“I haven’t. I can’t afford it, but once I dated a French guy and the food he made…” His voice trails off at my quiet growl.
“Stop that,” he murmurs. “It was forever ago.”
“Forever isn’t long enough.”
He rolls his eyes at that, and my growl is swallowed down when I see how excited he is as Jules sets the plate in front of him.
“Gougères,” Jules tells him as Ansel eagerly picks up a small cheese puff and places it in his mouth.
“Oh my god,” he groans, and the sound does things to me. Things that wouldn’t be appreciated at the dinner table. “So good.”
Jules beams and sets a plate down in front of me. “So glad I’m appreciated.”
Ansel replies something in French, and Jules gasps.
And then, suddenly, the two of them are conversing, Jules much more fluently than Ansel, but still. It makes my dick leak.
I want him to speak French to me while he bounces on my cock. Oh, the things that would do to me.
Harley is watching them talk too, his eyes dark with a mixture of happiness and jealousy. I reach behind Ansel to cuff my brother around the ear. He meets my pointed look and flushes. Message received. He doesn’t have anything to feel jealous about.
Ansel is mine and no one else’s. Maybe this will be a wake-up call for Harley—if he doesn’t make his move soon, someone else might snap Jules up.
I’d hate to see that happen. Harley isn’t as unhinged as I am…but he has his moments.
When Jules finally moves on, Ansel shoves more food into his mouth, and I can’t help but ask, “Where did you learn French?”
“Middle school and high school. And then…you know, the guy I was with.”
“Was that here in St. Dismas?”
“No, that was before. I came to St. Dismas when I was sixteen with Neo.”
I take that in as he stares at my untouched plate and peers up at me. “You gonna eat that?”
“Would you like one?” He nods, and I hold it up. “You can have it if you renounce the hot French man who cooked for you and pledge allegiance to me.”
He leans forward, pulling the small pastry into his mouth.
“My allegiance is yours.” He winks and then takes another swig of his wine. “Especially if you keep feeding me delicious French food.”
I watch him drink and eat, making sure to do so as well, as we’re pulled into the conversation all around us. Jules appears once more and brings us a first and second course, Ansel raving about everything he puts in his mouth while Candace subtly complains about each one. Everyone ignores her, but I can see in the tight expressions around the table that I’m not the only one who’s noticed. I have to clip Harley’s ear again when he pulls out his dagger, forcing him to put it away again.
Everything is going pretty smoothly until the main course of sole meunière is served.
“This smells amazing. What a meal,” Ansel raves as Candace pushes her plate away.
“I don’t eat fish,” she says curtly, and Jules’s happy demeanor falters. He’s put up with her insults the entirety of dinner, and I can tell that he’s at his wits’ end.
“You ate fish last week, if I recall,” he replies quietly.
“I’m on a fast. You didn’t tell him, Wylder? I mean, really. How could you forget this?”
Her tone is cutting, and Wylder sighs. “I can’t keep up with your diets, my love.”
She frowns, her red lips pursing. I can feel the tension at the table, the low tapping of Samson’s dagger on the underside of thetable growing louder—a warning that he’s barely holding it together. Harley isn’t doing much better. He’s muttering under his breath about skinning her alive, about pulling her out back and detaching her lips from her face.
And knowing him, he’d do it.
