Chapter 16
We got there with the first course. I was too embarrassed to internalize how big of a deal it was to arrive with two Ashwoods in tow, wearing Mom’s dress and Adeline Ashwood heels. But every single pair of eyes was on us.
I tried not to marvel and failed miserably. Whenever I spent time with Elliot, he got me into places I’d otherwise never step foot inside. At least this time, I looked like I belonged. The gratitude in my chest made my eyes draw away from him and to our table, where the rest of our party waited.
Allegra was doing a great job of keeping Daphne and Ryan entertained, it seemed. They only noticed us once Rowen shuffled to his seat, and Elliot gestured for me to sit next.
“Oh my God,” Daphne gasped, extending her hands across the table to squeeze mine in greeting. It calmed my nerves. Her blond hair was styled in a beautiful updo, and the light-pink dress was no surprise. “You’re here!”
My heart swelled a little at the excitement in her voice. That Daphne Martin squealed at my arrival to anything, never mind an event filled with much more interesting people, definitely made my favorite-moments list.
“Surprise?” My voice wasn’t even as I shuffled into the banquette with a smile, hoping it didn’t look as awkward as it felt.
“A pleasant one.” Ryan draped his arm behind Daphne on the banquette, taking a sip of his wine before adding, “Allegra didn’t mention you were coming, Maeve.”
The smile Allegra gave me when my eyes flicked in her direction said she wasn’t thrilled by the news.
“Pretty last minute.” A pointed glance at Elliot. “I was supposed to be working.”
Ryan waved it off with a snort. “Nonsense. You can do that when you’re dead.”
“I don’t think that’s how it works—”
“That’s what I’m saying!” Elliot laughed, then matched my eye contact. “You’re welcome, Lucky.”
And there was more than the usual amusement playing in his eyes. I don’t know if it was the low lights or the close proximity or just the prospect of good food, but he looked genuinely . . . happy.
Like he’d forgotten there were people around us, and that he shouldn’t even look at me like that in private, never mind in public. He shouldn’t say what he whispered next, either. “You look beautiful, by the way.”
I swallowed thickly, tried to ignore the way his thigh was pressed against mine. I wasn’t sure if this table was meant for six people. It felt pretty crowded, suddenly. “Of course you’d say that.” My brows rose. “You chose the dress, paid for the shoes . . .”
“Damn. Sometimes I forget how great my taste is.” His gaze was still restless on my face. Eyes, lips, the freckles across my cheek, then eyes again. He sobered. “But I’m not sure if it’s the shoes and the dress this time.”
Me. If it’s not the shoes and dress he was calling beautiful, it was me. My next breath felt shaky, like someone was tying a ribbon around my heart into the signature Adeline Ashwood bow. “What are you doing?” I hissed under my breath.
He shrugged, as if it were the most normal occurrence. “Complimenting you.”
“Why?”
Our first course joined the other plates already on the table, but neither of us spared a glance at them or the wine poured into our glasses. There was already so much happening in the little space between us, I couldn’t possibly worry about what was happening outside of it, too.
Another shrug, and he doubled down. “Because you look beautiful, Maeve.”
Finally, I managed to shake my head. Reminded myself and him that he shouldn’t and couldn’t just say things like that. “Stop.”
He laughed, low and intimate, just for the two of us to hear as he turned my earlier question around. “Why?”
Because we work together. Because you’re this close to taking everything I’d ever wanted away from me. Because Camila hates you, and if she ever found out how hard I had to try to hate you too, she’d lose all faith in me.
All that made it past my lips was “Because you don’t mean it.”
This was just another one of those ways to wrap me around his little finger. Had to be.
Before he could respond with another oddly kind remark or, finally, that dry sarcasm I was starting to miss, Allegra lifted her glass above the table to toast, and the others followed suit.
As I reached for my wine and my eyes flicked to her, she was already looking at me.
Staring intently and trying to decipher what had just happened between me and her ex-boyfriend.
The corner of her lip curled, and her smile no longer seemed nice when she toasted, “To Ashwood.”
After the first course, Rowen went up to the small podium the piano stood on and welcomed their guests. I didn’t dare question whether that speech was supposed to happen before we’d started eating and we’d been that late or if this had been the plan all along.
He thanked everyone for coming, discussed the process of transforming an old bank building into the restaurant where we were sitting, and explained how this space was intended to feel. Private and intimate, despite the tables around you.
They must’ve succeeded, because that’s exactly what it had been like with Elliot.
A space where New York City’s elite could wine and dine without the hassle of fans and paparazzi and whatever else they had to deal with. Not that I would know.
The second course was so small and fancy, I didn’t know what I was eating even when I’d swallowed the first bite, and it catapulted me into a new dimension. A spiritual awakening for my taste buds.
Halfway through the third course, Elliot nudged my shoulder with his and whispered, “We’re eating fish.”
The full fork hovered halfway to my mouth. “And?”
“You’re not using the fish fork.” My face must’ve expressed what I was thinking—What the fuck are you talking about?
—because Elliot went on. “See how this one’s smaller, with wider tines?
” He pointed at the fork still next to my plate, then to the one next to his; indeed, there was a difference between them.
“And this one’s more sturdy, with longer tines? ”
“That’s ridiculous,” I muttered, but everyone else at the table, I realized, was actually using the right fork. As inconspicuously as I could, I lowered mine. Scraped the food already on it back to my plate and placed it on the napkin beside it again. “Or not. I guess.”
I should’ve noticed that. In any other circumstance, I would’ve noticed. But not when I’d been so focused on my conversation with Daphne. Or the fact Elliot’s thigh still pressed against mine.
He shrugged, dimples on full display beside me. “Happens to the best of us.”
And for someone intent on using the right fork, he didn’t seem to mind talking with his mouth full.