Page 46 of Risky Match
“I can try. What about security?”
“Fausto can handle it.”
“I could say I’m craving something other than Italian food and want to try a local pub.”
“Perfect.”
“I’ll text them now.”
A few minutes later, her phone dings.
“They want to know if we should invite you and Blake.”
“Tell them it’s your night off, and you could use a break. Besides, Blake won’t touch pub fare during a tournament.”
“That should work.” She fires off another message.
I watch as she exchanges more texts.
“Done. They’re looking forward to a night away from the tension Blake brings to the dinner.”
“Good job. While you’re out, see if you can learn more about them, particularly Josh’s finances. Is he short on money? Or is he living a richer lifestyle than you would expect. I’m interested in anything unexpected that you may learn about him.”
“Okay, but it would help if I knew why.”
“Unfortunately, I can’t explain. Just know it would be extremely helpful to my mission.”
“Understood.”
The aromaof Fausto’s creamy lemon risotto with shrimp and asparagus draws everyone toward the kitchen—everyone except one, that is.
“Where’s Blake?” I ask.
Natalie points to the ceiling. “I heard water running when I left my room. He must be in the shower.”
“Erin said you’re eating out tonight. Where are you going?” I ask.
Josh answers, “Either the Rose & Crown or Fire Stables.”
“If I’d known we were having shrimp for dinner, I’d be eating here,” Natalie says, sounding disappointed.
With the mouth-watering aroma filling the kitchen, I worry they’ll change their minds. Fausto raises two fingers and shakes his head, silently signaling that he’s only cooked enough for two. I cringe and give him a warning look, hoping they don’t notice he understood English. When they still don’t budge, he shoos them out. Step one of my plan is accomplished.
A couple of minutes later Blake appears, brows knitted in confusion. “Where is everyone? Does this mean dinner is delayed?”
His tone tells me tonight will not be easy.
“Since we don’t have matches tomorrow and don’t need their help tonight, they apparently wanted an evening at a pub.”
“Oh. Why didn’t you join them?”
“Have you lost your mind? Can you imagine the scene it would make for a royal to turn up at a random pub? I don’t need that stress any more than you do.”
Rubbing his chin, he nods. “A quiet dinner at home sounds much better to me too. Please tell me that Fausto didn’t decide that pizza is the new version of healthy eating. I’ll scream if he says the wheat he used to make crust is a vegetable.”
I laugh. “Don’t worry. I spoke with him again. I think we’re having shrimp. It smells wonderful.”
Fausto gestures for us to sit at the table adjacent to the kitchen and hurries over with a beautifully arranged antipasto platter. My stomach grumbles at the display of thinly sliced meats, cheese, olives, pickled red peppers, and fig jam along with a few crispy crackers and baguette slices.
