I get ready to take another picture, but before I can, I feel a drop of water on my hand. As I look at it, another falls beside it. I lift my head and realize the dark clouds have started to melt.

  I hide the camera under my sweater and quickly look around for shelter, but all I see are bushes. Where was the greenhouse again? Or that gazebo?

  Then I feel a tug on my arm. I turn my head and see Stella with her umbrella and a look of concern on her face.

  "If you don't mind, we can share."

  Chapter Five

  Stella

  I shouldn't have offered to share my umbrella with Ethan.

  It was a bad idea, a recipe for disaster. My umbrella is designed for one person, not two, and Ethan is a big guy, so right now my shoulder is getting wet from the rain, which means it's getting cold, though I'm trying hard not to draw Ethan's attention to it. Also, Ethan's taller than I am, more so since I'm not wearing heels, so he's the one holding the umbrella. In one way, that's good: I think my arm would fall off if I was the one carrying it. The problem is that every time the breeze blows, drops of rain land on my cheeks. Thank goodness the rain isn't that hard - a gentle shower rather than a downpour - or I'd be completely soaked from head to foot by now. But that's not why I think I made a bad decision.

  Ethan wraps his arm around me and pulls me closer to him. His hand rests beneath my armpit, close to my breast.

  "You're getting wet."

  I pull my arm tighter towards my chest so it doesn't bump against his firm stomach in an awkward manner but I can barely get any elbow room.

  This is why.

  All day long, I've been trying to keep my distance from Ethan because as amazing as last night was, it left me confused. We've only made chitchat before. Last night definitely wasn't that. It was a real conversation. A personal one. It was the first time Ethan showed any interest in my personal life, actually. He's always been nice to me, but last night, he was kind. And not as a boss. True, he was still in a suit, but he treated me more as a friend. He even put a blanket over me when I was sleeping.

  Are Ethan and I friends?

  No. We can't be. We can't have any kind of personal relationship or else other people will notice and complain or spread nasty rumors. That's why I told myself I would take a step back. That's why I was determined to go sightseeing alone. Yet Ethan insisted on coming along, and now here we are, squeezed under an umbrella meant for one. No place for me to hide. No way for me to run.

  There goes all my hard work.

  Ethan and I are so close to each other I can smell his minty aftershave. Or is that his breath? If I tilted my head to the right, I could rest it against his shoulder. If I turned it and he turned his head at the same time, our lips would be less than an inch apart.

  Forget about friends. Sharing an umbrella in a lovely European city while walking down an old, narrow cobblestone street, bodies huddled, no words exchanged against the pitter patter of the rain - it's a page straight out of a love story. In fact, I'm pretty sure anyone who saw us right now would mistake us for a couple.

  And I almost wish we were. I almost wish we were newlyweds in Zurich for our honeymoon. Then we wouldn't care what other people thought. Or about the rain. Or about having a tiny umbrella. Or the temptation to kiss.

  See, this whole umbrella sharing thing is playing tricks on my mind.

  I have to do something while I can still think clearly. I have to get out of this situation before it gets the better of me. What to do?

  Just then, I see a chocolate shop from the corner of my eye. It's one of those that had excellent reviews, too. An answered prayer.

  I point to the shop and speak in a loud voice. "Let's go in there."

  Ethan ushers me towards the chocolate shop. As soon as we're under the canopy, I break free of his hold. Finally, some room to breathe. As he folds the umbrella and leaves it in the rack, I dry my shoulder as best I can. Then we go inside.

  As soon as we step in, I inhale the scent of cocoa. My mouth waters. I see the piles of chocolate on display - dark brown, light brown, square, oval, rectangle, round, heart-shaped, striped, dusted, topped with bits of gold. I swallow.

  This is paradise.

  "Hello. What kind of chocolate would you like?" the saleslady behind the counter asks me with a warm smile.

  I look at the chocolate pieces and I place my hands on my cheek. I never thought I'd be asked such an amazing question or that I'd have such a hard time answering.

  "Um..."

  "You can taste as many as you like," the saleslady says.

