“Everyone please just order the exact food that you yourself want to eat,” he said.
After a beat of silence, Mr. Quinn whispered to Ethel, “Am I to order the salmon or the omelet?”
Cassian smacked the table halfheartedly with his open palm, causing the silverware to clatter. Everyone, even the poor Calbots, flinched and then stilled. Before Cassian could recover from the blunder, their steward came over, and Cassian’s face caught fire.
“Good morning. Is everyone ready to order?” the steward who wasn’t the lovely James Thomas Morrow asked.
Cassian forced what felt like a strained smile. “Yes, we are. I would like for you to bring one of every single item on the menu. And we’ll all share. Since that seems to be what’s fashionable.”
Jacob fucking Calbot spoke up. “Actually, I thought I might order my own plate?”
“Fine,” Cassian said through a false laugh. He flicked his wrist in the direction of the Calbots and Helena in a mildly flippant manner. “Those threewill have their own plates, but the three of us over here will be sharing.”
Furrowing his brow, the steward passed his tongue over his lips before replying, “You want one of everything on the breakfast menu for only three people?”
Mr. Calbot laughed heartily. “Well, Mr. Livingston here did have an entire platter of potatoes by himself last night.”
Cassian’s muscles tensed, and he laughed a bit more, though he couldn’t manage to keep the ire he felt from seeping in.
“Yes, I did, didn’t I?” He looked up at the poor steward. “So, you see, this sort of thing is obviously very normal for me. I would like one of everything. Anexorbitantamount of food.”
“Apologies, sir, but I’m notentirelysure that’s possible,” the steward replied. “I believe the cost of your tickets only covers—”
“Charge me whatever you want,” Cassian clipped. “Just bring me what I ask for.”
Ethel touched his forearm. “Cassian, I’m happy to have the salmon. Truly.”
“And I can have the salmon as well,” Mr. Quinn said, smiling brightly before his expression faltered a little. “Or the eggs. Or—”
“You know what?” Cassian removed his napkin from his lap. He stood and flung it onto the table. “I’m not hungry. I’ll be on the promenade, enjoying the weather.”
Without even waiting to see or hear anyone’s reaction, Cassian left.
***
Wind whipped through Cassian’s hair as he looked out at the ocean. He could feel the chill in the air, but he was still much too flustered for it to bother him. In fact, the cold breeze was probably the only thing keeping him from boiling over.
He wasn’t mad at Ethel, though. Or at Mr. Quinn. Or even at Jacob for his snide little remark about the potatoes (which, he now realized, was probably supposed to have been a friendly bit of banter, rather than a hostile jab in the first place). No, Cassian was only mad at himself. Dear God, why had he reacted so strongly to the prospect of his valet and his fiancée sharing a bit of food? What in heaven’s name was wrong with him?
For the next hour, Cassian continued to watch the waves. Slowly, his simmering irritation began to cool, and then he was only leftwith regret. Cassian closed his eyes and sighed. Seconds later, he heard Ethel’s voice from behind him.
“Cassian?”
He looked over his shoulder and smiled a barely there, tight-lipped smile.
“How was breakfast?” he asked.
“Lovely. I had the salmon.”
“And what did Mr. Quinn have?”
After a brief pause, Ethel said, “Oatmeal.”
Cassian immediately barked a laugh. “Oatmeal?!”
“I think he was confused about what to order and chose something at random,” Ethel said through a chuckle as she came up beside him.
“Poor man,” Cassian said, still laughing.
