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“I decide who’s bloody well entitled to know on my case.”
“And your bloody case happened in my place, and a number of my employees are in the fucking morgue tonight, so I’ve some say in it.”
“You—”
“By the level of foolish bickering, I assume you haven’t eaten,” Summerset interrupted, coldly calm. “Either of you. Go in the dining room and sit down at the table like normal humans.”
He strode off, and after a flicker of hesitation, Galahad trotted after him.
“I’m going upstairs.”
“The hell you are. You’ll be sitting your ass down in the dining room.” Roarke took her arm to steer her there.
She dug in her heels. “I have work. Goddamn it, he doesn’t run my life, and neither do you.”
“We’ll sit, and we’ll eat, because he asked it. When’s the last time he asked you for anything? Anything?”
She started to snap back with an answer, but realized she didn’t have one. “I don’t ask him for anything either.”
“But you’ve food to put in your belly when you remember to eat it, clean clothes, a house that runs smooth so neither of us have to give it a thought.”
“Why are you so pissed all of a sudden! Two seconds ago, you’re kissing my hand, now you’re in my face.”
“Because he’s been waiting since he heard the first report, and I never let him know where I was, or what was happening. I never gave it a thought as I was wrapped up in the business of it, and in you.”
And that neglect shamed him.
“He would’ve made inquiries, of course, and would know we’re both unharmed. But I should have spoken with him myself. So it’s myself I’m so all of a sudden pissed at, and you’re collateral damage. Now the both of us will do what he asked, and we’ll sit down to eat. And we’ll tell him what he can be told because, whether you like it or not, he’s family.”
“Okay. All right. But it better be quick.”
She walked into the dining room where the fire was simmering, and candles put out a soft, pretty glow. Already there was a board with bread that smelled like heaven, a dish of butter, a tray of cheeses. Wineglasses sparkled, wide soup bowls gleamed on silver chargers.
A moment later, Summerset stepped in with a tureen on a tray.
“I should have spoken with you much earlier,” Roarke began.
“I believe you had a great deal on your mind.”
“Regardless, it was insensitive, and stupid.”
Summerset merely lifted his eyebrows. “It was both.”
“I’m very sorry.”
“You’re forgiven.” After lifting the lid on the tureen, Summerset ladled out soup. “Eat your dinner.”
“This is yours. I’ll get another setting. Please.”
Whatever passed between them, Eve thought, had Summerset nodding. “As the only one in the house who’s eaten is the cat, I wouldn’t mind the soup.”
He sat; Roarke slipped out.
“I kept him pretty tied up,” Eve began.
“There’s no need to explain. He tends to keep me informed, in general terms. He didn’t, and as the reports were, as I said, disturbing, I had concerns. Eat your soup before it goes cold.”
Okay, it was odd, really odd, to sit there having dinner with Summerset. But the soup was good—warm and creamy and comforting.
