Damian didn't mention dinner until the car was already moving.
"We're not going back to the penthouse yet," he said, eyes on his phone.
I turned from the window. "Where are we going?"
"To eat."
I blinked. "Together?"
He finally looked at me, grey eyes flat. "Is that a problem?"
I didn't answer. Dinner with Damian felt like a test. Another room I wasn't sure I wanted to enter.
The car pulled up in front of a quiet Italian restaurant on a street I didn't recognize. No paparazzi, no flashy signs. Just warm light spilling from the windows and the faint smell of garlic and fresh bread. It was the kind of place that didn't need to advertise. The people who knew about it were the people who mattered.
He got out first, then waited for me. I followed him inside, where the host greeted him b
