She shook her head as her eyes darted to the side. "I shouldn't have, I suppose. I find your love life fascinating."
"You, the media, and Crane Holdings board of directors." He sat back, feeling the weight of that admission. How had everything he'd achieved, everything he'd strived for, been watered down to who he had sex with? It was insulting. "I don't understand. What's the draw?"
"Are you kidding? A wealthy man who dates a parade of beautiful women, yet none of them can penetrate his cold, unfeeling heart? The public eats that sort of thing up."
A muscle in his jaw ticked. Cold. Unfeeling. That's how she saw him? Not driven, or successful, or willing to do anything to secure his family's name? In that way, he and Merina weren't so different.
"I was surprised to learn you had such an aversion to the media since you've played into their hands so nicely," she continued.
"Just because this city is fascinated with the details of my dates doesn't mean I have to pander." His voice came out a grumble, every part of him wanting to argue. It was his habit to keep the walls up, so he'd keep them raised.
"They'll also be fascinated with our lives." A sharp glint lit her eyes. "We're going to be husband and wife. There are things we should talk about. How we met. First date. First time we…"
She let the pause linger in the air and he felt the tension once again settling between them—the good kind.
"…learned each other's middle names," she finished on a soft exhalation. The coy expression dashed from her face when he responded curtly.
"Merina, this is our first date. The rest of it we won't have talked about because the public will assume all we've been doing is fucking."
Her head jerked on her neck and she looked around to see if anyone was listening. As they had the most private table in the room, he wasn't worried. No one was within earshot.
"I've been in the spotlight enough to know that the media assumes I'm sleeping with the women they photograph me with. They're right half the time."
"Only half?" Merina asked drily.
"Seventy percent of the time," he amended with a wry smile. She returned it with one of her own. They ran hot and cold with each other, but no matter the temperature between them, the attraction endured.
Fascinating.
It'd been a while since he'd felt anything. Going through the motions wasn't a polite way to describe what he'd been doing with the women in his past, but accurate.
"The fewer things we have to make up the better," he said. "How did we meet? You stormed into my office to demand I keep the Van Heusen as-is. Then you gave me a doorknob."
Another laugh. She gestured with her glass. "Which I need back, by the way." She lowered her voice. "Won't the public suspect something when I end up with the hotel in my name?"
"By then it won't matter." He shrugged. "The divorce will garner some attention, but will be buried the next day beneath celebrity hoopla."
"Or the next woman you take to an opera." Her words lingered. He let them. He hadn't thought about what he'd do after Merina, but it made sense that after this hiccup, he'd continue dating much the same as he did before.
"Attention for the Van Heusen isn't a bad thing," he said instead of addressing her suggestion. "An article will win you some much needed publicity for the hotel. Mention how charming or quaint or rustic it is. Whatever turns you on about the place."
"You really do hate it, don't you?" Her face twisted into something resembling hurt. He didn't like seeing her hurt. Enraged was one thing; her passion and fight was exhilarating. But this tender look made him uncomfortable. He didn't want to hurt her feelings.
"I don't hate it," he said, telling her the truth. "But why choose a homey hotel over a sleek one?"
"Seriously? Who wouldn't want a relaxing, warm, family atmosphere?"
"Anyone who is trying to work or get laid," he answered frankly.
"I'm not running a brothel, Crane."
Ah, they were back to "Crane."
"Well, I'm not running an orphanage, Merina." Their gazes locked. He broke the connection by blinking. "But there are people who see the world the way you do. When you talk to the media, keep your focus on your passion for the hotel. You'll draw in those bleeding hearts."
Her mouth flinched, taking his comment for what it was—a teasing jab.
Their waiter delivered two small cups of watermelon soup with mint leaves and a crumbling of feta on top.
Merina scowled. "This looks disgusting."
"It tastes worse than it looks," he said, lifting his spoon.
"You don't like it?" She was still making a face as she dragged her spoon through the chilled soup.
"I do not like it," he said.
"Sam I Am?" She looked up, spoon full. "Would you eat it in a box?"
Reese blinked. Of all the references. "Dr. Seuss fan?"
"Green Eggs and Ham is the best children's book ever written." She pulled her shoulders as if to challenge him. But he wouldn't argue.
"On this we agree," he said, a note of surprise in his tone.
"I still have my copy from when I was little." She dipped her spoon and lifted it again, still unsure about taking that first bite.
"Me too. My mom used to read it to me before bed. I can't look at that tattered spine without remembering her." The moment it was out of his mouth, he wanted to retract his words. Never, ever was he sentimental on a date. Stick to business, family only as it had to do with business, likes and dislikes in the most general sense.
Rules Merina had obliterated without trying.
"Your mom has passed?" Sincerity leached into her expression.
"A long time ago. Anyway." He scooped up a bite of the chilled soup. Yep. As awful as he remembered.
"There's a gap in our how-we-met story," she said, letting the topic pass. "What will we say happened between the moment I stormed into your office and, say, right now?
The truth. I showed up at the Van Heusen in the middle of the night.