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“Gin Martini?” She asked, crossing the room and fingering the glasses.
“With a twist.” He nodded, scanning the face he knew as well as his own. It was pinched with tension and despite the knowledge he possessed that she had brought this on herself, he suddenly ached to kiss away her worries.
Cassandra reached over the bar, picked up a glass, and to Benedict’s surprise, threw the pure alcohol back in one swift drink.
“What are you doing?” He grabbed hold of her arm, so that she had no choice but to look up at him.
She glared at his fingers, digging into her flesh. He let go abruptly, but his question hung in the air between them.
“I thought you knew everything about me,” she whispered harshly, picking up another martini and walking away from him. She leant against the wall, at a distance to the trio. She listened while they spoke, and ignored the frankly pathetic little glances her father kept throwing her.
Another revelation. She was hopping mad. None of the anger she had felt four years ago at her father’s insufficiencies had abated. If anything, it had increased.
“How is your high rise progressing, Ben?” Alyssia asked, snuggling into Peter’s chest like a fluffy little cat.
Cassandra looked away. The sight of them together brought a lump to her throat, and the last thing she wanted was for Alyssia to have the satisfaction of seeing her upset. “I thought your name was Benedict?” She called across the room, her tone unmistakably caustic.
“Alyssia is family. She can call me Tom, Dick or Harry, for all I care.” He snapped warningly.
“I can think of one of those I could call you, too.” She replied quickly, catching his eyes.
To her surprise, he smiled with genuine amusement. The way his eyes crinkled at her joke made her feel all gooey inside. She dropped her gaze, confused by the exchange. It was easier to nurse her broken heart when he was just being a bastard.
Benedict was a details man. He had organised for an elite Sydney catering company to prepare and serve dinner that evening. They had set a table on the deck. It looked absolutely exquisite, Cassandra thought as she walked, slightly unsteadily, outside. Benedict mixed a bitch of a martini.
Fairy lights had been strung along the balcony railings, and candles placed randomly on the tiled floor. The table was draped in a crisp white cloth and more candles were glowing on top. Groups of six white roses had been clustered into vases and placed along the length of the table.
“Oh, Ben, this is beautiful,” Alyssia cooed in that drippy tone Cassandra had always loathed.
“Quite a view,” Peter agreed, holding a seat out for his wife. She slid into it with a graceful smile at her husband.
It made Cassandra queasy to see how Alyssia had Peter wrapped around her little finger.
Peter moved to the other side of the table and held a seat out for Cass. Pretending not to notice, she ignored him, and sat in a seat opposite Alyssia instead. Benedict’s scowl was scathing. Cassandra’s answer was to take another sip of the heady martini. It really was foolhardy to imbibe so freely after years with little more than an occasional sip of a friend’s wine, but good sense had deserted her the moment she’d discovered Benedict’s true connection to her family.
“I have arranged for scallops for our entree,” Benedict’s accented voice caressed her as he took up the last remaining seat at the table. Beside her. She fought not to shift in her seat when his knee brushed hers beneath the table.
“Your favourite,” Alyssia said to Cassandra, a tight smile on her angular face.
Cassandra startled. “I’m surprised you remember,” she said honestly, and then clamped her mouth shut. She did not intend to be suckered in by this woman. It was bad enough seeing how she’d run rings around Peter. She would not be likewise duped.
Alyssia smiled over at Peter. “Of course I remember. That was your seventeenth birthday. You were so upset; you said the only thing you could eat was scallops.”
“I’m sure you thought I wouldn’t be able to arrange any on short notice, staying as we were in the Scottish Highlands,” Peter interrupted. “But Alyssia had a friend in a nearby town, and voila! Scallops for all.”
“Thank heavens for that,” Cass drawled, her cynicism restored with vigour.
Benedict’s hand brushed her thigh, hidden from view by the white tablecloth. Cassandra’s eyes flew to him, and the heat she saw there made her heart pound in her chest. “I am trying to remember the first time I discovered your love for scallops,” he drawled, his eyes dropping to her full, pouting lower lip.
He was lying. He vividly remembered. It had been the first time they’d met. She’d been waitressing and had approached him with
a tray of scallops wrapped in pancetta. When he’d refused, she’d pretended outrage. “Scallops are food from the heavens,” She had said. “How can you resist?”
“Some things here are truly irresistible,” He’d quickly acceded. “I do not count the scallops amongst them.”
She’d blushed, a delightful rosy colour visible beneath her golden tan. “You are wrong. Try one. I bet you’ll love it.”
“What will you bet me?” He had whispered, and he’d reached out and rubbed the pad of his thumb across her warm cheek. He had been unable to prevent the involuntary gesture, and it had surprised him as much as it had her.
