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She grins. “Exactly.”
“Out of interest, what sort of food do you usually eat?”
“Well, just normal food. Ya know, like pie, chicken.” She shrugs her shoulders and scoops a forkful of creamed potato. “Bernie makes a mean chicken and leek pie.”
“Sounds delightful,” I say, and Piper laughs at my sarcasm.
“You do realise this isn’t normal everyday food,” she tells me.
“In my world, it is.”
She places her fork down and fixes me with a curious stare. “I wonder what you’d make of the real world,” she mutters, almost to herself, before picking up her wine and draining the glass.
Chapter Three
PIPER
The food is amazing, better than anything I’ve ever experienced, and when dessert is served, I laugh. “What’s so funny?” asks Anton.
I stare at the small dollop of ice cream with something green sticking out of it. “Ice cream?”
“You don’t like ice cream?”
“Sure, it just seems . . . dull after all that lovely food.”
He smirks. “Taste it, bellissima. My chef’s homemade sorbet is a favourite.”
I pick off the greenery and hold it up with a raised eyebrow. “And the plant is for?”
He laughs again. “Mint. Mint sorbet served with mint leaf. It’s decoration.”
“When I have ice cream at home, it’s by the tub. You should really think about portion sizes when it comes to stuff like this.” I scoop some into my mouth and my tastebuds explode. “Oh, wow,” I murmur.
“I told you,” Anton says smugly. “Ella chose the menu and she never gets it wrong. After dinner, the men will go off into another room,” Anton adds, leaning closer. “I’ll introduce you to some of the women.”
My eyes widen. “No,” I hiss. “Don’t you dare leave me.”
He pushes away his half-eaten sorbet. “It’s how this works, Piper. Relax, they won’t bite.”
“I don’t care. That wasn’t the deal. I’ve had dinner with you, now I should leave.”
He arches a brow. “There you go again, thinking you hold all the cards.” He then smiles at a woman sitting two seats down from me. “Grace, this is Piper. Take good care of her until I return.”
My eyes widen some more as he stands. The rest of the men take his lead and follow like little sheep as he parades them out the room.
The women break out into smaller groups and begin chatting. Grace slides along until she’s seated beside me, then she reaches for a bottle of wine from the centre of the table. “Have you and Anton been together long?”
I laugh and shake my head. “God, no. We’re not together.”
“Oh. Anton gave Carlos the impression you two were a thing. Carlos is my husband.”
“This is our first date,” I explain, “and far too early to say we’re anything at all really, even friends.”
“Did the first date go well?” she asks.
I shrug, thinking about the way Anton’s forced me into this. “How long have you known him?”
“Since I met Carlos five years ago. He and Carlos have been friends since they were little boys. Tag as well.”
