“Welcome,” she says in a voice gentle enough to lower blood pressure. “Mi chiamo Maria. Your waiter will be with you shortly.”
She turns her head and — winking at Caspian, for some reason — shouts: “Antonio! Il tuo sugar daddy è tornato!”
The beads on the curtain rattle with the force of her words, and the other customers turn to stare. A man’s voice swears behind the curtain.
Maria smiles at us again, like she didn’t just try to summon the wrath of an ancient Roman god. She flashes Caspian a knowing smirk, then goes back to the kitchen.
“Sugar daddy?” I ask, raising my eyebrows.
“Must be about the desserts,” he says, avoiding my gaze.
“If you say so,” I reply, not believing him for a second. “What’s going on with you? You’re awfully fidgety.”
Before Caspian can reply, a waiter I assume is Antonio emerges from the back. He’s wearing tight black pants, a sleek white t-shirt and a crisp apron.
He’s stunning, like his sister.
But unlike his sister, Antonio doesn’t smile, no, he scowls, looking downrightunimpressed with the sight in front of him (which is my friend Caspian, smiling so brightly it’s like he became the sun.)
“You’re resilient,” Antonio says. It’s clearly not meant as a compliment.
I turn to Caspian, watching as his smile fades into something that looks a lot like panic. Finally, understanding dawns on me.
“I — uh,” Caspian tries to speak, but no words come out. I look at him in delight.
I’m thrilled to see this side of him — even if he’s fallen for someone from a whole different solar system. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Caspian lose his cool over anyone. Who would’ve guessed it would be this delicious to watch?
Antonio glances at me for a second before looking back at Caspian. “So, which is it? Sugar daddy or just an accountant who likes to dress the part?”
I snort, and Caspian practically chokes on his own breath. “I’m not — either,” he manages, face flaming.
Antonio smirks. “Are you sure about that, Hilfiger?”
I’m loving every second of witnessing Caspian being absolutely, undeniably flustered.
But I don’t miss the way Antonio’s eyes sharpen when they land on Caspian’s designer clothes, his tastefully expensive watch or neatly cut hair. For a second, my amusement dips. I don’t like the idea of someone being mean to my friend. Then I catch it. That flicker. Heat, quickly buried under the scowl, but it’s there.
Antonio might want to sneer, but he definitely wants to look, too. I relax, grinning again. Caspian’s not just rattling Antonio. He’s getting under his skin.
“I don’t have all day,” Antonio says and brushes a curl off his forehead. “So I'll just bring you some of that lasagna you had last time.”
Then he turns to me. “I’ll bring you the same. You'll like it.” Was it a promise or a threat?
Antonio saunters off, Caspian watching him go like he’s trying to solve a complex mathematical conjecture.
I sip my water. “You okay over there?”
Caspian blinks again. “What? Yes. Fine.”
“You stared at his—” I begin, only to be interrupted by a blushing Caspian. “I was admiring his, um, you know — work ethic.”
“You have a weird impression of work ethic, my friend.”
Caspian groans. “I’m doomed, aren’t I?”
“Yup. Next time, maybe warn me, so I can at least get the popcorn ready,” I grin, looking at my smitten friend.
This is the best lunch I’ve had in a long time and I haven’t even eaten yet.
