She grabbed the right spoon and demonstrated it for him. He watched her carefully and then set the spoon down with a soft clink.
“Tell me, sweetheart, does it make the experience of dining that much more enjoyable if you only select the rightkind of cutlery?” There was a questioning edge to his voice. “Does it make it taste better somehow?”
“Well, I cannot answer that for you,” She straightened her posture. “But as for me, I suppose so. I take pleasure in order and civility, yes.”
“Order and civility,” Evan repeated with a chuckle. “Then perhaps you have engaged with the wrong person. Those words hardly feature in my vocabulary.”
Yes, that is exactly what I am trying to fix.
She did not say the words out loud though—knowing full well that he would have an answer readily prepared for her.
Instead, she opted to ignore that, too and simply focused instead on demonstrating the next step.
“This,” she said, pointing to a smaller fork, “is for your salad. The larger one is for your main course.”
Evan picked up the wrong one. Isadora’s eyes narrowed immediately.
“Are you doing this on purpose?” she snapped finally.
Teaching him was like dealing with a toddler. It was impossible, and he was obstinate.
“Why ever would I do that?” Evan said with mock innocence. “That would mean that I am deliberately trying to rile you up.”
Isadora rolled her eyes. “Yes, that is exactly my point.”
Evan held her gaze. “No, darling. I could never be so cruel.”
And then he cut into his duck, finally using the correct fork—but with deliberate slowness, as if indulging her.
She took a deep breath, willing herself to be patient.
Do not let him get into your head. That is precisely what he wishes to do.
“Are you pleased with my…civilitynow, Duchess?” He stirred when she did not say anything.
“Yes. I would much prefer if you keep this up for the remainder of the lesson as well,” she insisted—though the request felt in vain.
The lesson continued, and for a time, Evan behaved himself well enough. He followed her guidance—albeit with a glint of mischief—and seemed genuinely interested in learning.
It really was as though Isadora had achieved the impossible. She had gotten the rogue duke tolistento instructions.
Until—
He took a bite of something he clearly did not like. The grimace was instant, fleeting, but unmistakable. Isadora caught it immediately.
“You must not do that,” she chided.
Evan arched a brow, still chewing. “Do what? I am using the right cutlery.”
“React,” she said simply.
He swallowed and leaned back in his chair. A look of astonishment crowded his features. “You mean to tell me that if I am served something I find utterly repulsive, I must pretend otherwise?”
“That is precisely what I am telling you.”
“I do not think you should dish out advice that you yourself cannot take,” he said—a hint of a challenge lingering in his tone.
“I beg your pardon?”
