“Yes,” I say, “And believe me when I tell you, if I send that to my friend Walter, a well-known artistic director, he’ll beg you to become part of one of his plays.”
“You’re kidding, right?” she asks me with wide eyes, giggling foolishly.
“I am most certainly not. Never, in my entire life, have I gotten goosebumps from a Shakespeare quote.”
She smiles weakly and puts the book back.
“Maybe,” she says carefully, “It wasn’t the quote, but me. Your reaction to me. Because I have read Shakespeare to many people, and none of them ever had a reaction to it.”
For a moment, I am taken aback as I take in her words.
“Whom did you read it to?” I ask.
“Pupils,” she says.
“Well, not exactly the target audience, is it?” I ask dryly.
“Not exactly, no,” she says, laughing. A laugh that walks straight into my chest. I am too old to not know what is happening to me—what she is doing to me. And it scares me as much as it excites me.
“Come,” I tell her. “Let’s have some dinner.”
Half an hour later, we’re at Hamilton’s. It’s an exclusive restaurant everyone wants reservations for, but it’s booked up for years. Not for me, because I gave Emiliano, the owner, his start-up money and made his immigration possible so he could come to the UK and open the restaurant. I ate in his family restaurant in Mexico several years ago, and I knew the first bite he was meant for something bigger—not that I don’t love a good small family restaurant.
“Victoria,” I hear, the moment we’re placed at the best table in the entire restaurant with a wonderful city view.
“Emiliano,” I say the moment his hand wanders on my shoulder. I get up to hug him.
“May I introduce you?” I say, “Mia. Emiliano.”
Mia is as sweet as it gets. I expected nothing less. I also tell her the story of how Emiliano’s and my paths crossed.
He tells us about a wonderful new wine he discovered, and we, of course, get a glass each without question.
Mia pretends to drink the wine, the people pleaser she is, and I laugh internally.
When I have almost emptied my glass, I switch it with hers.
Her smile says everything.
There it is, the slight lip biting again.
“If you continue to do that,” I say, “I might have to overthink my statement from before.”
“You mean this?” she asks me and bites her lips again.
“Oh, Miss Phillips,” I say warningly, but in a cheerful voice. I do enjoy challenging behaviour here and there.
We get the menu, and I watch her struggle to decide what she wants to eat. Her eyes shoot left and right, and she shifts nervously.
I put a hand on her forearm.
“I will order,” I say. She looks at me with her doe-like eyes in pure gratitude.
“I never go out,” she says hastily. “And when I do, I study the menu online days in advance so I can make a proper decision.”
I stare at her because my mind is lost. She is the most perfect sub. Not because I like to do things for her, I do, but because she can gain so much from it, and it comes so naturally to her.
“Do you have any allergies or things you do not like?”
