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He bared a set of bright white teeth. I wasn’t sure I liked it. “It’s what I do.”
“So you’re like Caesar or Alexander the Great. Just with food instead of war.”
“You’d be surprised how warlike the restaurant industry is. We do have very sharp knives.” He did another excellent imitation of a feline predator. A panther, maybe.
I laughed. He looked like he almost wanted to smile that time.
And with that, he picked up the tiny spoon of caviar and popped it into his mouth, taking his time to pull it back out. It was hard not to stare.
Slowly, I followed suit and had to fight not to spit it out. I had never been much for fish, and now that included their eggs.
“Like it?”
“It’s…salty,” I said.
“It’s a delicacy,” he corrected me. “But a bit boring, I think. Any twat can purchase a jar of beluga at Harrod’s, you know. They’ve got to do better.”
“Mmm.”
I didn’t have much to say to that. Honestly, I had a feeling that was how much of this dinner was going to go. We were supposed to be here to talk about Sofia and make plans for him to see her. But instead I was watching him lick caviar off a spoon like it was ice cream and wishing I were back home watching Sense and Sensibility for the thousandth time, imagining myself waiting for my own Edward Ferrars.
That feeling was back again. The one that told me I didn’t belong.
“Who is it now?”
I blinked, pulled out of my daydream. “What?”
Xavier smirked. “You have that look again. Lost in a character. Who was it this time?”
I shook my head, cheeks reddening. How did he know that?
“Come on, Ces. You might as well tell me.”
“Elinor Dashwood,” I muttered down at my plate.
“More Austen?”
Silently, I nodded. This was mortifying.
“Guess I’m going to have to get round to reading England’s national treasure,” he said. “Otherwise I’ll never understand you.”
I opened my mouth to argue but found I couldn’t. Honestly, there is no better way of knowing a woman than reading her favorite books. If that was what he really wanted.
“So, you were telling me about your man.”
I blinked. “Huh?”
“The Where’s Wally-looking arsehole who wants to get in your pants.”
I snorted. “You mean Where’s Waldo?”
“It’s Wally in the UK, babe. They just changed it for the Americans. Anyway, you know who I mean.”
I had to chuckle. With his glasses and the red and white shirt he’d been wearing on Friday, Adam did sort of resemble the cartoon character.
“Adam is just a friend.” I decided not to tell him about the many times Adam had tried to make it more. “Anyway, why do you even care? Are you jealous or something?”
That black scowl made another appearance. But this time, I really wanted to laugh.
