Cinn shuffled slightly across, giving Julien more room.
Then, another nudge came, followed by small circles on his lower calf, before Julien hooked his foot around Cinn’s, pressing their legs together.
What in the world? How did Julien have the audacity to attempt to play footsie with him under the table right now?
With all the force he could muster, Cinn shot out his leg to kick Julien, who lurched forward, dropping his knife with a loud clatter. Mission success.
Plastering his best butter-wouldn’t-melt expression on, Cinn asked, “Are you okay?”
And that’s when Cinn realised his error. Because he’d forgotten something vital—Julien loved games. Lived for them, seemingly.
The smile Julien flashed him was as bright as the sun, and he was Icarus, about to burn.
Thankful that Lucien and Carrie had struck up their own quiet conversation, Cinn leaned in close to Julien to hiss, “If you touch meone more time, I’ll announce I’m feeling ill, go grab my stuff, and walk to Darcy and Elliot’s hotel if I have to.”
Hell, he’d sleep on the street if it came to it.
“Pardon. It was an accident.” However, Julien didn’t look anywhere near as guilty as he should, his eyes still shimmering with a hint of amusement. Oh, what Cinn would do to smack that expression off his face.
He narrowed his eyes, attempting a contemplative look. “Maybe Elliot will let me sleep in his room.”
A flash ofsomethingcrossed Julien’s face before he composed himself, and Cinn counted that as a win. For good measure, Cinn shuffled his chair away from him. The loud scrape was worth it.
The rest of the meal was uneventful. Cinn was too stressed to enjoy the impressive main, which Marie announced as châteaubriand steak with béarnaise sauce, truffle mash, and asparagus bundles. At least each bite helped him count down the seconds until he could escape. Lucien continued to ask him questions about his experience of Auri, then launched into random speeches about the consortium he held a chair of, but Cinn didn’t even attempt to follow, nodding in random places in agreement.
As for the dessert, a Grand Marnier soufflé delicately flavoured with orange liqueur, he was far too full by then and only managed three bites before admitting defeat.
“Shall we retire into the drawing room with our coffee?” Lucien asked, once what Cinn had assumed were the final dishes were cleared.
Coffee?!
Too quickly, Cinn stood up, causing his chair to screech again. “Actually, thank you so much for the lovely meal, but I’m rather tired after sightseeing today, and I want to be refreshed for your party tomorrow.”
“Of course.” Carrie gave him a tight smile. “We look forward to seeing you there. It will be a great chance for you to meet important people within our community.”
Another evening of absolute torture. Maybe he should see if he could change his ticket and head back to Switzerland tomorrow morning. Alternatively, he was now incredibly close to England…
“I am also feeling tired,” announced Julien.
I bet you are, after that ludicrous show.
After dragged-out farewells, Cinn was finally free to leave the room, Julien hot on his tail. He darted down the halls, retracing their earlier steps.
Of course, their earlier steps led him straight to Julien’s rooms.
Cinn stopped outside of it. Shaking with rage, unable to even meet Julien’s eyes, he said in an unsteady voice, “What the actualfuckwas that?” The skin under his golden band tingled with warmth.
“Dinner with my darling father and his wife.”
“No, that was an absolute shit-show that you dragged me to for your own entertainment.”
“Oh, come on, it wasn’t that bad, was it?”
Something inside Cinn broke.
He’d had enough of this entitled princeling who thought he could fuck with him.
Closing the space between them, Cinn forced Julien to take two steps backwards until his body pressed into the door.
