“Humph. Fine.” She straightens her shoulders and struts to where Samson is glowering at her. She stops where the chair is, as if waiting for someone to pull it out for her. I have to bite back a laugh when no one does.
Her eyes land on Wylder, who isn’t even looking at her. He’s staring down at his charger plate, his brow furrowed.
I frown. What is it about Candace’s words that has upset him? Because he is upset. The others might not have noticed, but I have.
I always notice.
Wylder carries so much responsibility on his broad shoulders. More than any one person can reasonably bear. It brings out this absurd side of me that wants to cuddle him and make him feel better, to take charge of things in his life until the stress is eased away and he can be his true self.
That won’t happen. The most I can do is make sure he eats and doesn’t drown under his emails.
And that Candace doesn’t make him feel shitty.
She’s still standing there, gaze sweeping over everyone assembled. When she finally realizes no one is falling over themselves to helpher, her jaw clenches. Her crimson nails hit the chair, and she pulls it back, lowering herself onto it, looking flustered.
Good. I don’t like her. She’s far too beautiful and entitled. Worse, she upset Ansel, insulted Jules, and hit Wylder where it hurts. These guys…well, they’re almost like a family to me. I mean, I won’t get my hopes up or anything—those are always dashed when I do—but Ilikethem.
And I think they like me too.
Maybe it’s just my longing for a family, to finally be accepted no matter what, to be chosen, but I’m pretty sure I’d smash a tarte into Candace’s face. For them.
Plus, I think she needs to be taken down a notch. Or ten.
I’d like her to look in the mirror and be repulsed by what she sees.
I take another sip of my wine as the doors open, and Jules appears with several dining staff, who bring in steaming bowls of soup. They place them in front of us, and Jules announces that it’s leek and potato soup.
“Looks delicious. Thank you, Jules. I can’t wait to try it.”
Jules gives me a soft grin before bowing and disappearing with the rest of the staff.
I look up to see Wylder smiling at me. “What?”
“Nothing,” he says softly, his gaze going to his bowl. “It doesn’t matter.”
Samson yanks his dagger from the table and stabs at a potato floating in the soup, bringing it up to his mouth and biting it off with a show of teeth. “Fuck, does this man know how to cook. I wanna find myself someone like this.”
Candace huffs in irritation at the show of barbarity. “Must we be so vulgar at the dinner table?”
“Hell yes. I love vulgarity,” Samson grunts, making me snort into my soup. He’s a grumpy fuck, but I’m liking him more with every minute.
“God, this is fucking good,” Harley says as he takes his first bite.
“Make sure to tell your boyfriend that,” Cade replies, and Harley flips his brother off in response. I smile as I take my first spoonful andadmit that Harley’s right. Never had a leek before, but whatever it is, it’s fucking fantastic.
I finish the soup off quickly, unable to stop myself from scraping my spoon across the bottom of the bowl. I don’t have the same manners as everyone else. As I glance around the table, I realize that’s not something I need to worry about. Not tonight. Samson is still stabbing his knife into the soup. Cade is “accidentally” flicking copious amounts in Candace’s direction, spattering it over the white tablecloth. Dalton and Jackson are talking loudly with their mouths open, while Matthias and Wyatt are feeding each other spoonfuls in the most nauseating fashion possible. Harley, meanwhile, has picked up the entire bowl and is drinking from it.
I’m pretty sure Ansel is debating whether he should put a straw right in there and slurp. I know they’re all hamming it up for Candace’s benefit, but it makes me feel less insecure about my general lack of upbringing.
Wylder, however, eats like he’s the fucking King of England. Ridiculously slow and perfect. I want to peel the spoon from his fingers and feed him, want to smear some across his lips and watch his tongue flick out and lap it up.
My cock twitches in my pants at the thought of messing him up.
I wonder if this is what he’ll be like when he has kids. Will he teach them to eat like this? Or will he allow his brothers to teach the kids how to stab potatoes with a knife and eat with their fingers?
The idea of Wylder as a dad…it makes something weird bubble up within me. I tamp it down, focusing on how hot Wylder looks tonight in his suit and tie, his hair perfectly in place. Yes, that’s easier to focus on.
Not the fact that I can imagine myself by his side. Even if it is a little ridiculous to even dream that.
