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“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.”

“Belinda.”

The way he says my name makes my stomach flutter.

I hate that.

I also kind of love it.

“Oh my Goddess, this is ridiculous.” I fiddle with the edge of the menu. “I’m thirty-eight years old. I shouldn’t feel this way, but my family is—well, they’re not like me.”

“How do you mean?”

I glance up.

The teasing is gone from his face.

He’s actually listening.

“They’re good at everything. Powerful. Beautiful. Thin.” I give a small laugh, but there’s nothing funny about it. “Perfect.”

“And you’re not?”

“Definitely not.”

His brow furrows like the idea personally offends him.

“I’m sort of the outcast.” I trace one finger along the laminated menu. “The Witch without enough magic. The daughter who eats too much. Takes up too much space. My grandmother was especially fond of pointing out the last two.”

Something dangerous flashes in Damian’s red-and-black eyes.

“Your grandmother told you that?”

“Frequently.”

His jaw clenches.

Interesting.

Why does he look like he wants to hunt down an elderly Witch on my behalf?

“Eating was always presented as one of my many failings.” I shake my head. “It’s stupid. Forget I said anything.”

“Damn straight it’s stupid.”

My head snaps up.

“Excuse me?”

“Not you.” He leans forward, lowering his voice. “Them.”

“Oh.”

“And for the record, Sweet, there is nothing wrong with you.”

My breath catches.