didn't second-guess herself.

“Most people spend their whole lives asking permission to be themselves. You just… exist. That’s dangerous, you know. For someone like me, because now I want to be the one thing you choose.”

The pasta steamed between them. Outside, the city pulsed with millions of people following invisible rules. His gaze was steady and unflinching.

“That’s rare.”

She smiled at him and looked up at him.

“This is amazing. Do you think some soft music would be ok?”

He moved to the far wall where a sleek sound system sat. His fingers found the controls, a deliberate choice, not a random shuffle. Sade drifted through the hidden speakers, soft and smooth, filling the penthouse with a warmth it hadn't held before.

When he returned to the table, he sat across from her instead of beside her, giving her space to eat, to breathe, and to decide what came next.

“Great idea; music helps to settle the spirit.”

Val watched her eat more than he ate himself-a man starved for something no plate could satisfy. He set his fork down slowly.

She swallowed as she looked up, the alcohol giving her a bit more courage.

“Do you dance?”

Her question caught him off guard. He stood and extended his hand.

“Not in a long time. But I’ll dance with you.”

The living room stretched before them, and windows framed the city. One hand found the small of her back, the other held hers.

“Fair warning, though, I’m not gentle with most things, Zora.”

His voice dropped against her ear.

“Dancing might be different.”

She giggled. “Hmm, how so…” Her heart hammered in her chest.

It had been years since she'd allowed herself this close to any man, and nothing about tonight was what she'd expected. Val was still an enigma, powerful and intimidating one moment, awkwardly vulnerable the next. She should have been more guarded, yet standing in his arms felt strangely natural. That realization made her more nervous than anything he'd said.

He swayed with her, slow and deliberate, his hand splayed across her lower back as he drew her slightly closer.

“Because dancing is different. I lead, but I can't control every step. I have to pay attention to you, feel where you're going, and move with you.”

His cheek brushed hers, barely touching, but she felt it everywhere. Her heart raced as he held her close.

He pulled back just enough to look at her, but didn't loosen his hold.

“Three months,” he murmured, almost to himself.

“Three months of watching you from a distance, wondering what it would feel like to have you this close.”

His thumb moved slowly against her back.

“And now you're standing here in my arms because you chose to be.”

A faint smile touched his lips.

“I don't think you have any idea what that does to a man like me.”

The city glittered behind them as Sade drifted softly through the room, wrapping the moment in something warm and intimate. He searched her face for a moment, his hand still resting at her lower back.

“Can I kiss you?”