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I wish she was sitting next to me. Then I could ask her what’s wrong, stroke her hand. With Allan between us, I’m hobbled. I stab at my much-anticipated steak and kidney pie, now a congealed, unappetizing mess of pastry, meat, and gravy that has oozed into the rest of the Pithiviers.
“I thought this was one of your favorite restaurants.” JL points his fork at me.
“It is.” I try to muster some enthusiasm, but it’s hard work. Maybe I should make a joke. I rummage in my memory bank for something apropos
During a lull in the conversation, I say, “Why doesn’t England have a designated kidney bank?” I point my fork at a piece of kidney on my plate.
Ian smirks. “This is one of dad’s favorites.” He pauses, building up nonexistent anticipation, then delivers the punchline. “They have a Liverpool.” A beat goes by and JL snickers. Allan’s mouth twists in distaste. Not a humorous bone in his body. JL guffaws loudly. “Crisse. That was a good one.”
“Typical Grant family joke.” Ian and I speak as one.
Cress gives me a weak smile and puts a bit of pastry in her mouth. I watch her throat work as she forces it down. She smiles at me, apologetic. “The tart is very good, Max. Thanks for ordering it.”
“I know how much you love mushrooms.” I’m warmed by the tiny glow in her hazel eyes. Eyes that captivated me from the first time I saw her.
Allan has thrown a wet blanket over the table, even though he never says a word throughout the meal. None of our conversation has any relevance to terrorism or to GSU’s fucked up software.
As our party breaks up, I push past Allan to grab a taxi, but Ian beats me to it. He’s Johnny-on-the-spot for everything tonight. I grit my teeth and help Cress into the back.
“What was all that about?” Cress turns to me, her face crunched up with curiosity.
“Allan? No idea. We talked about Faez yesterday.”
“Oh.” Her voice sounds pinched.
I slide an arm around her and pull her as close as I can, considering the seat belts. Sitting across on one of the jump seats, Ian has a sly, knowing look on his face. He calls out to the cabbie, “we’re going to King’s Cross.”
Cress seems exhausted. “Sure you’re still up for meeting my parents at the train?”
She nibbles at her lip, her eyes shadowed. “Yeah. I’m looking forward to seeing them.”
“Are you still thinking about Kev?”
“This trip isn’t turning out exactly as I hoped.” She puts her head against my chest. “Sorry. I don’t mean to whine.”
“You’re not whining. Anyway, I don’t mind as long as you’re whining to me.”
ChapterSeventeen
Cress
I snuggle up to Max for the short ride to King’s Cross, ruminating on Allan and Yavuz. Allan seemed to make Yavus as uncomfortable as he made me, casting a pall over everything. I could hardly enjoy the historic surroundings in Rules. Even the food seemed to lose its savor. Ian and Max’s banter couldn’t lift the mood. Max and I will have to go back and have a more romantic dinner for two, maybe with a little historical role playing.
I’m not used to such constant socializing and I haven’t had enough chance to recharge. Since we arrived yesterday morning I’ve gone out for tea, been involved in an altercation, met Max’s cousins, had lunch with my editor, and been to a couple of fancy restaurants. Except for running into Kev, everything was good—or would be if spread out over a week instead of less than forty-eight hours. I yawn and snuggle closer, ignoring the fact the Ian is watching us.
“We should be good in time for the train from Edinburgh,” Max says. I think back to Union Station in Chicago, when we said goodbye to his family after Christmas. This should be less frantic. I straighten as the taxi pulls up to the curb, combing my fingers through my hair and pulling it up in a loose twist.
We find the track on the board and walk to the barrier. The way Max keeps looking around is unsettling, and I start to worry that a man with a gun will jump out from behind some pillar or kiosk.
I jump and bump against Max when Ian asks, “What’s the time?”
Max holds me steady and produces an irritable growl. “Aren’t you wearing a watch?”
“Of course I am.” Ian pushes up his cuff and shows off his antique Rolex Oyster Perpetual.
Max glances over. “Grandfather’s watch. If you’re wearing that, why did you ask me? Too lazy to push up your cuff?”
As usual, Ian smirks. “Wanted another glimpse of your fancy Bremont Bletchley watch.”
