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"It happens to men and babies. When they are hungry, they can’t think straight, and often, end up fighting. So why don’t we sit down and eat, huh?"
Her stomach rumbles, the sound loud in the silence. She giggles, the sound a little nervous. "If I don’t eat soon enough, I am going to faint."
"No, you’re not." I glance at her sideways.
She turns her face up, "I really am starving."
I frown.
"It’s not a ploy or anything. I mean, I’d love to see the two of you beat the shit out of each other, but it’s easier on a full stomach, huh?"
The door opens and one of my staff walks in with a tray of food. He stops, glances between us.
"Ah, food." Seb rubs his hands together, "Dinner does seem like a good idea."
"We are going to eat." I turn to Seb, "You, on the other hand..." I jerk my chin toward the exit.
He dips his chin, then turns to Beauty. "Another time, my lady. I look forward to deepening our acquaintance."
Not if I have anything to do with it.I grab his shoulder, shove him toward the exit. Adrian turns to me, "I’m sorry, Michael. Seb can sometimes be a dick."
I tilt my head, "You’re a good brother, and an even better made man." I widen my stance, "It’s one of the reasons I have tolerated Seb, so far. But his time is running out."
Adrian firms his lips.
"Next time, I won’t be so lenient."
Adrian nods. "I’ll talk to him," he mutters, "you have my word.” He follows Seb out, and the door clicks shut behind him.
I glare at Beauty then jerk my chin toward the table. Her jaw firms but she doesn’t say a word. Thank fuck. She marches around and drops into the chair at the center of the table.
I stalk back to my chair opposite her, hold up my arm.
Emanuel places the dishes of food before us.
"Buon appetito."
"Grazie,Emanuel." I wave him off.
The scent of garlic and parmigiana fills the air. Opposite me, Beauty stares at the dish, picks up her fork and hesitates.
"It’s not seafood."
She shoots me a glance from under her eyelashes. "How did you know that I am allergic to…" Her features tighten. "I don’t want to know."
"You’re learning quickly."
I twirl strands of spaghetti and bring the fork to my mouth. She watches me as I close my mouth around the fork, wipe it clean. Her pupils dilate and her breathing deepens.
"Like what you see?" I smirk.
She reddens, lowers her gaze to the plate. She cuts the pasta with her knife—a fucking knife—and I stare. She scoops it up with a spoon, and—Che cazzo!—I drop my fork on my plate with a clatter.
"What the fuck are you doing?"
"What?" She scowls at me, "What did I do now?"
I glance at the strands of pasta hanging off of her spoon, then back at her face.
