Chapter Eleven

Liam

In the kitchen I slip off my jacket and open the wine fridge. A sauvignon blanc would be a good icebreaker. Pulling out a serviceable Pouilly-Fumé, I watch Aria peer through the balcony doors at the view. When she turns and walks toward the kitchen I ask if she'd be happy with the wine I've selected.

"I know nothing about wine, Liam. I'm sure it will be fine." She sounds subdued.

Shit. This isn't going well. Is she overwhelmed? Is that it?

I pour two glasses and walk to where she stands in the middle of my living room, looking every bit the sacrificial lamb. Gone is the disarming woman. She looks lost.

Like me…

"Here." I hand her the glass, and she immediately takes a sip, closing her eyes in obvious appreciation of the wine. When she lowers the glass her lips are moist.

Good choice, Liam.

"It's a very big place you have here," she says, her voice timid.

"Big?"

"Big."

"It's big." There's no arguing with that; it is more than ten thousand square feet.