Chapter 36
Rowan
C andlelight flickers across the crisp white tablecloth, casting a golden glow that makes everything feel softer and warmer. Sébastien’s hand brushes mine, just a passing touch, but it grounds me. Laurent’s knee presses gently against mine beneath the table, a steady reminder that I’m not alone. That I belong here.
The Glasshouse is beautiful, but it’s the two men at my side who steal my breath. A server approaches, dressed in sleek black, tablet in hand. Her smile is professional but kind as she stops at the edge of our table.
“Are we ready to order?”
Laurent gives her a charming grin, then turns to me. “Ladies first,” he says with a wink.
I scan the menu one last time, heart racing a little. “I’ll have the saffron and lemon risotto, please. And can I add the heirloom tomato salad with whipped burrata on the side?”
“Excellent choice,” the server nods, tapping the screen.
Sébastien doesn’t look up from the menu when he speaks, his voice smooth as silk. “The seared duck breast for me, medium rare, with the blackberry reduction. And the roasted baby carrots and parsnips, please.”
She turns to Laurent.
“I’ll take the dry-aged ribeye,” he says. “Rare. With truffle pommes purée and grilled broccolini. And a side of whatever dessert will make my Omegas’ eyes roll back in their heads.”
The server blinks, clearly trying not to react, and Sébastien lets out a quiet, amused breath beside me. I glance over at Laurent, narrowing my eyes.
“You’re impossible,” I murmur.
He leans in just slightly, all mischief and warmth. “You love it.”
I do. Gods help me, I do.
The server slips away with our orders, leaving the three of us in the soft candlelight and quiet hum of conversation.
Laurent rests his chin on his hand, watching me like I might disappear if he blinks too long. “So... is this where I ask if you’re having a good time, or is it too early to check my approval rating?”
I smile, warm and easy. “You brought me truffle fries and an artichoke tart. You’re already in the lead.”
Laurent leans back in his chair, eyeing both of us with a lazy grin. “So, be honest, how lucky are you two feeling right now? Because I’m sitting here with the two hottest Omegas in Manhattan, and I’m pretty sure that makes me the catch of the evening.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “You’re impossible.”
Sébastien smirks, resting a hand on my knee beneath the table. “He’s not wrong, though. We are a bit out of his league.”
Laurent gasps, mock offended. “Excuse you, this league was made for me. And dessert hasn’t even arrived yet. I plan to seal the deal.”
I grin. “Is that so?”
“Oh, absolutely,” he says, eyes twinkling. “By the end of tonight, I fully expect one of you to say, ‘Laurent, take me now behind the wine cellar.’ Or, at the very least, let me hold your hand.”
Sébastien chuckles. “You can start with holding the check.”
Our plates arrive with a flourish. Steaming, artfully arranged, and smelling like sin. The server barely sets the last plate down before Sébastien leans toward me, slicing off a perfect piece of his seared scallop and holding it out on his fork.
“Try it,” he says, voice low, almost coaxing. “Tell me it’s not the best thing you’ve ever tasted.”
I part my lips without thinking, letting the fork slide between them. The moment it hits my tongue, I moan softly. Sweet, tender, and kissed by a buttery citrus glaze. His eyes darken immediately.
“Oh gods,” I murmur, licking a bit from the corner of my mouth. “That’s insane.”
“Your turn,” Laurent growls, already cutting into his ribeye. He spears a bite and offers it to Sébastien, his gaze smoldering as he leans across me to do it. Their fingers brush, deliberately. Charged.
Sébastien hums as the meat touches his tongue, head tilting just slightly. “You trying to ruin me before dessert?” he asks, licking his lips.
Laurent’s grin is wicked. “That depends. Are you already ruined?”
“Getting there.”
My stomach flips, part nerves, part heat. Beneath the table, Sébastien’s hand finds my thigh. Warm. Steady. Possessive. His fingers trace slow circles through the fabric of my dress, the pressure just enough to make me shift in my seat.
I lift a bite of my mushroom risotto to Laurent, hand barely steady. “Your turn.”
He wraps his lips around the fork, eyes on mine the entire time. When he swallows, he groans. “Okay, now I’m ruined.”
My whole body tightens. The food is incredible, but it’s not the only thing setting me on fire.