CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
That’s how we found ourselves seated in a quaint little restaurant along the canal. Looking around when we sat down, all the tables were occupied so it seems we were lucky to have timed it so well to snag the last free table. We were each given a scrap of thick brown parchment with a handwritten menu, that I couldn’t read so I’m very much relying on Bastian to pick something good.
The restaurant itself is incredibly intimate. It’s small, with no more than two dozen tables, nearly all set up to only seat groups of two. There are small orbs of golden light lining the tops of the walls giving the place a soft glow. It feels awfully romantic for a dinner between two… well, whatever it is we are at this point. Reluctant allies? Friends?
Either way, I love this place already and I haven’t even tried the food.
“Are you okay with fish? They have some of the best seafood in the whole realm,” Bastian explains as his eyes skim the menu in front of him.
“Been here often, have you?”
He shrugs but doesn’t look up. “Not that often, but a few times. Anytime I find myself near the southern border of the veil.”
“Don’t they know who you are?” I ask.
At this, he looks up, brows furrowing. “What do you mean?”
“That you’re…you know,” I say, widening my eyes at him with emphasis. But when the confusion on his face doesn’t clear, I lean in close across the table before I mouth the word at him without letting a sound escape my mouth for fear of who could overhear. “Unseelie.”
Recognition washes over his expression and the tension I didn’t realize he was carrying melts away. “Oh, that. No, they don’t.”
I tilt my head at him in question. “How’s that? No offense but you look exactly like what I would’ve pictured as… you know.”
His hand lifts to cover his mouth in what I’m willing to bet is a way to smother a laugh. “They actually don’t know that.”
“And that means… what?”
“I’m glamoured,” he answers simply as if it was obvious.
I let my eyes trail across his features starting with his unruly deep black hair, to his crystal blue eyes, to his full lips—okay, no, moving on quickly away from his lips—to his broad frame. “Uh, hate to break it to you, but no you’re not.”
Amusement twinkles in his eyes. “I am, actually. Just not for you.”
“Oh.” I blink at him a few times, dumbfounded. “You can do that?”
“Yes, but it does take a fair amount of control to ensure you still see me as I am while the rest of those around us see me as a blonde-haired, green-eyed Seelie male.”
I scrunch my nose up in disgust. “Ew, a blonde?”
“Not your type then?” He asks with a chuckle.
“Definitely not,” I scoff.
He raises an eyebrow. “What is your type then?”
Dark hair.
Eyes so blue you can drown in them.
Soft lips that do nothing but smirk.
You.
Heat flushes through my body at the thoughts. “Oh, I’m not so sure I really have a type,” I say in an attempt to deflect.
He leans his upper body across the table, leaning on his elbows, so his face is mere inches from mine. “Something makes me think that isn’t entirely true.” Thatdamnsmirk takes over his mouth and his eyes are full of hunger.
I’m momentarily stunned, hovering so close to him that I can feel the heat radiating off his skin, the ghost of his exhales tickling my cheeks. Eventually I’m able to come back to myself and pull away, sitting back in my seat and clearing my throat. “I have no idea what would give you that idea.”
