“I forgive you.”
He what?
The nerve. That fossil actually thinks he owns me, and that he gets to forgive me for being late? Fuck him.
My ears start ringing out of nowhere. My chest tightens, and my pulse won’t slow down. I don’t even know why.
He won’t stop staring at me. Maybe that’s why I feel like my skin is too tight. Or maybe it’s just this whole freak show. Everyone’s staring at someone. Leo’s looking at me like I belong to him. The woman looks like she’s seconds away from snapping Adam in half with her eyes. The other guy’s staring at nothing, completely blank—probably wishing he’s not even here. And Adam’s watching him, tense, expecting him to move suspiciously. What’s wrong about that man, anyway?
My eyes dart back at him. Cazzo, he’s still staring at me.
“Is there something wrong?” I ask bravely.
He takes a sharp inhale and rests his elbows on his knees. “So young … so perfect. Your father said I’d be pleased.” He raises his brows. “He wasn’t wrong.”
“What?”
“Let’s eat.” He waves for the waitress to come closer.
“Didn’t you just eat?” I ask, one corner of my mouth lifting.
“You didn’t.”
“I’m not hungry.”
The waiter approaches and hands the menu to Leo. He doesn’t even glance at it before passing it to me. “I didn’t ask for your opinion, dear.”
For some reason, I can’t move, as though I’m paralyzed. I thought Adam would’ve snapped by now, put him in his place, threatened him or something. But he hasn’t, and that scares the hell out of me. He’s quiet. And without him stepping in, I feel exposed.
After a few seconds that feel too long, I take the menu and set it in front of me, hoping it’ll make me disappear from his sight.
Why does everything on this menu look like shit? Who the hell eats lamb tartare with beetroot foam on purpose?
Sea urchin custard with fennel pollen? Who’s actually eating this crap? Duck liver brûlée. Is this a dessert menu for serial killers? And what the hell is charcoal-infused bone marrow toast?
I feel all eyes on me, as if they’re waiting for me to spill some top-secret government info.
The menu-shield didn’t help after all.
Without saying a word, Adam steps closer and points to something on the menu. Wagyu ribeye, A5 grade, served with truffle demi-glace and gold leaf fingerling potatoes.
I glance up and catch him already watching me. A small smile tugs at my lips before I can stop it, and I quickly lower my eyes.
I raise my head and look at the waiter. I squint my eyes in defiance and flash a broad smile.
“I’ll take the steak.”
The waiter’s eyes widen, and he clears his throat. I guess I offended the sacred menu.
“S-steak?” he repeats, sweat trickling from his temple. He looks at Leo, like he needs permission or something.
“I mean this.” I show him the menu.
“Oh, you mean the Wagyu ribeye. Excellent choice, miss.”
“Yes, the steak,” I repeat on purpose.
“W-wagyu is not just a steak,” he mumbles.
