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The bartender flashes a wide, toothy smile as he places a leather-bound wine list on the bar in front of David. I hug my purse to my chest while he leisurely peruses the document, his hand still resting on my back, which has me fighting the urge to squirm again.
Finally, David decides, handing the menu back to the bartender and ordering two glasses of something Italian. The bartender pours two glasses of white wine with a flourish, leaving them on the bar, and moving away to give us privacy.
Turning to me, David removes his hand, which feels like it has burned a hole in the back of my nice lace dress. He helps me onto one of the barstools, since it comes up to my waist, dropping onto the stool beside me, and clinking his glass with mine.
I take a sip of my delicious wine, peeking through another doorway, into the restaurant where the staff are moving with some urgency. Probably to get us a table. David clearly didn’t have a reservation.
I take another sip of my wine, savoring the taste on my tongue. The menu David perused didn’t have any prices on it, so I would hazard a guess that this glass I’m enjoying probably cost more than my monthly phone bill. How the other half liveindeed. It feels like we should be making conversation. After all, isn’t that why the bartender moved away? To give us some privacy?
“This place is super nice.” I almost wince as soon as the inane words are out of my mouth. This place is supernice? What the hell was I thinking? David glances over at me, lifting his wine glass to his lips. Yeah, he probably thinks I’m stupid too. Taking a sip, he flashes me an easy smile that has me pressing my thighs together.
Shit, Ani. It’s not a good idea to crush on a Westerhaven. Especially not one I’mlivingwith. Doing that would only make things super awkward when he starts to notice and feel uncomfortable. David doesn’t speak, so now I have to continue this stupid conversation topic.
“It must have been hard to get a reservation?”
There. That sounded a little less stupid than my previous comment. David chuckles, a pleasant low sound that’s not helping my thigh-pressing situation.
“I don’t make reservations to come here. I just show up and they make it work.”
I onlyjustmanage to stop my mouth from dropping open and take a hasty sip of wine. He might be sexiness on a stick, but the dude issuperrich and arrogant. Which is not as sexy as he seems to think it is. At least, not to me. It’s probably for the best he acts like that. Then I won’t be as attracted to him.
Thank goodness he finally initiates a conversation topic, about what the weather has been like here, of all things. It keeps us going until the hostess with the fluttering lashes is back.Thrusting her chest out at David like I’m invisible, she beams at him.
“If you would please follow me, Mr. Brooks Westerhaven.”
I go to pick up my half full glass of wine, but David waves my hand away.
“There’ll be wine at the table.”
Oh. I think we just walked away from alotof money.
David obligingly holds out the cushioned chair for me before seating himself.
“Your server will be with you in a moment.” The hostess is still exclusively addressing David, her back half turned toward me. He nods, turning away from her. She hesitates a moment, finally melting away.
The small, intimate table for two they have seated us at, which I think they may have gotten out of storage, feels like it’s on full display of the whole restaurant, which it probably is. I suppose if you have a Westerhaven in your restaurant, you want everyone to know it. Kind of like an endorsement or something.
I’m not used to being on display. I’m usually mainly invisible, and super okay with it. I shift in my seat, my fingers fluttering around my place setting, hoping that the server arrives soon with our menus so I candosomething other than sit here and feel like everyone’s eyes are on me.
“Is everything okay?”
I startle, glancing up to where David is frowning across the table at me. My usual blush creeps across my cheeks, and I offer him a tight smile.
“Of course,” I assure him, hearing the fakeness in my voice. He watches me, one eyebrow raising the tiniest amount. Wow. That’s a condescending look.
“Don’t you ever feel you’re living in a fishbowl?” I ask in a lower voice. David blinks at me slowly, his eyes moving to dart around the room.
“Maybe I’m used to it.”
I quickly nod. I suppose that makes sense. It’s a little sad, though.
“Uh, will they bring the menus soon?” I ask, mainly for something to say, as I fold my hands into my lap. He stares blankly at me again, a slow grin lighting up his face.
“There are no menus,” he informs me as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s a seven-course tasting menu. You eat what they bring out. It’ll be delicious.”
Of course it will be delicious. My cheeks heat once again. I feel like the biggest country bumpkin.
Chapter Four
