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We chat back and forth while we finish our drinks, and then Daniel orders us another round.
"I'm going to use the restroom," he says, and I nod and hum happily by myself while I watch a couple execute a perfect Charleston.
Suddenly, I feel a tap on my shoulder. I look up and our waiter is standing there, looking anxious.
"Excuse me miss, but there's a gentleman who would like to meet you," he says.
I again look around the room, but don't see anyone who seems overly interested in me.
"Please tell him that I'm with someone," I say politely, intent on not being rude to Daniel who thus far has been the perfect date.
"Please miss. The gentleman is very insistent," says the waiter apologetically, but in an urgent tone almost like it's a matter of life or death if I say yes or not.
"Well, all right then," I answer crossly. "Take me to him. And can you please have someone tell my date that I will return shortly? I'm going to tell this man to not be so pushy and then I'm returning."
He nods, still looking worried, and I begin to follow him to the far corner of the room where I notice there are secluded tables and benches lining the wall. There's a red velvet rope separating this section from the rest of the room, and I wonder if it's a special section for rich people or something. I've noticed that although obviously there are huge differences between England in the 1400s and the United States today, one thing that hasn't changed is that people still like their class systems.
As we approach the velvet rope, I take a look back at our table and see that Daniel hasn't come back yet. Hopefully I can make this quick and return before he worries.
The sensation that I'm being watched has only increased as I've crossed the room behind the waiter. He steps to the rope and opens a section, gesturing me to walk through. I've only taken a few steps when I see him.
I'm his the moment our eyes lock.
We approach the table where a group of attractive men are gathered, seemingly congregated around the man seated near the middle of the table. The man that I can't take my eyes off.
Power. That's the first thought I have when trying to describe this man. He exudes it in spades. It's so heavy in the air that it's like nothing I've ever felt before, not even from James who was in line to be one of the most powerful men in the world.
The man has a beautiful, olive complexion, with shiny black hair that I'm just itching to run my hands through. His gorgeous hair frames a face that makes me feel flushed all over, it's so indisputably masculine. He has a classic roman nose, long, thick black eyelashes that frame golden eyes, and lips that any woman would envy. I drag my eyes away from him to look at the rest of the table's players. I flush when I see that they are all staring at me now as well. My eyes widen when I realize that they're loaded down with guns that seem unnecessary in a place like this. Who are these people?
There are also beautiful women strung around the area, a few for every man at the table. They're dripping with diamonds and disdain and dressed in the latest fashion. I self-consciously pull on my long hair again, and then just as quick pull my hands back down and grip my dress. I have nothing to feel self-conscious over.
I square my shoulders, and nod at the waiter who looks like he's about to piss his pants but is still gesturing at the table to let me know this is the right place.
I walk right up to the table, and stare at the god-like man in the eye while ignoring the beautiful creature perched in his lap. This man has something coming if he thinks he can order me about. I was engaged to a prince, however short the time. I'm used to dealing with men that think they are in charge.
"Let me first say that I don't appreciate being called like a dog," I tell him, putting my hands on my hips and giving him my best stare down. "And while I'm listing grievances, let me also say that it's rude to stare."
The rest of the table seems to hold in their breath at my audacity, but I don't care about them. My eyes are locked on him.
I see his lips twitch and then he bursts into laughter, the sound so full and rich that I want bottle it up and carry it with me always.
"My apologies," he says, in a tone that clearly illustrates how unsorry he is. "Get out," he orders the rest of the table and they all begin to get up to leave.
"Don't bother," I tell them. "I need to be getting back to my date. I'm sure he's looking for me."
"He isn't," the man responds coolly. "He's been heavily incentivized to leave and forget your name. No need to hurry back."
I'm infuriated, and backstep to see out on the floor. From my vantage point I can see that my table does indeed still sit empty. I take back everything I said about Daniel being a sweet boy. He's obviously nothing but a spineless worm.
My eyes are immediately drawn back towards the man and I amend my thoughts. A boy like Daniel wouldn't stand a chance against a predator like this. I don't stand a chance against a man like this. However, I'm still not going to let him get away from scaring my date off on a date I took years to even dare to go on.
"I don't appreciate you 'incentivizing' my date," I tell him sarcastically.
"Sit down," he orders in a voice that leaves no room for argument.
My feet seem to move on their own accord until all of a sudden, I find that I'm sitting across the table from him.
We sit in a silent standoff until finally he almost knocks me over by flashing me a warm, charming smile. He holds out his hand to me.
