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I lean forward. “Tell me, Chelsea. What do you like to eat?”
She swivels and sits up in her chair to get a better look at the food. “I don’t know, anything normal, I guess. Insects and snails are a no-no. I also don’t eat any kind of unusual meat.”
“Define unusual,” I challenge.
Chelsea hitches a shoulder. “I don’t know, Lucian.”
“Am I right in my assumption that frogs’ legs are off the table? Because it’s true what they say, they taste just like chicken.”
Chelsea slaps a hand to her mouth, the look of disgust written all over her face.
“You don’t get out much, do you.” Though my words hold a question, it is meant as a statement.
When Chelsea doesn’t answer, I glance at Ronald. The ceiling light highlights the sweat gathering at his temples. He stands awkwardly and awaits instruction. “You heard the lady, bring the ‘normal’ food over. Nothing too audacious.”
We eat our starters in silence. The only words spoken are from Chelsea when she asks for an English translation of the dish. No matter how beautifully presented the food, if there is a single ingredient she is unfamiliar with she turns the plate away.
There is a break between courses, and as the caterers swap the starters out for the mains, I see this as an opportunity to get better acquainted with the fair-haired vixen opposite. “Tell me a little about yourself.”
Chelsea regards me sceptically before shaking her head. “No.”
My chest quakes with a chuckle. “No?”
“You heard me. I’m transparent, remember, so I figure telling you about me would be a waste of my time. Why don’t you tell me about you?”
“Okay.” I shuffle in the seat, silently deciding which facet of my life to share with her. “I grew up in London. It was there where along with my brothers I attended Ravenhill boarding school. Naturally, I excelled at school and completed my studies at Eton. I have several degrees, one in—”
“One in finance, and another in business studies, I know. I don’t want you to tell me what I can read in an article. Tell me something personal. Tell me something real. Tell me about you. Your childhood.”
I rub my hand over my chin, the coarse stubble digging into my palm. “I imagine it comes as no shock to you that I had a privileged upbringing—”
“Understatement of the century,” Chelsea teases.
“—but privilege comes with a price. I was brought up in a superficial world dictated by rules and structure. By eight I was sent to Ravenhill boarding school and those were the worst days of my life. The only time I can say I was genuinely happy as a child was the summers we spent in our family estate.” I smile and remember back to the mischief my brothers and I would get up to. “Freesdon Hall is the only place I felt like I could let loose and just live. As boys we’d climb the gates that led out to a small park and play cricket with the local children. When I hit fourteen, we would go to the skate park and chat up girls.”
I fail to mention that Gage was often getting high and doing a little more than just ‘chatting’ to the girls.
Chelsea waits for me to continue with my tales of Freesdon Hall, but the truth is our adventures ended abruptly the following year when Gage decided to steal a car. Things from then on went from bad to worse.
Chelsea places her elbows on the table and rests her chin in her hands. “Tell me about your parents.”
“My mother.” I take a deep breath and think of the best way of describing her. There isn’t a word that can do her justice, so I settle on the first thing that pops into my head. “She was wonderful, she worked in fashion and she was an amazing cook. Her signature dish was cottage pie. As for my father, he tried his best but being a parent just didn’t come naturally to him and discipline always came before love.”
I fail to mention that I would have received a sharp clip around my ear for daring to place my elbows on the table. I like the fact that Chelsea didn’t grow up in my world and is ignorant of the many expectations we had thrust upon us at early ages.
“I guess privilege really does come with a price,” Chelsea says, her gaze laced with pity. Pity, such a patronising emotion.
I shrug her comment off. “But we had everything that money can buy, and money is what life is all about.”
Chelsea shakes her head. “No, Lucian, it isn’t. Making special memories with the people we love is.”
Her words stab me in the heart. I am so used to discovering other people’s weaknesses that I’m not used to someone discovering mine. I’m entering unfamiliar territory and I don’t like it. I clear my throat and shake my head. “Ronald will be serving our main courses shortly; you should remove your elbows from the table.”
Chelsea does as I request. She lowers her arms to her sides and places her hands in her lap. Although my comment was abrupt, the upturn of her lips shows that she hasn’t taken offence.
“What are you smiling at?”
Chelsea sucks her lips into her mouth before replying. “It’s nice to see that you too are a mere mortal.”
