“What?”
“You don’t have to pretend to be impressed by things, billionaire. I’m sure there’s a bunch of better places you’ve stayed.”
“Uh, I’m not pretending. I don’t do that,” I respond, smacking his belly.
Is there literally nothing soft on the man?
“Oh,” he says, adjusting his shoulder. “Well then, thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” I say, popping my brows until the line between his disappears.
His Adam’s apple bobs, and he pivots toward the front desk. In the meantime, I take in the baroque architecture, admiring how it blends seamlessly with the modern upgrades. The classical music playing feels fresh and lively. More of the black cloud from earlier dissipates, and I begin to look forward to this stolen afternoon.
I look over, and Anthony has a small smile on his face, his ear cocked up, taking in the music and the surrounding areas. To the uninitiated, he looks serious and a little mean. But he's got layers, some I’m sure he hasn't even shown me, and I want to uncover all of them.
We take the elevator up to the suite, and he lets me lean against his shoulder for a little micro-nap. His hand comes to my lower back when the doors open, and he guides me down the hall, the heat from his hand penetrating the layers of fabric I’m wearing.
He withdraws his hand and lets us into the suite, distancing himself. The suite has two bedrooms and a living room, nothing to complain about. I mean…would I prefer one small bed to share with the man? No doubt. Unfortunately, when you’ve got Mr. Appropriate booking the place, that’s never gonna happen.
He gets changed in his room and walks out wearing jeans, black motorcycle boots, and a white T-shirt with a light jacket over his arm.
“You look so American,” I say, laughing as I squeeze his biceps. “Actually, here.” I hand him the Ray-Bans.
He slips them on, and I fan myself.
“What?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Could it be the square jaw, the sunglasses, and the overpriced blue jeans that—shocker—cup your ass perfectly? I told you: Wayfarer chic.”
“This is what you bought for me at that store.”
I shake my head. “Which is why I’m complimenting you, stupid.”
He narrows his eyes. “Doesn’t feel like a compliment.”
Rolling my eyes, I pat his arm. “C’mon, Captain America. Let’s head out.”
“You sure you don't want a quick nap?” he asks, standing over me, cupping my shoulder with a concerned expression.
“Nah, it’ll fuck with my sleep schedule even more. Let’s go,” I say, stepping away from his touch to avoid nuzzling my cheek against the back of his hand.
He looks like he wants to protest as I slide into my puffer jacket, but he bites his tongue and follows me out the door. We first go to the museum of classical music, where I swear Anthony almost tears up. After that, we take a leisurely stroll along the Danube, landing at a little sidewalk café with outdoor seating.
“Two seats, indoor,” he tells the hostess standing outside at a little kiosk by the front.
“What? No, Anthony. It’s too beautiful outside.”
He tugs on my collar. “You’re freezing. It’s warmer inside.”
I stand in front of the door and cross my arms.
“Fine. Outside it is.”
The hostess tries to hide her grin but sends me a covert wink when Anthony isn’t looking. She thinks we’re together, and I don’t mind the assumption.
We take our time pouring over the menu and people watching. Anthony orders another tea for himself and generally looks ridiculous eating dainty cucumber sandwiches and sipping his tea from delicate china. Of course, he’s more refined than all of that, but it still amuses me, and he seems to enjoy himself.
After a little more wandering, with more incidental touching and bumping into each other than seems totally necessary, we end up at the Albertina Museum. Anthony peruses the various pieces of art with childlike wonder. He’s always made me feel physically safe but seeing his vulnerable side makes me feel weirdly emotionally safe.