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From all those times I just sat at the dinner table and made a face instead of conversation when I was younger.
“Sorry, Krystal.” He apologizes. Bringing his hands up from under the table I can see the marks where his fingers have dug into his huge palms as he’s made two fists which he’s finally relaxing.
“Uh. This is all in French,” I tell him gently, confessing I have no idea what to order.
“Italian.” He smiles, correcting me but laughing with me, not at me.
“It’s weird, isn’t it?” I ask. “You think paying so much they’d make it easier, not harder.”
Someone from the next table overhears me, an older woman who makes a tutting sound and rolls her eyes before whispering something to her even older looking husband.
“We can go someplace else if you want,” Blake says finally, looking like he thinks it’s a mistake to have come here.
“I didn’t mean that,” I tell him. “I just...” But I don’t finish.
I suddenly don’t feel hungry anymore and wonder how things could go from so great to so glum in a minute.
Blake’s expression changes when he seems to spot someone he knows, and with a casual gesture of his hand he calls over another waiter, speaking to him in a low tone.
The head waiter, I guess. He follows Blake’s eyes, and with a gasp he apologizes profusely, promising to serve us himself before disappearing.
Blake seems to relax, translating some dishes for me he thinks I might like.
“What was all that about?” I ask, carefully moving my eyes to point out the head waiter.
“Oh, just making sure that other asshole waiter gets what he deserves,” Blake says with a smile, sighing with contentment.
“What do you mean. Because he looked at me?” I ask, confused, some irritation hovering in my voice.
Blake shrugs, like a man who’s already dealt with a problem and has moved on.
“I don’t need you to do anything if somebody looks at me, Blake,” I tell him firmly, feeling my face flush with anger.
“I can speak for myself if I think someone is acting out of order,” I add, watching his smile shift to a grin at the corner of his mouth.
“Like you are with me now?” he says, cocking a brow, making my eyes narrow as I toss my napkin down onto the table, really mad now.
But his fascination only seems to grow.
He’s not apologizing for making me mad. He seems to almost be enjoying it. Practically getting off on it.
I’m just about to stand up and tell him where he can stick his fancy clothes and French-Italian restaurant when he gives me one of those commanding looks.
“Krystal, I won’t have another man, any man looking at you the way that waiter did. It’s a lot easier for him to get his ass kicked by his boss than by me,” he says, a matter of fact but with such finality that it actually takes the wind out of my sails.
Why would or should Blake even care who looks at me?
“Remember, what you said about being mine for the day?” he reminds me with a grin.
I open my mouth, trying to come up with something to stop him in his tracks like he’s done with me so many times since we met but I’ve got nothing.
I wonder how I’d feel if someone else looked at Blake in a way I didn’t approve of.
What would I do?
I’d be furious, truth be told.
I settle back into my chair and fold my napkin over my lap again.
“Is this what today’s all about? Having someone to dress up and act just how you want them to?” I ask, not meaning to sound short but there’s still some venom in my voice.
“Not at all, Krystal,” he says, leaning on the table with his elbows, his huge hands almost touching both of mine.
“I just want—” he starts.
“Apologies, Mr. Mason. I’ve sent Geoffrey home for the evening. Maybe he can think things over for the next few days before we have him serving our guests again. Please, accept our sincere apologies,” the head waiter says in a low voice but with such honesty and sincerity, I really do feel that this Geoffrey guy has done something terrible all of a sudden.
Unforgivable.
It seems to satisfy Blake though, and he thanks the waiter, ordering for us both.
I try to stay mad at him though. The whole attitude is so… so… Ugh! I don’t know, like someone who thinks they can get whatever they want just by clicking their fingers.
Or giving a certain look.
Maybe flashing that winning smile, creasing the little fold in his chin as he smiles.
Ah, who am I kidding? I can’t stay mad at him. If anything, watching him control things with so much certainty makes me like him even more.
Makes me wish I could be so commanding and assertive all the time.
