Page 64 of Mexico Can Choke On It
Hana squeals. “Ooh! Bird’s nest soup! What a treat!”
“Is it?”
“Oh yes. It’s made with real bird saliva, along with pieces of the actual swiftlet’s nest. Each one ishand-selectedfor quality. Think about how many birdies had to work overtime with their little mouths to create thirty servings!”
“Bird drool? A delicacy?” I mutter. “Any chance there’s an alt soup of the day, like chicken noodle?”
I reach for what I assume is the soup spoon(thimble-sized, because rich people prefer microscopic portions).Bryce leans over, his lips notquite touching my ear, and the heat of his breath sends an electric zap straight to my nipples.
“Wrong utensil, Pip,” he murmurs. “Keep breaking the rules, and I’ll have to discipline you.”
“Does it involve restraints and safe words?”
“Only if you’re very, very good for me.”
A sharp inhale betrays me. “Are you this forward with all the women you babysit?”
“Only disobedient ones who need a firm hand.”
Well. That’s… disturbingly hot.
No. He’s not steering this horny Titanic into an iceberg of bad decisions. I am.
I fake an exaggerated yawn, as though I’m unaffected by his boring advances. “Promises, promises. You high-society pretty boys are all bark, no bite.”
“Trust me, Pip… I bite.”
The spoon slips from my grasp, clattering against the china. Every head at the table swivels our way. I snatch it off the plate, gripping it with the proper technique.
His eyes drop to my bare fingers, then back to my face with a hint of disapproval.
“Where’s the ring you’re supposed to wear with this gown?”
The question throws me. Several snarky responses flash through my mind:
Option 1: Blasé Indifference. “That hideous thing? It clashed with my middle finger.”
Option 2: Playful Misdirection. “I loaned it to Miss Muffy. It complimented her crown. Who am I to deny our high priestess?”
Option 3: Theatrical Distress. “Holy shit, you’re right! Someone must have stolen it! Alert security! Unless… Wait, do you think the butler did it? He seems shifty.”
I settle on: “Would you believe I dropped it off the balcony while fantasizing about your romantic proposal?”
He smirks. “Very amusing. I chose that particular ruby to compliment your… dress.”
“Well, I rebelled. Call it my protest against being packaged as some kind of sexy party favor.”
“It’s fine. You don’t need the ring,” he says, his gaze dragging over me like a fingertip. “You’re still temptation itself.”
Time out! Shut it down. I gotta collect myself before I lose it.
I break the connection between us and notice Nigel approaching Miss Muffy’s throne with the reverence of a monk at an altar. He bends slightly, careful not to crease his uniform, and takes a delicate sip from the dog’s bowl.
“It is, as always, perfection, madam.”
Onlythendoes Muffy lower her snout to begin eating.
Spoons clink. Conversation resumes. The orchestral harp picks back up like it’s scoring a BBC miniseries about snobbery and mild incest.
