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“Hello there, Mr. and Mrs. Baas,” a guy in a black suit says as he approaches us.
Easton Van Buren. Owner of this restaurant-hotel chain, famous all around the world. And a friend and powerful ally to the Baas family.
“Hello, Easton,” my father says. “Hope your best chefs are working tonight.”
“Of course,” Easton replies. “Only the best for the Baas family.” Easton makes a tiny bow. “Let me show you to your table.”
“Are you always at this restaurant? I thought you owned multiple,” I ask, wondering why we see him every week if he owns that many businesses.
“I do, but I’ve told my manager to alert me when the Baases make a reservation,” he says, winking.
We all follow him to our table.
“We’re seated at the back,” my father tells Lex. “The VIP suite.” A proud smile forms on his face.
“Of course you always get us the finest spot,” Lex replies, patting him on the back.
“And my favorite clients deserve only the best,” Easton adds, pointing at the table. “There you go.”
“Thank you,” my mother replies as she looks around at all the expensive paintings hanging from the wall and touches the fabric of the seats. “Very nice indeed.”
But when she steps aside to pull back one of the seats, my eyes find one guy sitting all the way at the back.
Luca.
I swallow.
I haven’t seen him for a couple of months now, but every time I do, his wavy dark hair seems to have become even more tousled, his muscles even leaner, and the clothes he wears even more torn. A metal chain wraps around his neck like a stolen souvenir. But one thing has been added to his angsty-boy repertoire: a metal feather dangles from his pierced ear.
I try to look away, but when his dark eyes meet mine, it becomes impossible.
Fuck.
Every damn time I see him, this feeling bubbling underneath the surface of my skin gets worse. An incessant need to hate overcomes me, and my nose twitches as I tear my eyes away from his. Forcing myself to look elsewhere, I find a server pouring some drinks for a couple at a table in the other corner of the room. It’s not at all interesting, but I had to do something to stop myself from looking at him.
Even now, I can still feel his eyes boring into my chest.
I can’t fucking wait until this obligatory dinner party is over.
“Jill?” My mother commands my attention. “Are you going to sit?”
Everyone’s eyes are on me right now, but only one gaze draws out my ire.
I look around to find my seat, but I can feel the blood draining from my face.
Liam, who has beefed up a significant amount since I last saw him, is sitting at the closest corner, and Jasmine has parked herself on the seat right next to him.
Which means … the only chair left is situated right next to Luca.
The smug grin growing on his face as he watches me lose my shit is making me want to turn around and march right out of here.
“Jill. We’d like to have dinner. Nu.” My father’s stern look reminds me why I can’t ever deny him.
I don’t speak Dutch that fluently yet, but I know that word. Nu. Now. He only uses his mother tongue when he wants to be stern, but he’s been using it more and more since we’ve moved here.
I sigh out loud and collect myself before walking over to Luca’s side of the table. His eyes are on me at all times, the glint inside them taunting me. He enjoys this. I just know he does.
Fucker.
I grab the seat and pull back, the wooden legs scraping against the floor. Liam finally looks up too, and when I plop down on my seat, even Jasmine throws me a glare.
“Jill,” she whispers, “We’re trying to talk.”
“I’m not stopping you,” I reply as I scoot my chair closer to the table but as far away from Luca as possible.
“You’re not stopping anyone.”
I freeze in my chair at the sound of his voice so close to my ear that I can feel it reverberate through my entire body.
When I turn my head, he’s right there, invading my space like he enjoys getting me all worked up.
My nostrils flare, and I look away again, determined not to let him ruin this dinner. Especially because it’s important to my parents.
“Hi to you too, Luca,” I reply, putting down my clutch bag. “Happy to see you too.”
“I never said I was happy to see you,” he retorts, moving away again to cook in his own juice.
I roll my eyes. “Same. I lied.” I grab a handful of peanuts and shove them in my mouth before I say something I’ll regret.
A server places drinks on the table even though I didn’t order anything. I guess my father did it for us. Typical. Always in control.
