"I love this," I hold my champagne glass into the air. "What is it? It's so fruity."

"It's Champagne Carbon," Sainte tells me, reading out the label. "Do you like it?"

"I love it. I can't stop drinking it."

"I can stock it for you, if you'd like."

"Really?" I smile over at him.

"Of course."

"I'd like that. But it might be risky. I'd drink this for breakfast, lunch and dinner."

"try not to do that," he places the bottle back in the cooler. We haven't been in the limo long, but we've practically already finished the bottle.

"What do you drink?" I ask him. "You look like a whiskey man."

"You'd be correct."

"That's hot. So masculine, like a rugged bear, or something."

"You talk a lot when you're intoxicated," he tries to fight the smile from pulling at his cheeks. My grin widens.

"I like it when you do that."

"Do what?"

"Smile like that," I say. "It's so goofy."

"Goofy?" he snickers. "I don't think I've ever heard anyone use that word in conversation before."

"Well, it's true. You try so hard to be all tough and scary, but you're not. You're just a big teddy bear."

"I am not a teddy bear."

"You totally are," I laugh. "I saw you hugging your brother before."

"That's because he's my brother."

"It was sweet. You were so normal."

"Normal?"

"Uhm-hmm," I nod. He shakes his head at me.

"You're drunk, Sofia," he says. "And we're home."

"Why do you call me that?" I ask him.

"Because that's your name."

"But I like Sofie better."

"Why?"

"I don't know. Sofia is so... Italian."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"Sometimes," I nod. "Sofie is more American."

"Well, I like Sofia better."

"Why, though?"

"Because it's Italian," he tells me. "And it suits you."

"Does it?"

"I think so."

Our conversation is interrupted by the driver opening the side door. Sainte steps out of the limo, extending his hand to me. I take it eagerly, and not just because I need the help.

"This is the first time you've touched me," I comment, barely able to stand up.

"I know," he says, holding me up.

"You never touch me," I scowl. "You don't even hold my hand."

"Would you like me to?"

"I would," I nod. "It's weird that you don't."

"I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

"You don't."

"You aren't afraid of me?"

"No," I snicker.

"You shouldn't be," he looks over at me, searching my eyes. "I would never do anything to hurt you."

"No?"

"Not ever," he insists. And I believe him. "I don't want you to fear me."

"I don't," I assure him. "You're intimidating, but only in a hot... kinky way."

"Kinky?" a teasing smirk appears on his face.

"Yes," I giggle. "Is that okay for me to say?"

"You can say whatever you want, darling."

"Darling?" I raise my brows in surprise, excitement spreading through my veins. "I like that."

"Come on," Sainte opens the front door, ushering me inside. "Time to get you in bed."

"What? No!" I complain. "It's so early!"

"It's midnight, Sofia."

"It's midnight, Sofia," I copy him, putting on a deep voice.

"That sounds nothing like me."

"Yes, it did! That was perfect!"

"Alright then, Sofia," he chuckles. "Let's get you upstairs."

I stumble up the steps, tightly holding onto Sainte and the handrail. It feels weird walking through this house without being lead by Jordan, but it's a nice change. Sainte opens my bedroom door, but we don't get any further than the doorway.

The room looks like it's been completely trashed, but that's how I left it. It took me forever to find something to wear, and it's obvious. There are shoes all over the floor, and a bunch of dresses, bra's and jewellery laying on my bed.

"What happened in here?" Sainte asks.

"I couldn't decide what to wear," I defend.

"Is this all your clothes?"

"No, these are just a few of my evening gowns."

"You have more than this?"

"Yeah, I just left most of them in New York, you know... In case this didn't work out."

"Do the rest of your things fit in the wardrobe?" he glances at the closet.

"Not really," I say. "But that's okay. It's fine for now."

"We're going to have to do something about this," he tells me. "I'll move you into a bigger room tomorrow."

"Oh, no, it's fine."

"No, this is absurd," he insists. "I want you to be comfortable here."

"I am comfortable here."

"Don't lie, Sofia."

"Well... I suppose it could be better."

"Then I'll take care of it."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course," he nods. "Now come with me."

He leads me back out of the room and down the hallway. I'm not sure where we're heading, but I trust him. We walk up the stairs to the floor where his office is, but that's not where we go. We turn in the opposite direction, towards the only other door on the floor. Sainte pushes the door open and motions for me to enter.

It's a huge room — massive. But it's almost entirely empty. There's nothing but a large bed in the centre. That's it. Nothing else. If it didn't have carpet, it would probably echo.

"Is this your room?" I ask.

"It is."

"It's so empty."

"I don't have many things."

"No decorations?"

"I don't need any."

"Is that your approach — stick to the necessities?"

"I suppose," he nods. "You can sleep in here tonight. I'll stay in my office."

"Oh, you don't have to do that," I turn to him, removing my hand from his. "You can stay here."

"Are you sure?"

"I don't mind," I nod. "We'll be sharing a bed eventually, won't we?"

"I don't want you to be uncomfortable."

"I won't be."