Chapter 25
“I know it seems rather late, but I promise you this food will be worth the effort it took to get here. I have known Chef Laurent for many years, been to several of his restaurants both here and back home in London, and I promise you’re in for a treat,” Arran boasted, pulling her chair out, like a true English gentleman.
She sat down, adjusting her dress beneath her, offering him an agreeable smile. She was running on adrenalin, truth be told, caught up in the whirlwind of the craziest date she had ever been on. She hoped that her exhaustion wouldn’t catch up to her over dinner. She was operating on 5 hours of sleep, most of which was fitful. She was ravenous too, and hoped filling her belly would offer her a much needed second wind.
“It’s a beautiful restaurant Arran, and it smells delicious in here,” she approved, enjoying the ambiance. After only a few minutes of being seated, the sommelier came over and introduced herself, offering appropriate wine pairing suggestions, followed shortly after by their waiter.
“Trust me to order for you, Emma,” Arran proposed boldly, reaching out for her hand. She found the offer, and his confidence, quite sexy and responded with an agreeable smile.
“Very good,” he chirped, patting the top of her hand like one might praise an obedient child, a gesture that quickly shifted her impression. She chose to overlook it, chalking it up to being overly tired and sensitive.
He did choose well though. After a tasting of Golden Ossetra Caviar, the waiter brought a starter of seared foie gras with caramelized onions and cherries, a dish that she shared with Arran. It had a rich texture, delicate and buttery, that melted in her mouth. She’d eaten foie gras in the past, but never a dish prepared with so much finesse. She was certain she was moaning after every bite but she couldn’t help herself. It made Arran chuckle, and she blushed like a schoolgirl when he admitted he wished it was him on the end of her fork.
As they were waiting for their main courses to arrive, Arran looked at her inquisitively, tipping his wine glass in her direction. “Tell me, how long have you and Luke known one another?” he asked nonchalantly, the way people do when they want to appear indifferent. Emma wondered if it was a loaded question, triggered by the tone in his voice. She had trained herself very well over the years to pick up on subtle shifts in body language and inflection. She was also fiercely protective of her friendship with Luke, and didn’t like having to justify it, not to anyone.
Her pause made him smile, a gesture to set her at ease, she assumed. She shook her head softly, embarrassed by her insecurity.
“We’ve been friends since high school,” she explained, unapologetically. He nodded, waiting for her to share more. She didn’t.
They sat in a moment of silence, quietly regarding one another.
“That’s a long time. Were you guys ever an item?” he finally pressed, trying not to spook her. She knew he was looking for reassurance but for the life of her, she couldn’t understand why, and found his question a little inappropriate. He didn’t come across as an insecure man.
“No. Never. We’re just very close. He’s my best friend,” she answered, nevertheless.
“Really? Never?” Arran grinned, looking at her as though he found it hard to believe.
“No, why?” she asked, an amused smile hiding her indignation.
“I mean no offense, truly. He just seems rather protective of you. Proprietary. What do you suppose that’s about?” he asked lightly, swirling the wine in his glass. Emma shrugged her shoulders indifferently, not sure how to answer him. Luke had always watched out for her, in the same way a brother might, but she never considered him proprietary.
“He’s harmless,” she smirked, remembering Luke’s advice earlier that morning. He wanted this for her, to go out and have a good time, to be well seduced by an attentive man. He’d been nothing but supportive.
“Darling, I wouldn’t be so sure,” he mused, refilling her wine glass. She brought it to her lips but didn’t drink. “I have a little understanding of the male species and I know how a man looks at the woman he loves.”
Emma raised her eyes to meet his, perplexed by his observation. It was either coming from a place of insecurity or ignorance, but either way, he couldn’t be more wrong. Luke didn’t love her, not in the way Arran was implying. She found it rather humorous and chuckled softly into her wine glass. He laughed along with her, sitting back in his chair, and regarded her curiously, as though he considered her naive.
“But I’m here, with you,” she cooed, hoping to change the subject, “why don’t we focus on that?”
He clinked his wine glass with hers, wordlessly toasting her suggestion. She took a long swallow of her wine, and although grateful to move on, Arran’s pronouncement stayed with her.