The hostess scuttles away, saying nothing, making this whole thing even more awkward.
Ambrose must see me staring after her, because he adds, "I've pre-ordered. I didn't want to be constantly disturbed during our meal. I hope you don't mind."
"Not at all," I reply, lifting the napkin from the table to drop into my lap.
When I do, I notice the man standing at the edge of the room in a dark suit.
"Ah, yes, that's my personal security. Never go anywhere far without them. Hope you understand. He won't be listening."
I don't like the idea of having an armed audience, but my mask doesn't falter. I've practiced every response. And inthe mirror back at my apartment, I even ran through facial expressions and modulating my tone—with the silencer on, of course. I had to do something when I couldn't sleep last night.
I'd half hoped Seven would come back and fuck me out of my misery, but I asked him not to, and he had to go and respect my wishes.
This fall break couldn't have come at a more perfect time. I need sleep. And the kind of peace that only comes with having enough orgasms that my brain short-circuits and my body can't help but relax.
"Aurora?"
"Sorry." I shake my head. "This is all so…"
He looks at me sympathetically, and it's hard to imagine someone who can seem so kind is capable of acts so cruel. "I understand."
"And you don't have to worry about the restaurant or," I wave a hand around, "the service or whatever. I wouldn't know the difference. My idea of a nice dinner is a steak at Applebee's or a nice pasta from Olive Garden."
He looks horrified, and I laugh, so he laughs, too.
"Well, if you'll allow me, I'd love to ensure you never have to eat from a chain restaurant again."
I wince. "I don't know, the garlic breadsticks at Olive Garden are kind of phenomenal, and you can eat as many of them as you want. In fact, next time, we should go there. I'll show you."
His brows lower over his dark brown eyes. "So, there will be a next time?"
I lift a shoulder as a server silently brings out the first course and pours some white wine into our glasses. "I mean, I assumed—if you want there to be."
Did I push too far? Get too presumptuous?
The guys and I talked about gently suggesting future meetings and being open to that, but I sort of jumped the gun.
"No," he rushes to say. "No, that's…wonderful to hear. I want that as well. I'd really like to get to know you, Aurora."
"Me too." I smile shyly. "Is it weird?" I ask, lifting a small morsel of a thankfully simple-looking salad from the plate. "Calling me that?"
He takes a bite of his own salad and makes a face before wiping his mouth and setting down his fork. I don't know what he tastes that I don't because I'dinhalethis salad if my stomach wasn't in knots. The dressing is to die for.
"I suppose it is," he says. "But it's a beautiful name nonetheless. How did you come by it?"
This is something I was meant to bring up, too. My name. In the note my mother left for me, she said to call me Aurora. But why would she do that? Why drop me in upstate New York with a new name?
…unless she was on the run.
That's Atticus's theory, and we have no way to prove it. Not yet. But we agreed I should ask, since the records that are discoverable from the time I was relinquished into foster care include a photocopy of that note. It would make sense for me to ask, and it would be strange if I didn't.
"It was a note," I explain. "From my mother. She left it with me at the fire station."
If he knows about it, I have to say he's a better actor than I thought, because the confusion and surprise on his face seems entirely genuine.
"That can't be. She was taken. You both were taken from me. How could she have…" He trails off and a muscle tics above his brow. "Well, I suppose we'll never know. Long before I began searching for you, I spent millions of dollars and an immeasurable amount of time trying to find her. Trying to findyou both.But I never did."
"Until now," I correct, and the knot of tension releases in his forehead.
