“It looks like something my sister would have worn. She loved flowers and diamonds.”
Following an impulse, Julia took the necklace off and put it in the woman’s hand. “I’d like you to have it.”
Mrs. Rockport tried to hand it back. “I couldn’t possibly.”
Julia pressed it into her hand and said, “More than anything else, I am an artist. And for me there is no greater pleasure than knowing something I’ve created has touched someone’s heart. If it reminds you of your sister, you should have it. I can make another.”
Clearing her throat, the woman fingered the necklace gently, then nodded. “I would pay you, of course.”
Julia shook her head. “I wouldn’t take it.”
“You’re an awful businesswoman,” the woman chided gently.
“Maybe,” Julia said with a rueful smile.
They sat there quietly for a moment, then Mrs. Rockport asked, “So, are you getting the dress?”
Julia nodded shyly and blushed again.
“Claudia,” the older woman called out to the clerk. “I’m feeling spontaneous today. Please have one of each dress here wrapped and sent to a local charity. Tell Yvonne I want a list of where they went. But make sure you get credit for the sale. Put it on my account.”
After double-checking she’d heard right, the clerk rushed off to ring up the sale.
“What’s your name?” Mrs. Rockport asked.
“Julia. Julia Bennett.”
The woman stood and held out her hand. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Bennett. I hope our paths cross again.”
Julia couldn’t imagine how they would, but she shook the woman’s hand warmly and said she hoped the same.
Alone in the boutique again, she asked the clerk to box up the dress and held it tightly the entire taxi ride home.
Am I about to create memories I’ll treasure for a lifetime?
Or make a mistake that will haunt me?
And are women nearing eighty a reliable source for sexual advice?
Chapter Twelve
Gio watched Julia pour over the menu in a way none of the many women he’d brought here ever had. Food was not why people came to Le Loire, the theater district’s highly exclusive restaurant. They came because reservations were booked more than a year out and merely getting a table meant that you had arrived in some way at the top of New York’s social stratosphere. They came to see and be seen.
A quick look around the dining area revealed a collection of New York’s wealthiest and visiting famous. Gio wasn’t impressed by either, but he knew most women were.
Dressed as she was, Julia blended perfectly with the crowd. He’d caught more than one of his peers eyeing her appreciatively. She wasn’t the first beautiful woman he’d escorted in public. Normally he didn’t care one way or another what others thought of his date, but when he caught one blatant male admirer staring at Julia’s profile from a few tables away, he’d half risen out of his chair without thinking.
To what? Brawl?
The man had met his eyes, read his intent, and hastily looked away. Gio had let out a long breath and settled back into his seat, surprised by how possessive he already felt about the woman sitting across from him.
“Have you had the seafood here?” she asked, drawing him back from his thoughts.
“I’m sorry?”
“The plateau de fruits de mer. I love seafood, but I had this dish once at an expensive restaurant in Rhode Island and it was served with a tiny octopus and whole prawns. Some had eyes. I can’t eat anything that still has eyes.”
“I normally have the Kobe steak,” he said, somewhat bemused by her level of animation. He’d never seen a woman order anything but a salad—dressing on the side, all possible calories or carbs banished from their meal. “Chef Cazon is excellent. I’m sure you’ll be pleased with whatever you order.”
“You can’t come to a place like this and have steak,” she said with a laugh. “How about this? I’ll order for you and you order for me.”
“Why?” he asked slowly.
She seemed as confused by his reluctance as he was by her suggestion. “Because it’ll be fun?”
His idea of fun had more to do with what they would do after dinner, but he decided to humor her. He opened his menu. “What do you like?”
She put down the menu. “I’m not going to tell you. You have to try to figure it out.”
“I don’t play games,” he said, more out of habit than from a real desire to end the exchange. He did want to know what she liked, and he intended to spend the rest of night exploring just that. He reached for a glass of water, seeking a calm that he’d more easily achieve by pouring the cool drink on his bulging crotch than by drinking it. Slow down. No need to rush.
She cocked her head to one side and said, “Maybe you should. Then you’d look less like you’re constipated all the time.”
He choked on the water, swallowed it the wrong way, and choked more.
She was up, out of her seat, and patting his back forcibly. “Are you okay?”
He stood, cleared his throat one final time, looked into her anxious eyes, and let out a laugh that echoed through the suddenly silent restaurant. He took one of her hands in his and said, “Sit down, Julia. I’m fine.”
She looked around, realized that all eyes were on them, and returned to her seat in a rush—a beautiful pink flush on her cheeks. She picked up the menu again, this time hiding behind it. “I shouldn’t have said that. Why don’t I think before I speak?”
Gio reached across the table and took one of her hands in his. “You are refreshingly honest.” The smile she gave him as a reward for his comment stole his breath away. Still, he couldn’t resist teasing her a bit. “Constipated, huh?”
She blushed again. “Not literally. Emotionally. Like there is so much you want to say but you won’t let yourself.”
He dropped her hand as the words cut too close to home.
The sommelier came by and asked if Gio would be ordering his usual, or if he would like to see a wine menu. Gio said, “The usual.” Then looked across at Julia. “Unless you have a preference.”
“I don’t drink.”
“Not even one glass?” he asked.
“No one in my family drinks much.” A warm smile spread across her face. “My father always said he’d rather get lost in Renoir than old grapes.”
“That’s an unusual viewpoint,” Gio said, gesturing to the sommelier that they had finished their order.