Chapter 2

Brielle was a mess of nerves by the time  eleven forty-five struck the clock.

 

“Be honest—how do I look?” she asked, smoothing her dress for the third time.

 

Talia didn’t even look up from her physics textbook. “Like you’ve tried on every outfit you own. You look great, Bri.”

 

Brielle groaned. “You sure?”

 

Talia closed the book and gave her a look. “He asked you out, didn’t he? Just relax. You're not going to a wedding.”

 

“I know, I just…” She paused. “Do you think he really likes me? Or is this just… you know.”

 

Talia raised a brow. “Sex?”

 

Brielle blushed. “I didn’t mean it like that—”

 

“Yes, you did. Look,” Talia said, standing and sitting beside her, “you’re smart. You’re cautious. But you’re also allowed to have fun, Brielle. One date doesn’t mean he owns you. You get to decide what happens next.”

 

Brielle gave a small smile, her anxiety simmering beneath the surface.

 

Talia softened her tone. “He might not be the one. But maybe he’s the one right now. And that’s enough. Just enjoy it.”

 

Before Brielle could respond, a knock echoed through the dorm room.

 

Her heart leapt.

 

She stood slowly, smoothing her dress once more.

 

Talia gave her a wink. “Go get him.”

 

Brielle opened the door—and there he was.

 

David, with a single white rose this time, standing tall and smiling like he already knew how the night would end.

She hesitated for half a breath before stepping into the hall, carefully shutting the door behind her. The white rose trembled slightly in her hand, still cool from the evening air. David’s eyes swept over her, deliberate and slow, like he was studying a piece of art he already knew he'd bought.

“You look…” he exhaled softly, “better than I imagined.”

Brielle flushed and offered a shy, “Thank you.”

Without asking, David reached for her hand, threading his fingers through hers like it was the most natural thing in the world. His palm was warm, his grip firm—but not aggressive. Not yet.

He led her out of Stevenson Hall without a word, his pace unhurried but purposeful. Outside, the dusk had settled in, sky streaked with fading gold. A sleek black car waited at the curb. Not flashy—but elegant. Intimidating in its quiet power. She didn’t know cars, but this one made her feel suddenly underdressed.

David opened the passenger door for her, hand outstretched again. She took it.

“Careful,” he said with a half-smile. “Can’t have you falling for me too fast.”

She laughed—nervous, but flattered—and ducked inside.

He shut the door and crossed to the driver’s side, sliding in with fluid grace. No radio. No small talk. Just the hum of the engine and the weight of something unspoken stretching between them as they drove.

When they arrived at La Camellia, Brielle blinked in surprise.

“This is… wow.”

David tossed the valet his keys like he’d done it a thousand times. “Best Italian in the city,” he said, already circling to her side. The door opened. His hand reached in. Again.

She took it.

Inside, the maître d’ greeted him by name and led them to a secluded corner booth without delay. Linen tablecloth. Candlelight. A table set for seduction. Brielle had never been somewhere like this. Her only frame of reference was sitcoms.

Menus arrived. Water. Then wine—already selected by David. A delicate, golden Falanghina, poured and set before them without question.

Brielle opened the menu, eyes scanning. Then freezing.

It was entirely in Italian.

She shifted awkwardly. “Um… David?”

He didn’t look up. “Hmm?”

“I… I can’t read this.”

Now he looked up. Smiled. “Do you trust me?”

Her mouth went dry. “I think so.”

“Chicken, beef, or seafood?”

“Chicken.”

“Any allergies?”

She shook her head. “None.”

The waiter returned and David ordered fluidly in Italian, not even glancing at the menu. First came the appetizers: Zuppa di Vongole—clams in a white wine broth—and Spinaci e Carciofi con Formaggio, spinach and artichoke baked beneath a blanket of melted cheese, paired with warm toasted bread.

The waiter bowed and disappeared with their order, leaving the two of them alone in a soft cocoon of candlelight and clinking glassware.

Brielle reached for her water, needing the anchor of something solid. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, then looked up to find David watching her again.

Always watching.

“So,” she said lightly, “do you bring all your dates here?”

