I adjust myself discreetly, thankful that Wylder is looking at his soup with precise focus. Like a surgeon operating on a patient.
By the time Jules is walking back in with the main course, Wylder’s just finishing the soup. Even Candace ate faster. Not that sheate much. She huffed and puffed as she brought the spoon up to her mouth. Like one of the three little pigs.
I wanted to toss a bread roll at her head.
What an ungrateful ass.
Jules announces the details of the extravagant dish just as Wylder pushes his bowl away.
The attendants set the plates before us, and I stare down at the array of food artfully arranged. It’s so beautiful it’d look more at home in a museum. “Holy shit, Jules is good.”
Wylder hums in agreement. “He’s the best in St. Dismas.”
“You should fire your chef and hire him.”
Wylder meets my gaze. “Matthias would have my head.”
“Worth it,” I say, but I’m barely aware of it. I’m too focused on the life in Wylder’s gaze.
Or rather, the lack of.
Where’s the man who pinned me to a wall in the alley? Who threw me over his shoulder when I tried to leave? Who gives me a little part of his soul every day, just to keep me in his office and in his life?
He’s not here. Not tonight.
I fucking hate it.
I pick up my fork and stab it into the meat. Wylder picks up his knife and fork and carefully cuts his as Candace says loud enough for everyone to hear, “Thank you, Jules, but don’t you think duck is rather pedestrian? And the pommes puree…so unimaginative.”
There’s a tiny smirk on her face as Jules flushes. The bitch knows exactly what she’s doing. She takes a small, dainty bite as Samson cranes his neck toward her, Harley fisting his hands on the table.
“Do not call his potatoes unimaginative. They’re a fucking marvel,” Harley grinds out.
Candace shrugs like rich people do—not urgent and lacking any consequence. “I don’t know. Mashed potatoes are…lazy.”
“They are not mashed potatoes. They are pommes puree,” Jules says. He has a smile on his face, but his teeth are gritted.
“Same thing. I don’t know how Jules still has his job. A family likethe Buckinghams should have a world-class chef, not someone whose food could be served at the local Country Skillet.”
Harley pushes back his chair and stands, his eyes slightly wild.
Jules clears his throat, shaking his head as he tries to get Harley’s attention. But Harley is too far gone to see anything other than Candace. Fury has his whole frame shaking. “Do you not remember what happened last time?”
She shoots a withering glare at Ansel, who just grins back. “I do, but I assume Wylder had a talk with you all. I am allowed my opinion.”
I frown at Wylder, wondering why he’s staying silent. Why is he letting her treat his family this way?
Not that his family needs his defense. They’re more than capable of tearing Candace a new one on their own. But even I don’t want to hear this shit. It’s making me rage.
“Yeah, you can’t have an opinion when it’s a shitty one,” Dalton says. “And it seems that’s all you have.”
Jackson bobs his head next to Dalton. “Mom always told us if you don’t have something nice to say, not to say anything at all.” He turns his gaze to Candace and cocks his head in the innocent way only a young man can do. “Do you not have a mom, Candace?”
Her cheeks darken, and she sets her fork down, tapping the napkin against her lips. Dalton runs a hand over his mouth, chuckling lowly.
“I do have a mother. And a father.”
“Did they not teach you manners?” Jackson asks, leaning forward, his eyes slightly owlish as he blinks at her. “I assume they must’ve, given how you commented about Wylder’s upbringing earlier.”
