Page 75 of Goldsin

The whole restaurant is packed, leaving me with a sense of dread at the thought of having to kill someone in a place so crowded without being noticed. But this is the most upscale Indonesian restaurant in downtown Seattle, so I should have expected some obstacles.

“Can’t say I have,” I reply, eyes darting around the space to find Marcus Whitman.

He’s sitting five tables away from us. From where I’m seated, I can see his side profile as he discusses something with the other three men dressed in suits. His bodyguards are pressed against the wall close by, their eyes like a hawk’s, scanning the perimeter.

“Then we should definitely order that!” Eleanora’s voice fills the room with her enthusiasm. “Oh, and the Nasi Goreng too! I’ve been craving it all week.”

“Sounds delicious,” I murmur.

The aroma from the dishes being served at the tables next to ours digs a hole in my stomach, making it growl with indescribable hunger. My mind may be elsewhere, but those dishes do sound delicious.

Placing the menu down on the table, Eleanora’s brows knit, meeting in the middle. “Is everything okay?” Her lips, painted a deep burgundy color, curve at the corners. “You seem a bit ... distracted.”

Her long black hair is braided to the side, daisies and irises pinned here and there, decorating the hairstyle. They’re the perfect complement to the lilacCarolina Herreradress with black tulle peeking out from below. Itssquare neckline showcases the shining pearls around her neck.

Assuring her, I place my hand over hers. “Everything’s fine. It’s just been a long day, that’s all.”

Humming, she lifts a brow and inclines her chin toward me. “Did you go shopping without me?”

Confusion pinches my features. Then I remember about the dress I’m wearing. “Of course not! Julian gifted me the dress.” I all but whisper the admission.

“Hewhat?” Her hand falls to her chest. “My God. The guy knows how it’s done,” she says, more to herself. “Well,four thousand dollarshas never looked better on anyone else.”

Nearly choking on the cool water I’ve been sipping on, I try to quash the realization Julian spent so much money on me.

What the hell is going on in that head of his?

The waitress, dressed all in white, jots down our drink order, tells us she’ll come back for us to order food in a bit, and leaves us in a comfortable silence I appreciate.

I glance at Marcus every now and then, but Eleanora, blind to my ulterior motive, detests the silence. We’ve shared each other’s company in silence many times before, but she loves to chat, and a date at Sulawesi Spice practically screams for conversation.

“Did you see that new art exhibit at the gallery down the street?” Eleanora’s question breaks me out of the spell that is Julian Harrow. “The paintings were so full of color, yet they seemed so ... sodead. I could’ve spent hours there.”

“Really?” I place my menu on top of hers on the table, my attention drifting between her and Marcus. “I haven’t had the chance to check it out yet.”

“We could go together sometime this week!” The light speckles of honey in her eyes shine at the idea.

I could honestly benefit from some time with her. Time where I’m not planning a murder.

“Sure.”

Laughter from one of the other tables filters in, and I flick my gaze back to Marcus. He’s laughing at something one of the sullen-looking men said. His relaxed demeanor irks every fiber of my being.

Time stops. Everything but him blurs, and you’d think I was the protagonist of a romcom with the way my heart beats out of my chest. I might as well be?—

Madly in love with the thought of killing him.

“Earth to Aurelia!” A snapping of fingers follows Eleanora’s words. “Are you with me?”

“Sorry.” I force a sheepish grin.

There’s movement to my right, and I notice the waitress leaving our table. Eleanora follows my gaze and says, “I took the liberty of ordering for you too.”

“Fair enough.” I laugh, this time focusing my attention on what my best friend has to say.

Hours pass us by. Our food arrives, and I surprise myself, eating everything presented to me without a second thought. I guess killing doesn’t make me squeamish.

I look at my friend. The way her nose wrinkles as she laughs herself away. I wish I could tell her the truth. Everything. But I can’t risk putting her in danger. Her lifeis already messed up as it is. I can’t pile more shit on her plate.

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