Chapter Seven
I think we head north, but honestly?
Leo could be taking me out to some backwater murder-hobo body-disposal site, for all I know.
I’m too fascinated to care, though, as I listen to him answer my questions, and he points things out to me as we pass them.
Then there’s the problem of he’s reeeeeally easy on the eyes. I feel underdressed in my khakis and Oxford button-down next to Leo’s crisp suit and coat. At least I have a coat on to provide me with a little emotional protection.
It’s painfully obvious to me that this city is full of hunky guys. Even the Secret Service agent who shadowed me and the Chief Usher was gorgeous. I’ll have to watch myself and not make some sort of stupid mistake, like throwing myself at the first guy who pays attention to me.
I can confirm, however, that I mostdefinitelyhave a suit fetish.
Probably will have to invest a little money into suits for me, too, if I’m spending any length of time here. Mr. Markos told me I’ll be given tickets to the inaugural balls, and that’ll mean buying or renting a tux. That’ll be a new experience for me. I didn’t even rent a tux in high school when I went to senior prom with a friend of mine, another gay guy who didn’t have a date. We both bought flashy outfits, slacks and vests and crazy ties, and gave zero fucks about convention.
When we arrive at our destination, Leo pays the fare and leads the way across the sidewalk to the entrance. Before I can even process where we’re at, he’s escorting me to the door and opening it for me, holding it and indicating for me to go first. It’s a low building, with stone and wood on the outside, the front door set on the corner and surrounded by dark blue trim. It looks like something off a Paris street, and the name, Le Diplomate, sounds like it, too.
They’re hella busy. But when Leo speaks to a man at the host’s station, we’re immediately shown to a table.
This place…
Wow. There’s nothing like it in Tallahassee, that’s for dang sure.
I’m still looking around in amazement as we’re seated. When my gaze completes a sweep of the space and returns to Leo, he looks tickled.
“Sorry,” I say as I shrug off my coat. “This has been an overwhelming day.”
“That’s okay. I’m sure it has.” He speaks to our server, this time in French. The server nods, smiles, and leaves us again.
“How many languages do you speak?” I ask as I fight the urge to be rude and gawk at the restaurant’s decor instead of paying attention to Leo. I snap a few pictures of the interior with my phone.
“Speak and read fluently, or know enough to get by?”
I am totally out of my league now, and it’sfinallyhitting me. “Y-yes?” I’m getting the hint that he’s playfully enjoying my discomfort and overwhelmed mental status, but I don’t have the feeling it’s in a mean way, or at my expense. More like he’s vicariously enjoying my…sense of wonder about the whole situation.
Leo’s smile widens. “Fluent in Spanish, French, and Italian, spoken and written. Conversationally fluent in spoken Japanese, still working on improving my written, because there’s multiple forms. Not too bad in kanji, a little better in hiragana and katakana. Definitely more fluent with the written forms of it than I am with written Russian and Arabic, but I’m getting there. I can get by in the average spoken conversation in Russian and Arabic, although I’m not fluent enough I could be certified as an official government translator or anything.”
I mentally count. “You speaksixlanguages?”
He smirks. “Seven, counting English.”
Holy.
Shit.
Next to him I feel like an idiot and a slacker.
The server returns with water and bread for us, and I realize I haven’t even looked at my menu yet.
“You have any food allergies, or anything you hate?” Leo asks.
I shake my head. “Not fond of raw oysters, or calamari, but other than that I’m pretty open.”
“Trust me?”
I look into his eyes for a moment and my heart does that cliched skipping thing people talk about.
This feels…bigger than just a lunch.
