"I'm having a little dinner party tonight. I would like you to come."
The words echoed down through the years, two sentences that had changed his life.
Sophie with the smiling eyes and the curling hair, who always seemed to glide into a room and once there was always the center of attention. Her natural grace carried her into conversations, turning them to politics with gentle ease. She was generous with ideas and insights, never taking credit, always allowing others to think the ideas had been theirs, that they had been the source of her inspiration. Lorenzo had watched her take a group of bored students waiting for their instructor to arrive and turn them into an animated group of revolutionaries in the making. He had never seen this sort of power. In her unobtrusive way, Sophie made people feel smarter, feel more powerful, more empowered. It was a heady mix, and no one gave a dinner party like Sophie.
Like a shepherd she gathered them to her; the disaffected, the world-weary, the iconoclasts, the students looking to fit in. She would find the right seven or eight of them and invite them to dinner. She had the magic touch, always choosing the right mix of leaders, visionaries, peacemakers, and worker bees. She was an excellent judge of temperament, and somehow these differences only served to elevate the level of conversation at the meal. Inevitably, they would find that they shared an interest in something, be it animal rights or worker rights of human rights, whatever little kernel of an idea that Sophie dropped early on and nourished in her way, making sure that even the shy felt included.
Lorenzo had watched this siren, knowing that if he listened he would be pulled into the world of ideas and he, too, would be a fool before her, believing that her ideas were his own. He watched, noting the graceful curve of her cheekbone, the perfection that was her profile, the light in her eyes as she spoke. He drank in the shadows that pooled in her collarbones, the shadows cast by her simple cotton dress against her legs, the curling shadows that her hair cast over her shoulders. He wanted to know her in shadow and in light, and a graceful hand paused slightly on its path to move a lock of hair behind her ear. She had caught his eye following the movement and her cheeks flushed. Her eyes skipped to his and were held by the intensity of the deep blue gaze that seemed to see all of her at once. Sophie was his in that moment, but he would not know it for another hour. Her eyes skipped away and she returned to her task. Sophie always gave unforgettable dinner parties, even when her mind was consumed with Lorenzo.
The guests began to depart, but he, having stayed silently in the shadows throughout the evening, remained behind. When at last they were alone she pulled up a chair across from his and sat down, slipping her right foot from its heeled sandal and rubbing it against her left heel.
"And you, Lorenzo, did you find my party boring?" she asked, still unsure about this watchful man whose eyes had turned sent rushes of heat to her center every time they had caught her own.
"On the contrary. I find you fascinating. May I?" he said as he bent to take her ankle into his hand, drawing her tiny foot into a massage before she had a chance to think of an appropriate response.
She had forgotten to resist when he took her foot, and now his thumbs were kneading their way along her instep.
"Oh." Sophie heard the moan escape her lips. Surely she could put up more resistance than this. She had sent any number of men on their way after her dinner parties.
Lorenzo released her leg and took her other foot into his hands, removing the sandal and repeating his tender kneading of her left foot. Sophie was rapidly becoming aroused by his touch, a fact that her rapid breathing gave away.
He stood, pulling her up before him, his mouth finding hers gently. There would be only one first kiss, and he wanted to remember the gentle play of his lips against hers, the way his lips brushed hers, learning first the shape of first her top lip, then her bottom lip, as though there were nothing more in the world than this. It was she who parted his lips, she who invited his advance, and as his tongue slipped past her teeth to explore the warm mysteries beyond, he knew that he had found home in her arms.
This beautiful creature was returning his kiss, and the delicate arms wrapped around his neck were pulling him deeper, ever deeper into her thrall.
And then the door opened. Keys clattered into a bowl by the door. He broke the kiss, looking down into Sophie's brilliant grin. "That would be my flatmate."
"Don't mind me," the girl said, slipping past them quickly. "I'll be. out of the way."
Lorenzo smiled back at Sophie, then released her as the girl's bedroom door closed. "Sophie, would you come to dinner with me? At your earliest convenience?"
"I'm free tomorrow night," she said, cocking her head to the side as she watched him watching her. If he spent much longer staring into her eyes he would never leave, and he had already decided that there would be no rushing this.
