Chapter 3 The First Date
1188 Words
Isabella spent the entire afternoon trying to convince herself that agreeing to dinner with Lorenzo De Luca had been a normal decision.
It wasn’t.
Nothing about him was normal.
Even now, hours later, she still remembered the way he had looked at her before leaving the bookstore—like he had already decided something about her.
Something important.
She checked the time again.
6:47 PM.
He had said dinner at seven.
“You’ve been staring at the clock for the last ten minutes,” Lily said from the couch.
“I have not.”
“You absolutely have.”
Isabella groaned and threw a pillow at her.
“I’m just… making sure I’m not late.”
“You live ten minutes from the restaurant,” Lily pointed out. “Relax.”
Isabella sighed.
Relaxing was easier said than done.
She had never gone out with someone like Lorenzo before.
In fact, she had never even met someone like him.
There was something about his presence that made her feel both curious and cautious at the same time.
And that combination was dangerous.
At exactly 6:55 PM, Isabella grabbed her bag and headed out.
The restaurant Lorenzo had chosen was one of the most elegant places in Manhattan.
Isabella immediately felt underdressed the moment she stepped inside.
The soft glow of chandeliers illuminated the marble floors, and quiet classical music played in the background.
People here wore expensive suits and designer dresses.
Meanwhile, Isabella stood there in a simple navy-blue dress she had bought two years ago.
She was already considering turning around and leaving when a familiar voice spoke behind her.
“You’re early.”
She turned.
Lorenzo stood a few steps away.
Tonight he wasn’t wearing his usual black suit.
Instead, he wore a dark charcoal shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms.
It somehow made him look even more attractive.
And far less intimidating.
Almost.
“You’re early too,” Isabella replied.
“I’ve been here for fifteen minutes.”
She frowned.
“Why?”
“I don’t like keeping people waiting.”
The answer was simple, but something about it made her smile.
A waiter quickly approached and guided them to their table near the window.
The city lights outside painted the skyline in gold and silver.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Isabella looked around nervously.
“This place is… expensive.”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t have to bring me somewhere like this.”
“I wanted to.”
“But why?”
Lorenzo studied her expression carefully.
Because the truth was something he couldn’t easily explain.
From the moment he met Isabella, something about her had pulled him in.
She didn’t try to impress him.
She didn’t know who he was.
And for the first time in years…
He liked that.
“You deserve a nice dinner,” he said simply.
Isabella looked unconvinced.
“You don’t even know me.”
Lorenzo leaned slightly back in his chair.
“I know enough.”
“Oh really?”
“Yes.”
“Like what?”
“You’re honest,” he said. “You say exactly what you think.”
“That’s not always a good thing.”
“It is to me.”
The waiter arrived with their menus.
But Isabella barely looked at hers.
She was too busy studying the man sitting across from her.
“Can I ask you something?” she said.
“Of course.”
“What do you actually do?”
“I run a company.”
“That’s vague.”
“It’s supposed to be.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“You’re mysterious.”
“I’ve been told that before.”
“Are you always like this?”
“Like what?”
“Careful with your words.”
Lorenzo didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, he looked at her for a long moment before finally saying,
“Yes.”
Something about the honesty in his voice made her stop asking questions.
Dinner arrived soon after.
To Isabella’s surprise, conversation between them began to flow naturally.
They talked about books.
About movies.
About childhood memories.
At one point, Isabella laughed so hard she nearly spilled her drink.
Lorenzo watched her with quiet fascination.
He couldn’t remember the last time he had enjoyed a conversation this much.
Most people around him were either afraid of him or trying to gain something from him.
But Isabella…
She just talked.
Freely.
Honestly.
Without fear.
“You’re smiling,” she suddenly pointed out.
“Am I?”
“Yes.”
“Is that unusual?”
“For you? Probably.”
Lorenzo chuckled softly.
“Maybe.”
After dinner, they stepped outside.
The night air was cool, and the streets buzzed with life.
For a moment, they simply walked side by side.
Then Isabella said something unexpected.
“You’re different from what I imagined.”
Lorenzo glanced at her.
“What did you imagine?”
“Honestly?”
“Yes.”
“I thought you were arrogant.”
His eyebrow lifted slightly.
“And now?”
“I still think that,” she said with a grin.
He laughed.
The sound was rare enough to make a couple walking past them glance over.
“But,” she added, “you’re also… kinder than you pretend to be.”
Lorenzo stopped walking.
Isabella turned to look at him.
His expression had changed slightly.
“Why do you think that?” he asked quietly.
“Because you try very hard to act cold,” she said. “But you keep doing thoughtful things.”
“Like what?”
“You arrived early so I wouldn’t feel awkward walking in alone.”
He said nothing.
“You listened to everything I said,” she continued.
“And you didn’t interrupt once.”
Lorenzo studied her face carefully.
“You notice a lot.”
“I work in a bookstore,” she replied. “Observing people is part of the job.”
They stood there for a moment in comfortable silence.
Then Lorenzo asked,
“Would you like to see something?”
“Like what?”
“New York from above.”
Ten minutes later, Isabella stood on the rooftop terrace of one of Lorenzo’s buildings.
The entire city stretched beneath them like a sea of lights.
Her eyes widened in amazement.
“This is incredible.”
“Yes.”
She turned to him with excitement shining in her eyes.
“Do you come here often?”
“Sometimes.”
“But you brought me here.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Lorenzo didn’t hesitate this time.
“Because I wanted to share it with you.”
Isabella felt her heart skip.
Something about the way he said it felt… sincere.
For the first time that night, she realized something.
This wasn’t just a casual dinner for him.
And that realization both thrilled and terrified her.
Because deep down…
She could already feel the beginning of something dangerous.
Something powerful.
And Lorenzo De Luca, the man who had never believed in love stories…
Was slowly beginning to write one of his own.
With her.
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