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But I have Elias on one side and Caelan on the other, their touch keeps me grounded. With them here, it’s not so bad.
In the blink of an eye, we return to the stability of reality in the heart of LA.
ChapterTwenty-Two
The location we arrive at isn’t quite what I was expecting. It seems rather unassuming from the outside—a single-story building, blocky, with slate-accented walls and wooden beams. The road beyond doesn’t look like much, either. There’s a pizza place and a laundry opposite—everyday mundane places. I was anticipating the restaurant being right in the middle of the glitz and bustle of a busy tourist trap area.
But then Elias leads us in, and I realize just how deceptive the exterior appearance is. The interior is dimly lit, walled with rich, dark wooden panels. There’s lush seating all around, candles on the tables, and a bar backlit to display a dazzlingly colorful and expansive array of alcohol. It looks sleek and elegant and a little intimidating.
Elias has a reservation, of course, and I trail after him as we’re led to one of the tables toward the back. Unfortunately, there’s no real way to evenly seat three people at a square table, so I end up next to Elias in the booth-style seats while Caelan takes a chair opposite me. Presumably, this is a purposeful arrangement to minimize the likelihood of Caelan’s hands wandering. It doesn’t stop him from smirking and brushing his foot up my calf beneath the table, though.
“You said… there were things you wanted to discuss?” I prompt Elias, but he merely smiles at me.
“Food first,” he says. “And drinks. What would you like?”
I glance over the menu, then wince as my gaze drifts to the prices. “Seven dollars just for a single piece of sushi?”
“This is a treat for you, darling. Don’t worry about that.” He leans over and lightly kisses me. “I enjoy being able to do this.”
“You enjoy being a goddamn sugar daddy to someone who’ll actually take that bullshit,” Caelan clarifies on Elias’ behalf.
“Caelan.”
“What? I’m just saying.”
“That’s not what this is. At all.”
I giggle at the conversation. “I’ve absolutely never thought of it that way,” I reassure Elias, who looks mildly pained by Caelan’s accusations.
Only now, Iamkind of thinking it. It doesn’t quite feel right to let Elias spend too much money on me too frequently. But I also love it when he does, despite the minor guilt, and honestly, the whole thing is still a little conflicted in my head. Maybe it shouldn’t be. I recognize that a lot of my uneasiness stems from the sense that I’m not worth it, and IknowI need to stop thinking that way. Elias and Caelan want me. I’m worth it to them.
Still, the idea of having Elias as my sugar daddy is a little appealing. I decide to leave that unsaid, though.
Elias gives a hum of consideration as he skims through the menu, amusement lighting up his eyes as he spots something. “If you don’t mind, dear, I’ll order your drink for you.”
“Okay, sure,” I agree, passingly curious. He doesn’t normally dictate what I eat or drink, so there must be a reason for him stepping in this time.
I take the time to read through the menu properly, ignoring the prices at the side as best I can, and pick out what I want—sushi and a tuna sashimi salad. The waiter takes our orders, and I settle back to enjoy the atmosphere and company.
I’m quiet for the time being, simply drinking it in. The dim lighting and the candles make the setting feel intimate—romantic, even. Letting Elias’ and Caelan’s low voices wash over me, I enjoy the moment, even if their conversation is a little questionable.
Elias and Caelan are discussing food, specifically the merits of pufferfish and if it would be fun or useful to poison someone with the inedible part. Caelan’s torn on being curious about how they would die and thinking poison is for boring losers too scared to get their hands dirty. I’m only moderately certain it’s a hypothetical discussion.
The drinks arrive in short order, and Elias takes them, thanking the waiter, then turns to me with a thinly veiled smirk. He holds one of the drinks out in offering, the martini glass cupped in the palm of his hand.
“This one seemed fitting for you,” he says.
I take it from him. The stem of the glass is wrapped entirely in thin red bondage rope, curling down to a delicate spiral over the base. There’s a single line of it wrapped around and over the middle of the bowl, too, tied at the bottom, and a pale red concoction fills the glass.
“Why is it tied up like that?” I ask.
“The cocktail was named ‘In Bondage.’”
And Elias thought of me. Given the events of last night, he’s not wrong about it being fitting.
“Is that what I am?” I tease. “In bondage to you?”
His fingers slide around my wrists, gentle, yet their grip like an iron shackle. “Yes.” His expression is oddly serious, and it makes my breath catch and a touch of heat rise to my face.