"Tomorrow night. At eight."
The words echoed down through the years, two sentences that had changed his life.
Sophie with the smiling eyes and the curling hair, who always seemed to glide into a room and once there was always the center of attention. Her natural grace carried her into conversations, turning them to politics with gentle ease. She was generous with ideas and insights, never taking credit, always allowing others to think the ideas had been theirs, that they had been the source of her inspiration. Lorenzo had watched her take a group of bored students waiting for their instructor to arrive and turn them into an animated group of revolutionaries in the making. He had never seen this sort of power. In her unobtrusive way, Sophie made people feel smarter, feel more powerful, more empowered. It was a heady mix, and no one gave a dinner party like Sophie.
Like a shepherd she gathered them to her; the disaffected, the world-weary, the iconoclasts, the students looking to fit in. She would find the right seven or eight of them and invite them to dinner. She had the magic touch, always choosing the right mix of leaders, visionaries, peacemakers, and worker bees. She was an excellent judge of temperament, and somehow these differences only served to elevate the level of conversation at the meal. Inevitably, they would find that they shared an interest in something, be it animal rights or worker rights of human rights, whatever little kernel of an idea that Sophie dropped early on and nourished in her way, making sure that even the shy felt included.
Lorenzo had watched this siren, knowing that if he listened he would be pulled into the world of ideas and he, too, would be a fool before her, believing that her ideas were his own. He watched, noting the graceful curve of her cheekbone, the perfection that was her profile, the light in her eyes as she spoke. He drank in the shadows that pooled in her collarbones, the shadows cast by her simple cotton dress against her legs, the curling shadows that her hair cast over her shoulders. He wanted to know her in shadow and in light, and a graceful hand paused slightly on its path to move a lock of hair behind her ear. She had caught his eye following the movement and her cheeks flushed. Her eyes skipped to his and were held by the intensity of the deep blue gaze that seemed to see all of her at once. Sophie was his in that moment, but he would not know it for another hour. Her eyes skipped away and she returned to her task. Sophie always gave unforgettable dinner parties, even when her mind was consumed with Lorenzo.
The guests began to depart, but he, having stayed silently in the shadows throughout the evening, remained behind. When at last they were alone she pulled up a chair across from his and sat down, slipping her right foot from its heeled sandal and rubbing it against her left heel.
"And you, Lorenzo, did you find my party boring?" she asked, still unsure about this watchful man whose eyes had turned sent rushes of heat to her center every time they had caught her own.
"On the contrary. I find you fascinating. May I?" he said as he bent to take her ankle into his hand, drawing her tiny foot into a massage before she had a chance to think of an appropriate response.
She had forgotten to resist when he took her foot, and now his thumbs were kneading their way along her instep.
"Oh." Sophie heard the moan escape her lips. Surely she could put up more resistance than this. She had sent any number of men on their way after her dinner parties.
Lorenzo released her leg and took her other foot into his hands, removing the sandal and repeating his tender kneading of her left foot. Sophie was rapidly becoming aroused by his touch, a fact that her rapid breathing gave away.
He stood, pulling her up before him, his mouth finding hers gently. There would be only one first kiss, and he wanted to remember the gentle play of his lips against hers, the way his lips brushed hers, learning first the shape of first her top lip, then her bottom lip, as though there were nothing more in the world than this. It was she who parted his lips, she who invited his advance, and as his tongue slipped past her teeth to explore the warm mysteries beyond, he knew that he had found home in her arms.
This beautiful creature was returning his kiss, and the delicate arms wrapped around his neck were pulling him deeper, ever deeper into her thrall.
And then the door opened. Keys clattered into a bowl by the door. He broke the kiss, looking down into Sophie's brilliant grin. "That would be my flatmate."
"Don't mind me," the girl said, slipping past them quickly. "I'll be. out of the way."
Lorenzo smiled back at Sophie, then released her as the girl's bedroom door closed. "Sophie, would you come to dinner with me? At your earliest convenience?"
"I'm free tomorrow night," she said, cocking her head to the side as she watched him watching her. If he spent much longer staring into her eyes he would never leave, and he had already decided that there would be no rushing this.
"Tomorrow night. At eight."