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“How old are you, even?” Alexander hisses, and that’s when the facade cracks. He turns to look at his father. “Does she fucking livehere?”
Griffin takes a step toward him as Sarah’s smile falls. It feels like watching a crash in slow motion. This is going to turn into a scene quickly if someone doesn’t do something to diffuse the situation—and it’s clearly not going to be Sarah.
“Watch your mouth, boy,” Griffin hisses. And Ben has closed in behind him, his hand on the gun strapped to his waist, like some kind of fucked up enforcer. “This isn’t the time or place to discuss this.” Then he adds, as if realizing that makes him sound too agreeable, “I don’t have to answer toyouabout anything I do.”
They glare at each other for what feels like an eternity. The irony of the whole situation isn’t lost on me—Griffin wants to control who Alexander marries, even though he’s literally about to marry a woman he met a month ago who could be his daughter and clearly doesn’t know the kind of person he is.
Miraculously, Alexander doesn’t push it any further, even though I see the rage in his eyes. Instead, he just turns and leaves, taking me along with him. He cuts a line through the crowd, and the two of us hurry to the exit. There are eyes on us as we do so, but I’m relieved we’re leaving. The whole pretentious nature of it all isn’t what I need right now.
I’d rather be alone with Alexander.
My stomach growls, and that’s when I remember that it was adinnerparty. Even though we had lunch, all the agony Alexander put me through during my punishment has left me famished. Half the reason why I was even okay showing up to the party was because of the promise of food.
I’m eating for two, after all.
When we’re out in the foyer, I plant my feet to stop Alex from taking me any further. He spins around to face me—gosh, he’s so fucking angry. There’s a tick in his jaw, and his eyebrows are so low down over his eyes he nearly looks like a different person. His nostrils flare.
“I’m hungry,” I say with a lame smile. “Can we go out to get something to eat?”
I pout, and even though he’s so pissed, a nearly imperceptible smile twists his lips. It probably isn’t even a smile, but at least he doesn’t frown, which makes me happy.
Alexander sighs. “What do you want to eat?”
“A burger,” I say, surprising even myself. “A really juicy burger. With a ton of pickles.”
He raises an eyebrow, but he grins. “Alright. Let’s go get it for you.”
* * *
Thirty minutes later,we’re in the drive-thru line of a fast food joint.
Alexander didn’t want to go into a sit-down restaurant since he didn’t bring Wesley or any member of his security detail. I don’t mind, as this is what I had in mind when I asked.
It’s weird how you can crave something you’ve never really had. I’ve maybe had food from this international burger chain maybe once or twice in my life, but somehow when I thought of a burger, it wasthisone I wanted.
When we pull around to the drive-thru window, the attendant gives us a double-take. That’s when I realize how weird we must look—two people dressed in black tie in a Bugatti Chiron, ordering a $25 meal. She hands us our food in a brown paper bag, along with two sodas. Instead of going back home, Alexander pulls into the mostly empty parking lot.
He takes his handkerchief out of his pocket and spreads it over my lap. After rustling in the bag for a couple seconds, he hands me the burger wrapped in yellow crinkly paper. I take it from him, undoing the paper to take a bite.
Oh my gosh.
This isexactlywhat I wanted. The saltiness of the pickles, the tanginess of the mustard. It could be juicier but I’m not complaining. I take a few more bites before I come up for air.
Alexander’s staring at me, taking a slurp of his orange soda.
“I had no idea you liked burgers this much,” he says, then adds with a frown, “Or pickles.”
I shrug, looking down at the food in my hand. I’ve inhaled nearly half of it already. “I didn’t know either, but this is really hitting the spot.”
He chuckles, finally taking out his own meal. He doesn’t eat his as enthusiastically as I ate mine, but he seems to enjoy it too.
“My brother and I used to sneak out to come here when we were kids,” he says. “He was barely old enough to drive, but the two of us made it work. We almost crashed Mum’s car more than once.”
I laugh, conjuring up the image of two mischievous little boys getting into trouble. I don’t know what Alex’s brother looks like, but I picture an older version of him. “Does it still taste as good as it did then?”
Alexander pauses mid-chew, thinking.
“Maybe a little better,” he eventually says. “Sharing it with you makes it taste like a five-star meal.”
