Jude huffs a laugh, “Not personally, but my Dad has done some business for him. What do your parents do?” The question hangs in the air and I try not to let it catch me off guard.
He doesn’t know your history, he doesn’t know about Dad. Just be cool.
“Oh, well my Mom stays at home and my Dad travels for work,” I say, shoving risotto into my mouth hoping he doesn’t pry further. My mouth is on fire, but better burnt than babbling on about a missing father figure and a traumatic childhood.
“Nice. Yeah my Mom likes to redecorate our estates every season, it keeps her busy.” His tone rubs me the wrong way but I, once again, shake it off.
Take chances, Celeste.
“That’s nice, where is your estate?” I ask out of mild curiosity before blowing on a new forkful. I almost groan as the heat subsides and the flavour kicks in.
Is that truffle I taste?!
“Estate-s.Multiple,” he corrects me, his inflection flipping from casual to stern so swiftly my focus shoots up to his. “The first one, here in Canada, is over three acres and backs on to…” Jude continues talking but I’m starting to zone out. He continues rambling on about his second estate somewhere in Colorado where his Dad’s business is located.
“…just designed a whole new second level at the summer house on Lake Como,” Jude finishes and I feel like I’ve just heard a spiel from a Sotheby’s real estate agent. Everything rings in my mind in dollar signs, and I suddenly feel small in my chair. I pat my napkin to my mouth and take the final sip I’ve savoured from my glass.
“Celly? Did you hear me? I said we should go sometime,” Jude repeats himself, indicating I clearly missed him the first time. He displays a smile so big and bright I expect paparazzi to pop out from the kitchen to photograph him.
“I’m sorry, the risotto has gone to my head. Go where?” I ask with a small placating smile.
“To Lake Como. I’ll take you during winter break this year.” His teeth are so white, theycannot be natural.
“You want me to go to Italy with you?” I ask perplexed. Then he shrugs.Shrugs.“Jude, I don’t mean to be blunt, but we’re in very different tax brackets. Also, you barely know me.”
He chuckles while holding the stem of his wine glass, swirling it before tossing it back.
“Celly, you don’t have tobeanything. When you’re with me, everything is covered.” I’m sure he means it reassuringly, but to me it comes off as, well, pompous.
Suddenly, I see his demeanour in a new light. He’s leaning back in his chair, legs spread wide while barely noticing as Lorenzo refills his glass with a wine I’m sure costs more than my textbooks for the semester. He’s also staring at me like I’m a piece of meat. A conquest. A flighty thing that doesn’t have tobeanything. All the little red flags I had brushed aside for the past hour are abruptly, glaringly red. Before I can excuse myself from the table, Chef Angelo makes an appearance beside us, Lorenzo still a step behind him at Jude’s beck and call.
“Good evening, Mr. Havenston. How are you enjoying the food tonight?” he asks politely, shooting me dagger eyes when Jude isn’t looking.
I didn’t order that sardine disaster, buddy.
“The veal was a little over done, my guy,” Jude pats Chef Angelo on the shoulder like a kid at a soccer match that missed a goal, “Don’t get rusty in your old age.” Jude’s laugh fills the awkward silence I feel. I turn to the chef to try and make amends.
“My risotto was exquisite, the best I’ve ever had,” I say as sincerely as possible.
Chef Angelo looks me over with squinted eyes, “Yes, well…” He turns back to Jude, “I’m sorry we couldn’t meet your expectations tonight Mr. Havenston. With your displeasure, please consider your meals this evening complimentary.” ChefAngelo bows his head slightly at Jude, who looks like he’s getting off on all this.
In a flourish, Jude and I are alone at our table again. He’s looking at me with a grin on his face like a cat that just ate the mouse. He gives a simple shrug and winks at me. I hold in my eye roll with the strength of a thousand Zena Warrior Princesses. Jude may be a walking Ken doll with Daddy’s money to throw—not to mention a vacation house in Italy—but he is also entirely naive about me. He didn’t ask me a single question about myself, what I’m studying, or if I even like Italy. All I want at this moment is to…I pause mid-thought.
What do I want to be doing right now?
Memories of laughing at the coffee counter with Dominic fly through my mind, watching TV on his couch, getting ice cream…
I feel an unexpected flush take over, my cheeks heating at the memories of Dominic. They are far from scandalous but somehow feel intimate.Too intimate while on a date with another guy, even if he is a pretentious douche.
As Jude begins to slink an arm into his tailored jacket sleeve, I flag down Lorenzo and ask if I can order another round of risotto to bring home, to which I receive an eye roll and a snooty, “You’ll have to pay for that.” I pull out my card and wait for him to return with the machine.
“Oh. You’re gettingmorefood?” Jude asks looking up from his phone, already standing with his coat on. I swear if it doesn’t concern him, he isn’t aware of it.
“Yeah, my mom would love this dish and I don’t think she’s eaten yet, so I thought I’d bring some home for her,” I say, tapping my card as Lorenzo barely stops long enough at our table for me to pay.
“Well I’ve got to run. My dad said his clients are finally ready to make a decision about the transfer. I’ll see you around?”
“Yeah no problem, thank you for dinner,” I say cordially, standing up to give him a handshake as his arms splay open for a hug. We shift awkwardly, his arm coming around too tightly on my neck. My left hand braces against his waist, the other stuck between us in a claw shape. It is all very pre-teen and makes me want to cringe. I sit back down as Jude walks away. Only then do I realize I don’t have a ride home. Lorenzo practically tosses me a brown bag and shoos me out of the table.