  My eyebrows arch. "Really?"

  It sounds too good to be true, but she nods.

  "Really," Ethan seconds. "You can try every piece."

  And I would love to, but that doesn't seem fair since I'm only planning on buying a dozen at most. Besides, I still want to be able to fit into the dresses I brought with me.

  I peer into the glass. So far, all I see are pieces of dark and milk chocolate.

  "Do you have any white chocolate?" I ask.

  "No." The saleslady shakes her head. "Sorry."

  "I'm afraid white chocolate isn't really considered chocolate around here," Ethan whispers to me.

  I give him a puzzled look. What? I'm pretty sure I've seen a white chocolate bar with a Swiss name on the packaging.

  "Apparently, white chocolate is only made with cocoa butter, not the cocoa bean itself," he explains.

  I nod. "I see."

  Now I feel stupid. I'm sure the saleslady is thinking I am, too, even though she still has her perfect smile on.

  "If you're looking for something sweet, may I suggest a chocolate with a creamy ganache filling?" she says.

  "Actually, I think I'll try one of your caramel-filled ones," I answer.

  I'm pretty sure they have that.

  The saleslady offers me a striped square piece on a gold cardboard saucer. I pick it up and bite into it. Almost immediately, the gooey caramel oozes out. A thread sticks to my chin.

  I pop in the rest before the caramel gets all over my fingers and my face. I can't believe I'm eating like a three-year-old.

  Ethan offers me his handkerchief. As much as I don't want to accept any favors from him, I take it and wipe my chin and my mouth.

  Well, that was embarrassing.

  "Thanks," I tell Ethan. I glance at his handkerchief, which now has my lipstick on it. "I'll give it back to you later after I wash it."

  "No worries," he says. Then he points to his front teeth.

  It takes me a second to understand his meaning. When I do, a curse leaves my lips.

  "Shit."

  I quickly take my compact out of my purse and look at my teeth. Sure enough, I have a sliver of caramel stuck between two of them. I quickly get rid of it, but the damage to my self-esteem has already been done.

  "Oh my God. This is so embarrassing."

  "Not as embarrassing as having a chocolate mustache for nearly a whole day," Ethan says.

  I close my compact and narrow my eyes at him. "What?"

  "When I was in first grade, I came home from school and when my mom saw me, she went all pale. She thought I had a nosebleed because there was something between my nose and my lips. But I didn't. It wasn't blood. It was chocolate."

  My eyes grow wide. "Chocolate?"

  "See, I ate a chocolate bar in the car on my way to school and I must have gotten some under my nose. So yeah, I had a chocolate mustache. No wonder my classmates were looking at me weird."

  My eyebrows furrow. "But no one told you?"

  Ethan shakes his head. "Nope. Not even my teacher. Maybe because she didn't want to embarrass me."

  I try to keep a straight face, but I fail, especially when I imagine Ethan with the chocolate mustache now. I clasp my hand over my mouth.

  "I'm so sorry."

  "It's fine." Ethan shrugs. "See, we all have our embarrassing moments with chocolate. Doesn't make us love it any less."

  I smile at him. I give up. There's no way I can still act so composed around him when he's just seen me with caramel between my teeth, nor can I act distant towards him when he's just told me an embarrassing moment from his past to make me feel better. I don't know why he's being so kind, but I know I have to return the favor.

  "Don't worry," I tell him. "I won't tell anyone about your mustache if you don't tell anyone about my..."

  "Chocolate tooth cap? Deal." He glances at the display. "So, do you want to try something else? I'm guessing you're not buying the one with the caramel."

  "I am actually," I reply. "But not for me. For a friend."

  "A friend?"

  "Randy from IT."

  Ethan's eyes narrow. "I thought you didn't have any friends from work."

  I touch my chin. "Did I say that?"

  I don't remember.

  "You just haven't mentioned anyone before," Ethan says.

  Well, until last night, we'd never really talked about each other's personal lives.

  "But I'm glad," he adds. "I'm glad you have friends."

