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“St-Germain?” I think for a moment before it comes to me. “Isn’t that elderflower liqueur?”
“It is.”
“Seems out of place in a martini. A regular gin martini, I assume?”
“A martini is a gin martini,” Phantom says, his tone almost professorial. “If you want vodka instead of gin, you specifically ask for a vodka martini.”
“Yes, I know that.”
“Then I commend you,” he says. “Most people don’t.”
“I’m not ‘most people.’ But anyway, the St-Germain. In a martini?”
“Absolutely.”
“Why?”
He smiles slightly. “Because St-Germain makes everything a little bit better.”
I’m not sure what to say to his comment, so I say nothing, though his smile has me squirming.
“And what did you order?” Phantom asks.
I drop my gaze to the bar in front of me. “Honestly? I have no idea. Alfred said he’d mix up something special for me.”
He leans toward me a bit more. “I see. Are you having a bad evening?”
His nearness makes me want to tremble. In a good way. “Why would you ask that?”
“I’ve known Alfred a long time, and he doesn’t offer to whip up something special unless someone really needs it.”
I sigh. “So it really is that obvious.”
“What I don’t understand,” he says, “is how someone as beautiful as you could possibly be having a bad evening.”
My cheeks warm from the compliment.
“Tell me,” Phantom continues. “What’s wrong?”
I sigh again. “It’s a long and boring story.”
“I’m not going anywhere. And I doubt anything about you could be boring.”
His dark eyes mesmerize me. I wonder if that’s why he wears the mask, so people will focus only on his eyes. They’re deep and dark and long-lashed.
Women would kill for eyes like that.
“I just need a drink,” I say.
“You have one in front of you.”
Alfred’s special is a light orangey brown, which of course could be anything. It’s in a martini glass rimmed with white crystals. Salt? Sugar? Alfred said he’d make me something sweet, so my working guess is sugar.
I grab the glass by the stem, bring it to my mouth, and take a small sip.
As I suspected, the crystals are sugar, and they give a little sweetness to the otherwise sour lemony-orange flavor. It dances along my tongue, and I’m enjoying it until—
I set it down and push it toward Alfred. “Is this a sidecar?”
“It’s a special version of a sidecar,” Alfred says, “made with lemon juice and orange juice and a gorgeous brandy from France with a dash of St-Germain.”
Phantom chuckles next to me. “Alfred may be a top-notch bartender, but I’m the one who introduced him to the joys of St-Germain.”
Alfred and Phantom are both charming, to be sure, and they have no way of knowing, but—
“A sidecar is my sister’s favorite drink. Of all the nights that I did not need to be reminded of my sister.” I shove my credit card toward Alfred. “I’ll take my check now, and then I’m getting out of here.”
Phantom covers my hand with his own and slides my credit card back toward me. “Please. Allow me.”
“Neither one of you has to pay,” Alfred says. “If you don’t like your drink, you’re not going to get charged for it. Company policy. I’ll make you something else.”
“It’s my own fault. I should’ve just ordered what I wanted. The problem is, I don’t know what I want. Not tonight.”
“How about I get you a glass of water while you decide?” Alfred says.
I glance at Phantom. “You know what? It’s been a long time since I’ve had a good martini. Make me one of his St-Germain martinis. I’d like to try it.”
“You got it.” Alfred turns his back and begins to mix drinks.
“It’s a strong drink,” Phantom says.
“Yeah? I can handle it.”
I know my way around alcohol, for sure. I feel kind of bad, actually. The twisted sidecar Alfred made me was quite delicious, and it’s not his fault that I’m feeling pissy at my sister—so pissy that I don’t want to be reminded of her even via her favorite cocktail. It’s not Mandy’s fault that Penn is a jackass cheating bastard and that she finally got her heart’s desire just as mine was being broken.
Of course, it is her fault that she forgot today was the day I was supposed to be married. It’s her fault, Jackson’s fault, and mostly my parents’ fault. They should’ve remembered.
Alfred finishes our martinis and slides them toward us.
I pick mine up, and the sweet aroma of elderflower wafts toward me.
Here goes nothing.
Chapter Two
Phantom
What is her name?
I don’t normally concern myself with such mundane things as someone’s name, but as I stare at this beauty sitting next to me, I find myself wanting to know.
Her hair is long and dark, though a few shades lighter than mine, and it falls over her shoulders in thick waves. Her oval face and high cheekbones are perfection, but the truly remarkable feature is her eyes.
