AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“You’re very stealthy,” she quipped. “Do they teach that in Secret Service agent school?”
“Nope. I perfected that skill in the army when I was part of special forces.” He grinned slyly. “Of course, years of spying on my older sister and her boyfriends gave me a good head start.”
Marin returned his smile.
“Are you ready for dinner?” he asked.
She glanced at his empty hands. “Sure, but it looks like dinner is going to be a little sparse.”
He stepped away from the wall, that sly grin still firmly in place. “Oh, I guarantee you won’t go hungry. I just thought you might like a change of venue after being in the kitchen all day.”
“I meant it when I said I couldn’t take much of a break, Griffin. I don’t have time to leave the House and still finish what I need to finish tonight.”
“Who said anything about leaving the House?”
He extended his hand. When Marin didn’t immediately take it, he arched an eyebrow, issuing a challenge. Marin reluctantly placed her fingers in his. Griffin drew in a quick breath at the contact of their skin before tugging her forward. Was he feeling the same something she’d been feeling for days? Marin’s heart sped up at the thought.
Griffin led her out into the center hallway before turning to enter the Yellow Oval Room. Marin glanced reverently at the beautiful china housed in the display cases. Like the rest of the White House, the artwork in this room was stunning. She was so busy taking it all in, she didn’t realize he was guiding her out onto the Truman Balcony until she felt the cool evening air brush her cheek. A table for two was set on the patio overlooking the South Lawn and the Washington Monument.
Ernie, one of the White House butlers, pulled out a chair for Marin. “Evening, Chef Marin,” he said, wearing a cat-ate-the-canary grin when Marin took her seat.
Griffin sat down across from her. He was once again studying her closely while the flame of the candle between them danced in the breeze.
“When you said you’d get takeout, I assumed we’d be eating in the kitchen. On paper plates. Not”—Marin gestured to the plate and goblet in front of her—“White House china and crystal. I’m pretty sure this is probably illegal.”
He had the nerve to chuckle. “My go-to takeout meal is pizza, but everyone I called hung up when I said I wanted it delivered to sixteen hundred Pennsylvania Avenue. So I asked Terrie to help me out. This”—he gestured to the table between them—“was all her idea.”
Ernie came back out onto the balcony carrying salad dishes, setting one in front of each of them. Marin leaned back in her chair, not surprised the head housekeeper had had a hand in the dinner. Now, staff throughout the House would be gossiping about her. Marin wasn’t sure how she felt about that.
“You do realize that the entire kitchen staff is working around the clock to prepare the food for Monday. I can’t imagine they’re very happy with me right now.”
“Precisely why I ordered from Old Ebbitt Grill. Relax, Marin. No one here begrudges you a dinner break. Especially after the week you’ve had.”
“You went across the street to get dinner?” she asked as she picked up her salad fork. The chef at Old Ebbitt Grill once worked in the Chevalier hotel in San Francisco. Marin’s stomach growled, making her suddenly realize how hungry she was. “They have the best butternut squash ravioli.”
“The maître d’ was right then. He said it was your favorite dish, insisting that I come back with nothing else but that.”
She sighed with delight in anticipation of the meal. Griffin laughed out loud. They were quiet for a few moments as both enjoyed their salad.
“So, we’ve established that you love butternut squash ravioli, Belgian Malinois dogs, and artwork,” Griffin ticked off on his fingers. “I’ll make up my mind about the ravioli. And I do agree that dogs are much better pets than cats.” He made a face that had Marin smiling. “But you don’t see too many twenty-somethings with such extensive art collections as yours. You must have started acquiring pieces when you were young.”
Marin glanced out toward the Washington Monument, unsure why this line of questioning always bothered her. She was used to men dating her because they were interested in her money or family. Griffin had been honest about that being the reason he’d agreed to be her wedding date. Still, she felt uncomfortable having to always justify her wealth; as though it was a crime for her to like nice things.
She fiddled with her napkin. “My mother is an interior designer for the hotels. My grandfather hired her on the spot after he saw her outmaneuver a museum curator at an estate sale auction. He always said her eye for treasure is impeccable. My grandmother used to joke that my grandfather made my dad marry my mom to keep her from going to the competition. Growing up, my brothers and my cousins hated my grandfather’s art history lessons, but to me, they were like fairy tales. Every piece has a story. Some happy. Some tragic. I love finding out the legend behind a particular piece of art almost as much as I love the art itself.”
He was studying her intently again, causing Marin to shift in her chair, uncomfortable with his perusal.
“My mom talks about art the same way.”
Griffin’s quiet admission surprised her. “Your mom is into art?”
He winced. “Way into art. She’s an art teacher at a high school in Boston. I’m afraid my sister and I were a lot like your siblings and cousins when we were kids. She would adore you, though,” he added wistfully.
Marin felt a warm flush spread over her cheeks. Ernie arrived at that moment with their ravioli. The aroma made her mouth water. Griffin took a bite and closed his eyes. A reverent look passed over his face.
“Mmm,” he said. “Okay, this deserves some serious praise.”
“Doesn’t it, though?” She smiled at his pleasure before digging into her own plate.