  I nod. "Yeah. It's good to have people to talk to at work. They're actually the first people I told after you told me I was going to Switzerland."

  "I see." Ethan leans towards me. "So this Randy, is he just a friend?"

  "Yes," I answer. "He's gay."

  "Oh."

  I hear the relief in his voice. Wait a second. Was Ethan jealous?

  He goes on. "So we're getting a box of caramel-filled chocolates for Randy?"

  "Just a small one," I tell the saleslady. "And another small box of assorted ones for my other friend, Jess."

  "Certainly," the saleslady replies.

  "Jess is from IT, too?" Ethan asks.

  "Marketing."

  "I see. And what about for you? Aren't you buying any chocolates for yourself?"

  "Hmm." I glance at the selection again. "I don't really know what I want to get."

  "Well, what are you looking for?"

  "Something sweet but not too sweet. Something delicate... and unique."

  "Let me help," Ethan offers.

  He points to one of the round pieces of chocolate that has gold dust sprinkled on top. The saleslady hands it to him and he hands it to me.

  "I think you'll like this one."

  I stare at the piece of chocolate. Aside from the gold dust, it seems perfectly ordinary. I know it's not, though. It can't be if Ethan chose it.

  "What is it?" I ask curiously.

  "Just try it," he urges.

  I put the whole piece of chocolate in my mouth and chew, half expecting something to ooze out and flood my mouth. Instead, I get a myriad of flavors - sweet, salty, bitter, sour, all seamlessly blending into each other and melting gently over my tongue. I've never tasted anything like it.

  "What's in this?" I ask Ethan again.

  It can't be just the gold dust making this taste so good. In fact, I can tell there are a lot of ingredients in it, some of which almost seem familiar. I just can't seem to identify any of them.

  "Pistachios from Iran, Himalayan salt, truffle oil, tea, raspberries, cane sugar and fourteen other ingredients," he answers.

  My eyes grow wide as I do the math. That little thing had twenty ingredients? I knew it had more than three, but twenty?

  "You're kidding."

  "I'm not."

  And the look he gives me backs it up. Damn. Twenty ingredients in a piece of chocolate? No wonder it was a mini flavor bomb.

  "Did you like it?" Ethan asks.

  I nod. "It is unique."

  Ethan smiles. "It reminds me of you, actually. Simple on the outside, pretty, but with lots of unexpected layers on the inside, each one equally amazing."

  My eyebrows go up. Is that what he thinks of me?

  He looks at the saleslady. "I'll get a big box of that. Oh, and I'll pay for the other two boxes, too."

  "No," I protest in disbelief. "You can't do that."

  Ethan's eyes narrow. "Why not?"

  Because he's already done so much for me. "Because you're my boss and - "

  "Which means you do as I say. And I say I'm paying."

  "But - "

  "No buts," he cuts me off as he raises a finger. "Just consider it my way of thanking you for letting me share your umbrella."

  No way. I open my mouth, about to protest some more, but the look on his face tells me he isn't going to hear any of it. I let out a sigh instead. I can't believe I'm getting three boxes of luxurious chocolates just for sharing an umbrella with someone.

  Speaking of umbrella...

  I glance out the window.

  "The rain has stopped," I observe out loud.

  Ethan turns his head as well. "So it has."

  I look at him. Was it just my imagination or did I hear a tinge of disappointment in his voice just now?

  "So where to next?" he asks me. "Walk around some more?"

  "Actually, I'm getting a bit hungry," I confess.

  I only ate a sandwich, after all, and I've walked a lot since then.

  "Me too," Ethan admits.

  Come to think of it, I don't believe he's eaten today.

  He gives me a grin. "Since we've already had dessert, what do you say we have dinner?"

  ~

  "That was lovely," I tell Ethan after dinner as I dab my moist lips with the table napkin.

  It may not have been a four-course meal at a fancy restaurant, just a hearty main course - a flavorful pork stew - and a simple dessert - the best apple strudel I've ever tasted - at a cozy little place by the side of the road, but it was just as satisfying.

  "I know," Ethan agrees. "I can't believe I've never eaten here before."

