Chapter 110
The rooftop restaurant, initially set for a dinner of three, swiftly transformed into an intimate affair for two.
No sooner had they settled in their seats than Olivia Montgomery’s phone buzzed to life. After a brief exchange, she rose with an apologetic glance.
“My father needs me at the office—urgent company matters. Absolute chaos.” She sighed, then flashed them a knowing smile. “Take your time, Mr. Kingsley, Isabella. Duty calls.”
With that, she strode away, leaving them alone—an opportunity she had clearly orchestrated. Moments later, Isabella’s phone lit up with a message:
You owe me, Sinclair.
Isabella rolled her eyes. Olivia would never believe there was nothing between her and Alexander, no matter how many times she denied it.
Now alone, Alexander studied her. “Any dietary restrictions, Miss Sinclair?”
“Not picky. Whatever you prefer is fine,” she replied, offering a polite but guarded smile.
To her surprise, the evening unfolded smoothly. Conversation flowed effortlessly, the tension between them dissolving into something almost comfortable. As Isabella gazed out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the glittering cityscape, she ventured casually, “How’s Amelia been lately?”
Alexander’s expression softened. “She retreats into her own world often, but she worries—especially about you. I still remember how distraught she was when I fell ill.”
“You managed to comfort her?”
“I did,” he confirmed, voice steady. “And I owe you for that. You ensured James took her upstairs when I couldn’t. I was… preoccupied.” His gaze lingered on her, the warm glow of the ambient light casting her in an ethereal radiance. “And thanks to you, my headaches have lessened considerably.”
“Mr. Kingsley, it was nothing,” she demurred, waving off his gratitude.
Satisfied that Amelia was well, Isabella relaxed slightly. “We never agreed this dinner was repayment. You’ve done more than enough.”
She knew he had chosen this venue deliberately. Alexander had impeccable taste—the rooftop offered breathtaking views by day, and by night, the city sprawled beneath them like a sea of stars, alive and humming.
“One dinner isn’t enough.” His voice dipped, intimate and deliberate. “I’d like to teach you the perfumery techniques my grandmother passed down to me. Consider it my way of making amends.” His dark eyes were unreadable. “Unless you’d find it tedious, Miss Sinclair.”
Was this gratitude? Or something else?
“Of course not,” she replied smoothly, her smile effortless. But beneath her calm exterior, her mind raced.
Perfumery lessons were just a cover.
She needed answers—fast. Locating Cassandra’s nursing home was her priority, and she had to extract that information from the woman herself.
A sudden, thunderous boom shattered her thoughts.
“Miss Sinclair.”
Startled, she met Alexander’s gaze as he gestured toward the window.
Fireworks.
For a heartbeat, their eyes locked—his piercing, hers wide—before he turned away. The night sky erupted in vibrant bursts of light, each explosion like a falling star against the inky canvas.
From their vantage point, their reflections shimmered in the glass. Isabella propped her chin on her hand, exhaling softly.
“It’s beautiful,” she murmured.
Alexander’s gaze flickered back to her—the sweep of her lashes, the curve of her lips—before he swallowed, his voice rough.
“Yes. Very.”
