His magnetic smile falters when our eyes meet, and his lips part like he's forgotten what he was about to say.
"Hi," I say, attempting to cut through the tension.
"Your server will be along shortly," the hostess repeats one more time and rushes away.
Ambrose clears his throat, composing himself.
"You must accept my apologies," he says, stepping out from his seat at the table. "It's that you look…"
I tuck some hair behind my ear, in the way his wife always had her hair in the photos—one side tucked, the other loose.
He stops a step away from me. "God, it's uncanny."
When he suddenly gestures to the table, I flinch and pray he didn't notice.
"Please," he says loudly. "Join me. I would very much like to hear more about your history, Miss Bellerose."
He makes a face. "Ha!De La Rosa,andBellerose.I hadn't noticed. A strange coincidence."
Yeah, there have been a lot of those.
I laugh a little uneasily, which, I mean,valid—the guy is acting weird.
A server comes in to greet us, but as Ambrose pulls out a chair for me, he waves the younger man away. "Come back with that bottle of cava I had set aside."
"Right away, sir." The server turns right back around and leaves.
Were the men who hurt Elijah at his command as eager to please him?
I swallow the acid in my throat, smiling at the monster as he lifts my chair into place. "Thanks."
"No, thank you for coming to meet me on such short notice. I imagine it was difficult to make time between work and your studies. What was it you're majoring in again?"
I adjust myself in my chair as he seats himself opposite me, unbuttoning his jacket and sweeping it out behind him as he sits, at home in all this finery.
I bet he knows what every single one of these forks and spoons on the table is for, too.
"Um, I'm studying music business and management," I reply, throat scratchy. "And I do English tutoring on the side."
Is there no fucking water?
I lick my lips, eyeing the empty water glass and the pitcher condensing in the middle of the table. I'm about to reach for it when the server returns with an exclamation of, "The '04 cava, as requested."
We wait as the waiter makes a spectacle of opening the pressurized bottle, and pours two flutes of the bubbly wine.
Honestly, I don't care what it is. The instant he sets it down, I lift it back up and take a swallow to soothe the scratchiness in my throat.
"Well,cheers," Ambrose says disjointedly, lifting his glass while I'm still drinking.
"Oh. Sorry. Just thirsty," I mutter, setting the flute down.
"Tonight we have a lovely special of?—"
"Not now," Ambrose interrupts the waiter, who I can tell dies a little inside at the sharp dismissal.
"Right, I'll come back shortly, then."
"So tell me, Aurora, do you have any memory of your parents?"