  "I can." I reach for my glass of wine. "Don't you usually eat in restaurants where they have at least four sets of utensils?"

  He leans back in his chair. "Believe it or not, the most expensive meal I've had was a single platter of sushi which I ate with a pair of chopsticks."

  "And the least expensive?" I ask curiously after taking a sip.

  Ethan touches his chin as he pauses to think.

  "I bet you've never had a burger and fries from a fast-food chain," I tell him. "Or eaten at your school cafeteria."

  "I did eat at the school cafeteria, actually."

  I lean forward. "Let me guess. Your school cafeteria had steak, lobster and caviar."

  He chuckles. "I wish it did."

  "So it had soggy tater tots and bland meatloaf?"

  His eyebrows crease. "Not exactly."

  I thought so.

  "But that doesn't mean my life has been perfect."

  I know. Losing your mother at twelve and having a father who expects so much from you must be hard. And I have a feeling I've just reminded him how hard.

  I take a gulp of wine.

  What am I doing ruining such a lovely meal?

  "At least you have your brothers," I tell him in an attempt to undo the damage I've done. "They'll be here tomorrow, so you can bring them here."

  "They'll be busy," Ethan answers. "We all will be."

  Of course. "But at least you're all in this together."

  I know they don't agree on everything. I've witnessed some of their disagreements firsthand. But I've also seen how much they care for each other and how well they can work together.

  "True," Ethan agrees.

  I smile. "I'm envious, actually. Growing up, there were many times I wanted to have even just one sibling. I was supposed to have an elder brother, but he died hours after he was born."

  "You wanted an elder brother?"

  "Or a younger sister," I answer. "So I would have been able to teach her a lot of things and bask in her awe and admiration."

  Ethan grins. "I think you would have made an excellent elder sister."

  I try not to blush at the compliment.

  "What about you?" I ask him. "Do you like being the eldest brother?"

  He sits up straight. "I don't like being the eldest son."

  I wasn't expecting that.

  "Because you're the one who had to take over the company?" I ask.

  "I don't mind that, actually," he replies. "I do believe I have a knack for business."

  He's not wrong there.

  "If I didn't have to take over the family company, I think I would have founded my own."

  And been successful, no doubt.

  "The company-related responsibilities and expectations I can handle," Ethan adds. "It's the personal ones I find taxing."

  "Like?" I ask.

  Ethan sighs. "Like my dad nagging me to get married."

  My eyebrows arch. I had no idea that was going on. It would make sense for Ethan to get married, though. He's already made it to the top of the corporate ladder, so there's no better time for him to settle down. Besides, he's thirty-six already. A lot of men get married before they're even thirty.

  Why didn't that occur to me before? Or was I trying not to think about it because I wanted him to remain a bachelor? Why? Because I was afraid that if he had a family he wouldn't be able to work as hard? Or was it because of my little crush, which I'm realizing may not be so little after all? Have I been secretly relishing the fact that he's too busy with work to have a personal life because I don't want him to pay attention to any woman other than me? Have I secretly been hoping he would never get married?

  I must have, because as the idea of Ethan possibly getting married sinks into my brain, my heart sinks to my stomach.

  I could just walk into Ethan's office one day and hear him ask me to buy an engagement ring for his fiancee? Or worse, find a woman in his office with a ring on her finger and a smirk on her face?

  I grab my glass and gulp down the rest of my wine.

  I know Ethan's my boss. I know he's a billionaire. I know there's no way we'd end up together. Still, I can't help but resent the idea of him being with another woman.

  "Does your dad already have a wife in mind for you?" I ask even though I'm not sure I want to hear the answer. "Or maybe you have someone in mind."

  Ethan meets my gaze. For a moment, we just stare at each other across the table, not saying a word. Then he straightens his shoulders and smooths the edges of his jacket.

  "You know what? Let's not talk about that."

  "Okay."

  I don't mind dropping the uncomfortable topic. I just wish I had heard his answer to my question first. Is there already a woman in the running to be his wife? Yes or no?