He smirked, resting his elbow on the table, fingers cradling his wineglass like a man used to control. “Only the ones who deserve to be remembered.”

She flushed at that, caught between flattery and suspicion. “Is that a line?”

“It would only be a line if it wasn’t true.”

He sipped his wine. Didn’t break eye contact.

Brielle took a breath and tilted her head, trying to find her footing. “You speak Italian fluently?”

“I studied in Milan for a semester. Fell in love with the language... and the food. Not so much the people.”

“Why not the people?” she asked.

“They were too preoccupied with appearances,” he said, swirling his glass lazily. “Everything was surface-level. Shallow. I prefer depth.”

His words lingered.

“Is that what this is?” she asked, half-teasing, half-testing. “Depth?”

He leaned forward, voice low. “That depends on how honest you're willing to be.”

The air between them tightened. She laughed it off, but it caught in her throat.

“I’m not very mysterious,” she said. “Pretty boring, honestly.”

“I don’t believe that,” he said. “Girls like you—quiet, observant, soft-spoken—you see everything. People mistake silence for simplicity. But I know better.”

She blinked. “You don’t even know me.”

“Not yet,” he replied. “But I will.”

There was no arrogance in his tone—just certainty.

Before she could find a response, he leaned back and asked, “Why chicken?”

She looked up, surprised. “What?”

“You could’ve said beef or seafood. You chose chicken. Why?”

She laughed. “I don’t know. It’s safe, I guess.”

“Mmm.” He studied her again. “Safe can be smart. But safe doesn’t always lead anywhere interesting.”

Brielle felt her pulse skip, uncertain whether he was teasing or testing.

“I wasn’t trying to impress you,” she said quietly.

“Good,” he said, taking another sip. “I don’t like to be lied to.”

Their eyes locked. Long enough that she had to look away first.

“Tell me something real, Brielle,” he said suddenly. “No rehearsed answers. Just… something no one knows.”

She swallowed. “That’s a lot of pressure.”

“I’ll go first, if it helps.”

She nodded cautiously.

“I hate birthday parties,” he said. “Always have. Even as a kid. Something about being the center of attention made me feel like I was performing. I hated pretending to enjoy it.”

She blinked. “That's surprisingly normal.”

“Disappointed?”

“No,” she said. “Just… humanizing.”

His lips curved. “Your turn.”

Brielle glanced down at her napkin. “Sometimes I pretend I’m someone else when I walk around campus.”

He arched a brow. “Who?”

“I don’t know. Someone confident. Someone who doesn’t overthink every interaction. Someone who belongs.”

David’s expression changed—just slightly.

“Maybe you do belong,” he said. “You just don’t realize how dangerous that makes you.”

“Dangerous?” she echoed, confused.

He was about to respond when the waiter returned with two small porcelain dishes and a steaming plate of toasted bread.

“Your starters,” the man said. “Zuppa di Vongole and Spinaci e Carciofi con Formaggio. Please enjoy.”

David offered a slight nod, letting the conversation dissolve as smoothly as it had begun.

He picked up a piece of bread and spooned some of the cheesy dip onto it with precision, then slid the plate toward her.

“Try it.”

Brielle set down her fork, licking a faint smear of creamy cheese from the corner of her lip. The starter had been decadent—warm, salty, rich—and she was already feeling the heaviness in her belly. Across from her, David finished the last of the clams with elegant efficiency.

The waiter reappeared almost on cue. He cleared their plates, wiped the table with a clean sweep, and leaned slightly toward David.

“Shall I take your entrée order now, sir?”

David nodded, eyes never leaving Brielle. “We’ll have the Pollo alla Florentina for the lady. And I’ll have the Scaloppine al Marsala.”

The waiter bowed slightly. “Of course.” And with that, he disappeared again.

David poured a second glass of wine for her, then his own, before leaning back against the leather booth.

“So…” he said, folding his hands on the table. “Tell me about school. You enjoying it so far?”

Brielle nodded slowly. “Mostly. I mean, I like my classes. I like learning. But it’s... a little overwhelming. I didn’t come from much, and sometimes I feel like I’m constantly playing catch-up.”

