Chapter 7 #2
I wait for Wylder to say something. After all, she’s his “girlfriend.”
But he stays silent.
Candace seems to be waiting for the same thing, but after a minute of total silence, she cracks. “Wylder—”
“I don’t want to deal with an argument tonight.” He cuts her off abruptly. “There’s a seat at the other end of the table. You’ll be perfectly comfortable there.”
Her head turns in Samson’s direction, who’s staring daggers at her. Actually, his literal dagger makes an appearance, his hand slamming it into the table next to him. The table rattles slightly, and Cade chuckles.
“Wylder,” she hisses, “you can’t be serious.”
He raises a brow at Samson. “Behave, please. We have company.”
Samson rolls his eyes before pocketing his dagger. I notice that Wylder doesn’t bother telling me to behave. He probably knows it won’t make any difference.
Still, Candace doesn’t move. “This is very rude. I’m your guest. I’m sure your father raised you better than this.”
Wylder tenses, and I see red. “No more rude than you being late and failing to greet everyone here properly.”
Candace’s gaze narrows on me. She cocks her head like a predator, wondering what manner of beast is sitting before her.
I just smile. I know exactly what I am, and unlike Wylder, I have no desire to hide it.
“Do you need directions?” I offer sweetly.
Her nostrils flare, and her ruby-red lips thin. “Excuse me?”
“Come on, Candace, just sit the fuck down,” Cade says before I can respond. “Samson will behave. You’re holding up dinner.”
“Humph. Fine.” She straightens her shoulders and struts to where Samson is glowering at her. She stops where the chair is, as if waiting for someone to pull it out for her. I have to bite back a laugh when no one does.
Her eyes land on Wylder, who isn’t even looking at her. He’s staring down at his charger plate, his brow furrowed.
I frown. What is it about Candace’s words that has upset him? Because he is upset. The others might not have noticed, but I have.
I always notice.
Wylder carries so much responsibility on his broad shoulders. More than any one person can reasonably bear. It brings out this absurd side of me that wants to cuddle him and make him feel better, to take charge of things in his life until the stress is eased away and he can be his true self.
That won’t happen. The most I can do is make sure he eats and doesn’t drown under his emails.
And that Candace doesn’t make him feel shitty.
She’s still standing there, gaze sweeping over everyone assembled. When she finally realizes no one is falling over themselves to help her, her jaw clenches. Her crimson nails hit the chair, and she pulls it back, lowering herself onto it, looking flustered.
Good. I don’t like her. She’s far too beautiful and entitled. Worse, she upset Ansel, insulted Jules, and hit Wylder where it hurts. These guys…well, they’re almost like a family to me. I mean, I won’t get my hopes up or anything—those are always dashed when I do—but I like them.
And I think they like me too.
Maybe it’s just my longing for a family, to finally be accepted no matter what, to be chosen, but I’m pretty sure I’d smash a tarte into Candace’s face. For them.
Plus, I think she needs to be taken down a notch. Or ten.
I’d like her to look in the mirror and be repulsed by what she sees.
I take another sip of my wine as the doors open, and Jules appears with several dining staff, who bring in steaming bowls of soup. They place them in front of us, and Jules announces that it’s leek and potato soup.
“Looks delicious. Thank you, Jules. I can’t wait to try it.”
Jules gives me a soft grin before bowing and disappearing with the rest of the staff.
I look up to see Wylder smiling at me. “What?”
“Nothing,” he says softly, his gaze going to his bowl. “It doesn’t matter.”
Samson yanks his dagger from the table and stabs at a potato floating in the soup, bringing it up to his mouth and biting it off with a show of teeth. “Fuck, does this man know how to cook. I wanna find myself someone like this.”
Candace huffs in irritation at the show of barbarity. “Must we be so vulgar at the dinner table?”
“Hell yes. I love vulgarity,” Samson grunts, making me snort into my soup. He’s a grumpy fuck, but I’m liking him more with every minute.
“God, this is fucking good,” Harley says as he takes his first bite.
“Make sure to tell your boyfriend that,” Cade replies, and Harley flips his brother off in response. I smile as I take my first spoonful and admit that Harley’s right. Never had a leek before, but whatever it is, it’s fucking fantastic.
I finish the soup off quickly, unable to stop myself from scraping my spoon across the bottom of the bowl.
I don’t have the same manners as everyone else.
As I glance around the table, I realize that’s not something I need to worry about.
Not tonight. Samson is still stabbing his knife into the soup.
Cade is “accidentally” flicking copious amounts in Candace’s direction, spattering it over the white tablecloth.
Dalton and Jackson are talking loudly with their mouths open, while Matthias and Wyatt are feeding each other spoonfuls in the most nauseating fashion possible.
Harley, meanwhile, has picked up the entire bowl and is drinking from it.
I’m pretty sure Ansel is debating whether he should put a straw right in there and slurp. I know they’re all hamming it up for Candace’s benefit, but it makes me feel less insecure about my general lack of upbringing.
Wylder, however, eats like he’s the fucking King of England. Ridiculously slow and perfect. I want to peel the spoon from his fingers and feed him, want to smear some across his lips and watch his tongue flick out and lap it up.
My cock twitches in my pants at the thought of messing him up.
I wonder if this is what he’ll be like when he has kids. Will he teach them to eat like this? Or will he allow his brothers to teach the kids how to stab potatoes with a knife and eat with their fingers?
The idea of Wylder as a dad…it makes something weird bubble up within me. I tamp it down, focusing on how hot Wylder looks tonight in his suit and tie, his hair perfectly in place. Yes, that’s easier to focus on.
Not the fact that I can imagine myself by his side. Even if it is a little ridiculous to even dream that.
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 she ate 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 like the 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.”