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“Yasssss. Choose violence, bitch!” Luna agrees. They laugh at me, but I just smile as I pull on the shoes.
A battle, indeed.
•••••
“Street Grille, Ric.” Mark says before turning to me. “It’s not far and has a small back room we can have to ourselves.” He picks up his phone and begins tapping away.
It’s still jarring, the contrast between his warm greeting at my parents’ door and the man inside the closed car. I watch him for a minute or so, but he ignores me. I decide to chat with Ric in Spanish to pass the time. Mark doesn’t seem to notice or care. Ric is funny and easy going, and before I know it, we’re at the restaurant.
Mark’s charm is on again with the hostess. She stares up at him like he’s a movie star and I can’t blame her. It’s seven o’clock, but he doesn’t even have a five o’clock shadow. He waves at two tables who greet him as we pass through, keeping a loose hand on my lower back.
I try not to enjoy the sensation too much. Which is wise, because his hand drops the second we enter our private room. It’s a small space with one square table and four chairs up against windows. The view is a well-kept park area off of the parking lot. I would call the room intimate, but not romantic at all. More like a small business room. At least two guards are outside the door, and I’m sure more are in the main dining hall, the lobby, and watching from behind the trees within my line of sight.
Mark says nothing as the server comes with water and bread. He orders wine without my input. I would’ve chosen red, but he picked a sav blanc. I decide on a steak, he gets fish. It’s almost enough to make me laugh, as if I’m watching us from outside myself.
Eleanna Delgado.Princesa.Mafiosa. Bright colors, long messy hair. Back straight, leaning in.
Mark White. The senator. Black suit, light gray shirt, black tie. Sitting back, disengaged.
How will this ever work?
He raises his brows slightly. “Floor’s all yours, Eleanna.”
I clear my throat. “Well, I actually think you should start us off.”
“Oh?”
“We’re here to discuss terms and I get the feeling you have more than I do.”
“Got that right,sweetheart.” He takes a sip of wine and then sets his glass down. “Let’s go then. As I said, we’re not friends. We’re not chatting, we’re not doing more of these dinners.”
“What about at home?”
“I have a chef who cooks my meals and you can eat whenever. I’ll eat the plate he sets aside for me when I get home, which is always late. That won’t change. And about my house, separate bedrooms. I know your family dictates we live together, but there’s a separate wing for you.” I don’t respond and he cocks his head. “That doesn’t bother you?”
“It’s an arranged marriage. Separate bedrooms are pretty standard.” I say calmly. I leave out the fact that it’s usually only at the start of the arrangement. I let him carry on.
“Good. I don’t really have a private life, but what I do have is just that, private. Stay out of my wing and I’ll stay out of yours. Publicly, we’ll do the bare minimum.” At this, I do show some confusion, so he explains. “I don’t like to be touched. I’ll do the touching as necessary for the cameras.”
He looks at his arms and away quickly. I’ve touched him multiple times already. “Oh, I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine.” He barrels on with a harsh tone. “I’m telling you now. I’m direct and I want you to be direct too. My entire day is manipulation, word play, illusions and implications. I don’t want that shit in my space. If you want or need something just say so. You’ll have my household staff, executive team, my connections and my credit cards.”
But I won’t have you.I don’t say it out loud. And I hope the disappointment doesn’t play out on my face. I knew I’d have my work cut out for me.
He takes a bit of his bread. “So?”
“So, what?”
“So,dear,” he sighs bitterly, “Say what you want.”
“Fidelity.”
He chokes on his food, half-laughing. It may be the most affected I’ve ever seen him. “You’re joking.”
I school my features. “At least the appearance of fidelity. I won’t be made a fool, the little wife at home in Texas while the tabloids catch you sleeping your way through D.C.”
“Alright,” his voice is back to perfectly cool and calm. “I’ll be more discreet.”