He tilted his head. “Catch-up with who?”

“Everyone,” she said, then laughed nervously. “Girls who’ve done private school. Guys whose parents donate wings to the library. People who seem to belong here.”

David studied her. “They don’t matter. Most of them are just noise with designer labels. You don’t need to belong to be worth something.”

Brielle blinked at that. She hadn’t expected… depth.

“What about you?” she asked. “What did your parents do?”

His eyes darkened—not visibly, but something in his expression shuttered.

“They died a few years ago,” he said flatly. “Car accident.”

“Oh,” she said softly. “I’m so sorry.”

He shrugged. “Don’t be. I’m not.”

Her brows knit together. “What do you mean?”

“I mean it gave me clarity. Freedom. No one to answer to. No strings.”

He lifted his wine glass and took a sip. “You’d be surprised what you’re capable of when no one’s holding your leash.”

The silence that followed was brief, but heavy.

Before Brielle could form a reply, the waiter returned, two steaming plates balanced in his hands. He set hers down first.

“For you, Pollo alla Florentina—chicken sautéed in a white wine and mushroom cream sauce, topped with mozzarella and prosciutto, served over sautéed spinach.”

The scent hit her before the visual did—rich and buttery, comforting and exotic all at once. She gave a small, breathy “Wow” before picking up her fork.

David’s plate landed in front of him without explanation—thin slices of veal bathed in Marsala sauce, paired with roasted potatoes and glazed carrots. He didn’t look at it. Just picked up his knife and began to cut precisely.

Brielle took her first bite.

The flavors flooded her tongue—creamy, salty, with a depth she couldn’t name. She chewed slowly, almost reverently.

“I’ve never had anything like this,” she admitted, wiping her mouth.

David smiled. “Try it with the wine.”

She hesitated, then lifted her glass and took a sip.

He was right. The pairing bloomed in her mouth.

They ate quietly for a few minutes, conversation slowing with each bite. Brielle only made it halfway through her plate before pushing it away gently.

David signaled the waiter without a word.

“Please box the remainder of the lady’s entrée,” he said. “And the rest of the appetizers as well.”

Brielle blinked. “You didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to,” he said. “You might want it later.”

Then, before she could object, he waved the waiter over again.

“Dessert?” the man asked.

David nodded. “The truffles.”

Brielle stared at him. “I seriously don’t think I can eat another bite.”

“They’re small,” he said. “And you’ll want at least one.”

She gave a reluctant smile. “Okay, just one.”

The truffles arrived moments later—delicate, glistening with powdered sugar and laced with Amaretto. She chose the smallest one, breaking it in half before taking a tiny bite.

It melted on her tongue like silk.

“Good, right?” David asked, already popping one into his mouth.

She nodded. “Dangerous.”

They lingered for a while, sipping the last of the wine, talking about nothing—books, cities they wanted to visit, the worst songs they secretly liked. The space between them had shifted—less like strangers now, more like something heavier forming in the silence.

The bill came. David didn’t glance at it. Just handed over a sleek black card and sat back with the ease of someone who expected no surprises.

When the waiter returned with the receipt, David signed and then laid three crisp $50 bills on the table.

Brielle’s eyes widened.

“That’s… a lot,” she whispered.

He shrugged. “Service was worth it.”

Outside, the valet already had the car waiting. David handed the young man two more fifties, then turned to open the passenger door for her.

She stepped inside, quiet now, her mind spinning gently from the wine, the richness of the food, and the way this night felt too perfect to be real.

David slid into the driver’s seat beside her, hand brushing her thigh for the briefest moment as he reached for the ignition.

She didn’t move away.

David pulled out of the restaurant parking lot with confident speed, weaving through the streets like he knew every curve by heart. Brielle watched the city lights blur through her window, her fingers curled softly around the white rose he’d given her hours ago. She didn’t ask where they were going. She didn’t need to. Somehow, she trusted him.

When he finally slowed, it was to pull into a quiet lot overlooking the beach.

The moon hung low and heavy above the water, casting a silver sheen across the tide. The distant sound of waves crashing against the shore was rhythmic, hypnotic.

