“He wore a long tunic over. There were novisiblebits, if that’s what you’re alluding to.” I point at him with my wine glass and take another sip. The warmth of it spreads in my stomach and into my chest. It’s soothing.
“What did he say about today then?”
“Just that he’s sorry he couldn’t make it. He needs time.”
“He’s married,” Mark says, swivelling his wine.
“No, he’s not.”
“How do you know?”
“I … I don’t. I just didn’t get that impression.”
“Maybe he’s a criminal and just got arrested.”
“What, no!”
“He is … not into women?”
“No, he definitely is.”
“Oh, so it’s like that, is it?” Mark raises his eyebrows, and his eyes burn into me with such severity my mouth goes dry.
I don’t know how, but this conversation just took a dangerous turn. We’re saved by the staff arriving with the first courses. Nelly explains what the different dishes are, but despite it being presented in English I don’t understand what I’m about to eat.
It all looks like art, though. Intricate patterns of sauces, flowers, small pieces of fruits or vegetables or something. It’s a shame to destroy it. I can’t spy any raw onions, which is a relief.
“What is langoustine?” I ask when I’m sure none of the staff can hear me.
“This little fella here,” Mark says, pointing at the tiny lobster-like creature looking at me like he’s lost a bet. At least he’s surrounded by flowers now.
“Right.”
I dig my way through his little shell for an edible piece and use it to scoop up all the different bits and bobs on the plate. There’s a taste explosion in my mouth, and I can’t help but groan.
Mark smiles knowingly and takes a bite of his piece of artfully decorated something.
“What do you have there?” I ask.
“Pigeon,” he says as he cuts another piece.
I grimace, and he lets out a huff. I stare at him, and then he snorts as if he’s trying to stop himself from laughing out loud. He puts his cutlery down and hides his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking and those delicious forearms on full display.
“Sorry,” he mutters, his voice muffled by his hands. “I haven’t had an involuntary laugh since I was a child; there was just something about your reaction.” All I can do is beam at him. I take back what I was thinking earlier. Markcanbe cute. I wish he’d shared his full laugh and grin with me. I’m missing out on something special, I’m sure of it.
He’s smiling when he runs his hands down that sculpted jaw, shaking his head at me, not condescendingly, but in a ‘you just made me snort in my Michelin food’ kind of way.
“You’re very different from in the office,” I say, feeling brave with some wine in me.
“I am,” he says matter-of-factly, continuing on his ‘food’.
“Are you intentionally super intimidating?”
He stops chewing for a moment and puts his cutlery down. “Yes and no.”
I look at him, really look at him. There’s a tiredness hiding behind his eyes, and something in the weak smile that makes my heart constrict. He’s struggling, isn’t he? Taking over from Damian like that. Not having all the staff he needs.
“I’m trying to make sure people uphold a certain standard, and I…” His eyes find mine. “I trust you not to share this.”
