Page 60 of Don't Tell

"I have it," I tell him, quietly.

I push the cart past him into the suite.

She is at the dining table. She has made herself comfortable in the chair facing the windows. She has a glass of wine in her hand, poured from a bottle that was not on the cart. Her shoes are off. Her legs are crossed.

I plate the food, pour the water, and set the bread basket.

I don’t look at her face.

"Could you pass the butter, dear?"

I pass the butter.

"And the pepper. Thank you."

I pass the pepper.

"Could you refresh the wine?"

I refresh the wine.

Each request is pitched in the bright, performing voice. She watches me perform service like it's theater. Cade is at the head of the table with his glass in his hand and his eyes on her. He is not eating, and his jaw has not unclenched.

Fourth request.

"Could you bring me a napkin from the kitchen, sweetheart? Cloth ones. Not these."

Cade sets his glass down. "Lila."

"What? I asked nicely."

"Lila, you can serve yourself." He turns. "Suzanne, sit down."

"I'm fine."

"Sit. Down."

I sit.

The chair he gestures to is the one beside him, opposite Lila. I sit in it. I put my hands flat on my thighs under the table.

Lila's glass has stopped halfway to her mouth. She sets it down.

"Cade, what are you doing?"

"I'm asking my friend to sit down at my table."

"Your friend?"

"Yes, Lila. Do you have a problem with that?"

"Why are you doing this to me, Cade? After everything? After all this time? I’ve been waiting. I’ve been right here, I’ve been right in front of you, I’ve been…" She gestures at me. "And you’re choosing her."

"I’m not choosing anyone," Cade says calmly. "You’re the one acting like a brat. Get up. See yourself out."

"Cade… Cade. It's me. I —we— we have something. We've always had something. We're supposed to…"

"I won’t touch you with a ten-foot pole." The silence that follows has weight. "So stop asking."