“Shh. Hurry.”
So I started eating as quickly as I could, but I kept laughing and practically choking. He even reached over to help finish off what I couldn’t.
By the time the crew returned their attention to us, dinner was gone and we were both laughing with food in our mouths.
“What happened to the food?” the director asked.
Dante cleared his mouth first. “It was delicious. Thank you. Oh, look at that. It would appear my mike pack is working fine.”
I swallowed the last bit. “Mine seems to be working now, too.”
The director sighed and said to clear away the plates and to have the kitchen send out more. “Why?” I asked.
“The audience will want to know what happened to the food.”
“Tell them we ate it and it was fantastic,” Dante offered.
“It doesn’t work that way. They have to see you eat it.”
“Maybe they won’t notice.”
“Oh, they’ll notice. They’ll make memes and YouTube videos in slow motion where they circle the table. Don’t talk until the food comes back. We don’t want to miss anything.”
“Have I proven myself, my lady?” Dante whispered. He had that dangerous twinkle in his eye. The one that made me forget myself.
“Most definitely.” He reached over to hold my hand again, and this time I let him.
The newly delivered food sat while we talked more. It was always so easy with Dante. I could carry a conversation easily by myself (Kat was never much for talking), but I never had to with him. Even the silences didn’t seem awkward.
“Should we ask to see the dessert menu?”
“Really? Sterling never lets . . .” I stopped. I shouldn’t compare. It wasn’t fair.
Dante’s eyes narrowed. “Any man who denies you dessert should be horsewhipped.”
I felt like I should defend the mutual decision to stay away from sugar and all related carbs. “I don’t want to get fat.” He still looked skeptical. “Please. You wouldn’t want me to get fat, either.”
“Then there’d just be more of you to love,” he said conspiratorially, that devilish gleam in his eye making me very glad I was already sitting down.
“Said no man ever,” I retorted, trying to ignore the sound of blood rushing in my ears. “You know, in fairy tales, every time somebody’s trying to fatten you up it’s because they want to cook you and eat you.”
“I bet you taste delicious.”
Serious heart palpitations. “I’m probably all gamey. Or maybe, true to my name, I really am sour.”
“Sweet and tart. I already told you what you taste like, as I recall.”
I recalled. I recalled very, very well.
“The limo is here,” one of the PAs came over to tell us. Dante stood up and went over to help me out of my chair. He offered me his arm again, and I was very grateful that I had sworn off drinking for the time being. Because impaired judgment would make everything worse.
Even without it, was I was fixing to do something stupid before my brain caught up.
He told me that we were going to a charity ball. He didn’t know who was running it or what it was for, but the show wanted footage of us dancing surrounded by other people in formal gear.
“Haven’t we already done the ball thing to death back in Monterra?” He was sitting closer to me in the car than he probably should have been. I should have moved. I shouldn’t have been playing with fire. I liked him being close. I liked the warmth that he radiated. I liked the way it made me feel.
“I know. This is out of my hands. I would have taken you somewhere else, if it were up to me.”
“Like where?”
The passing streetlights occasionally lit up his striking profile, and I quickly turned away when he looked at me to say, “You’ll see.”
I both liked and didn’t like that.
The event was like every other charity ball my parents had ever dragged me to. Too-rich people spending too much money on mediocre dinners, and then drinking and dancing the rest of the night away.
“I have to tell you, it’s nice to be here and not have anybody know who I am.”
It was one of those things where you wanted to say, “Poor little rich boy,” but I really did feel bad for him. It couldn’t have been easy to always be noticed and always be photographed everywhere he went in Europe.