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As he walks away, I realize that Lucky is not who I thought he was. I’m starting to see him in a new light.
He’s complicated but not a bad guy. I might be starting to like him…a little.
CHAPTERELEVEN
Lucky
“You can have a seat,” Aria says with a chuckle. Her brown eyes sparkle with amusement as I stand in the doorway of the biggest damn dining table I’ve ever seen, staring at all the food on top. “What’s wrong?”
“Are you expecting more people for dinner?”
“No,” she frowns.
“Are Beatrice and Frannie eating with us?”
“No, they usually have dinner in the kitchen. What’s the problem?” she asks with a hint of irritation.
“You make the hired help eat in the kitchen?”
“I guess. They aren’t my rules, they’ve always eaten in there.”
“Okay then. I guess we play by therules.” I take a hesitant step forward to get a better look at the table. “Nice spread. A lot of food, though.”
Aria shrugs. “Is it?”
My eyes damn near bug out of my head. “You don’t think so?”
She shrugs again, looking away as if she’s embarrassed. “It’s just how dinner is around here.”
“Wow,” I say and take the seat across from her. “It’s an impressive spread even if it is a shit ton of food.” I start to grab a chicken salad with oranges in it and shrimp skewers to start. There’s all kinds of shit that makes this feel like a holiday meal. “You eat like this all the time?”
“I don’t eat everything if that’s what you’re asking.”
I laugh. “If you did, I’d ask where in the hell you put it all.”
“I eat,” she insists, sticking her nose in the air.
“There’s the Aria I know.” I laugh at her expression, so confused she doesn’t know what to do with herself. “I know you eat, but if you ate all of this, there would be a lot more to you than there is.”
“Thanks,” she sighs. “I think.”
Savoring each bite of this fine feast, I chow down like I haven’t eaten in weeks, when Beatrice and Frannie waltz in to take our plates. “Hey,” I say, my fork dangling mid-air. "Is there a time limit on dinner?”
Frannie laughs. “Oh, Mr. Lucky. The first course is over.”
My gaze swings to Aria. “Rich people can’t eat family style?”
“We can, but we don’t.” She shrugs again. “Where’s the fun in that?”
“No fun,” I assure her. “But how am I supposed to know what I need to save room for if I don’t know what’s coming out next?”
Her lips curl into a slow grin. “Good point. Beatrice. Franny. Bring out the rest of the meal, please.”
I bat my eyes at Beatrice, laying the charm on thick. “And while you’re at it, Bea, if you ever feel the need to admire this ruggedly handsome mug, you’re more than welcome to circle back. Feel me?”
Pink dots form on her cheeks, as she dismissively waves a hand in my direction. “You’re trouble, Lucky.”
“I’m just plain Lucky, Bea,” I say and raise an eyebrow.
