The maître de’s face falls, but he rushes to move the unfortunate diners before the bruiser with the beat-up face can follow through with his threat.
“I’ll arrange for their bill to be paid,” Ed says, reading my mind. “It’s the least we can do for making them breathe the same air as degenerates.” With deliberate timing, he lifts his glass of wine and raises it to Katarina.
“Send champagne to their table too,” she says. “With my compliments.”
When Ed goes to respond, I know it won’t be nice. “Ed,” I warn, keeping my voice low. Danyl has moved away, but I don’t want to take any chances tonight. “Please don’t make this situation any more awkward than it already is.”
I don’t need to explain why. We all know I’m going to have to spend the evening looking adoringly at my supposed wife-to-be while the woman I love looks on.
“Who knows,” Grace says, looking from Ed to Katarina, “by the end of the evening, you two might end up as best buddies. All you need is an open mind and a warm heart.”
Katarina scoffs. “Someone got laidrecently.”
“I’m bringing ear defenders to work next week,” grumbles Ed. He’s testing Katarina’s tolerance to the new arrangement.
Katarina turns to Grace, but there’s a sparkle of mischief and not malice in her eyes. “What part of discreet didn’t you understand?” she asks. “Do I need to buy you a gag?”
“Get one for Duke too,” Ed suggests.
Grace huffs. “I take it back. Maybe we should keep you two separate.”
“And we should definitely change the subject,” I add. “Remember where we are and what roles we’re supposed to be playing.”
Katarina reaches across the table and I take her hand. “You’re right as always, my love,” she says, then lowers her voice further when she adds, “Now kiss my hand and look adoringly into my eyes while we’ve all got empty stomachs and there’s less chance of someone throwing up.”
As I lift my fiancée’s fingers to my lips, it’s Grace I’m talking to when I say, “Two weeks, one day until I become the luckiest man in the world.”
Ed gags, making us all laugh and breaking the tension. Surprisingly, the laughter continues throughout our meal. We chat about inconsequential things because the whole point of this meal is to put on a performance. TV shows. The weather. Our worst hangovers. Our most embarrassing wardrobe malfunctions. Fortunately, I’m playing the established role of grumpy asshole so I’m not expected to contribute much.
“Speaking of outfits, do you think I’d get away with a white tux for the party?” asks Ed, waving the bitesize piece of cheesecake skewered on his fork.
Katarina stares at him like he’s grown two heads. “I donot recall inviting you to my birthday party, Edison. Besides, white shows up the blood. And I would have to beat you up at some stage. Call it my birthday treat.’
Ed smiles. “Aw, sweetie, is that your way of saying you do want me there?”
“He will have to attend, Kat,” Grace says. “He’s more or less organizing the whole thing. I wasn’t joking when I said I don’t know the first thing about planning parties, and it needs to go without a hitch given we’re using a private residence.” She nods her grateful thanks to me, as a professional might. “It took some persuading to get the Moncriefs on board.”
Grace’s form of persuasion involved several sexual favors, and as my mind floods with the memory, my heated blood travels south.
Katarina rolls her eyes. “Fine, he’s invited.”
“Of course I am,” Ed says as if there was any doubt. “There’s no way I’m going to miss seeing Grace in her outfit.”
When the Bratva princess jolts suddenly, I assume something must be wrong, but she simply steals the chocolate mousse she and Grace were meant to be sharing. “Are you planning on upstaging me, Grace?”
Grace leans over to steal back a spoonful of mousse. “As if anyone could upstage you.”
I hate that she believes it. I hate it more that I can’t risk telling her how her beauty steals my breath every time I look at her.
“It’s only my needlework I’ll be showing off,” Grace promises. “I’m crocheting a black lace-effect dress. It’s going to take forever, but fortunately I have plenty of time in the evenings. It keeps my fingers busy.”
“I had heard you were skilled with your fingers,” Ioffer.
Ed clears his throat, reminding me to keep some thoughts to myself. “Grace, show Kat the Griffin you made.”
Katarina makes a face, leaning away as Grace picks up her cell. “Which one?”
Grace laughs. “Not the men,” she clarifies as she finds a photo of the toy she’d made for Quinn’s baby.