David killed the engine and stepped out without a word. He paused beside the car, staring at the moon like it was speaking to him. Then he opened her door and offered his hand.

She took it.

From the trunk, he retrieved a thick, dark blanket and slung it over his arm before leading her down a narrow, sandy path to a secluded stretch of shoreline.

“This is where I come when I need to disappear for a while,” he said quietly, his voice nearly lost in the wind.

She looked over at him. “And you brought me here?”

David glanced over his shoulder, his smile faint. “I thought you’d appreciate the beauty.”

She turned her gaze toward the horizon, where moonlight shimmered like diamonds across the water. In the distance, silhouettes danced beneath the waves—dolphins, maybe. Or tricks of the eye.

“It is beautiful,” she whispered.

David didn’t look at the ocean. He looked at her.

“So are you,” he murmured.

Brielle felt heat rise to her cheeks. Her black strapless dress fluttered in the cool breeze, and her long hair whipped about her face like a halo unraveling. She shivered, instinctively folding her arms across her chest.

Without a word, David shrugged off his long black coat and draped it over her shoulders. The leather was still warm from his body, and it smelled faintly of spice and smoke.

She looked up at him with wide eyes. “Thank you.”

He guided her to the blanket, spreading it across the sand with precise care before lowering himself down. She followed, still wrapped in his coat, and sat beside him.

For a while, they said nothing. The ocean spoke for them.

Then, softly: “Why did you really bring me here?” she asked. “I mean, if it’s your place to be alone…”

David turned to her, his eyes catching the moonlight. “Because being with you doesn’t feel like being with anyone else. You don’t fill the silence. You let it breathe.”

She stared at him, unsure how to respond. And in the pause, he leaned in.

Slowly.

Like he was giving her time to stop him.

She didn’t.

His lips brushed against hers—tentative at first. Testing. And when she didn’t pull away, he deepened the kiss, his tongue slipping between her lips with a confidence that was almost reverent. She melted into him, their bodies angling closer. Their mouths moved together in a rhythm that felt ancient.

When she finally pulled away, breathless, her heart thudded so loudly she was sure he could hear it.

David reached up and gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his thumb lingering on her cheekbone. He kissed her again—slower this time, deeper.

One kiss became many.

Time blurred.

They lay on the blanket, tangled in his coat, trading kisses and quiet laughter, hands drifting, never crossing the line—but hovering dangerously close. His fingertips brushed her collarbone, her waist, the edge of her thigh. He never pushed, but the restraint felt electric.

Hours passed like seconds.

By the time he sat up, his jaw clenched, she could see the tension in his posture. He shifted slightly, adjusting his jeans in a way that didn’t escape her notice.

But he said nothing. And neither did she.

They walked back to the car hand in hand.

David walked her to her dorm door, the building dark and hushed. He stopped just shy of the threshold, eyes searching hers for something deeper.

“Same time tomorrow?” he asked.

Brielle asked “I'm free at noon?”

"Alright, noon it is," he smiled. 

As she turned to open the door, she hesitated. “Your jacket—”

“I’ll get it tomorrow,” he said, already retreating down the stairs.

She watched him until he disappeared.

Inside, she slipped quietly into her room, tiptoeing past her sleeping roommate.

Or so she thought.

Talia sat up suddenly, flipping on the light. “It’s midnight,” she whispered, squinting. “That good, huh?”

Brielle smiled dreamily, still wearing the coat. She peeled off her dress and tugged on an oversized sleep shirt.

Talia’s eyes widened. “Oh my god, your lips are so swollen. Did you…? Tell me you didn’t on the first date.”

“What?” Brielle blinked, then caught sight of herself in the mirror. Her lips were flushed and puffy. Her hair a windblown, tangled halo. She looked wrecked.

“No, of course not,” she laughed. “Just kissing. That’s all. He didn’t even try.”

Talia exhaled hard. “Damn. That’s almost hotter. Okay, spill. Everything.”

The two girls stayed up whispering like they were sixteen again, dissecting every glance, every word, every touch.

Brielle didn’t realize it then.

But by the time she fell asleep, David had already claimed more than just her lips.

He’d started writing himself into her mind.