Page 50 of Save Me
“No, it’s too late. You made your bed, and now you’re gonna lie in it.”
“As long as you’re there with me.”
“Well, good news, then, because …” I cast a hand dramatically toward the table, where Belinda is shuffling seating arrangement cards with a scowl.
Ronan steps closer, his hand cupping my nape. “The sooner Henry realizes you are in my life, the better.” My breath hitches as he leans down to kiss me tenderly.
“Now, do I need to confiscate your butter knife or will you behave?” he whispers against my lips.
I’m caught in a haze, this growing pull toward him—both physical and emotional—beginning to overshadow everything else. “I make no promises.”
His deep, dark chuckle invades my body. “That’s my girl.”
“We have pairedwines with each course this evening, as you can see on the menu cards set in front of you,” the server who brought Abbi her plate earlier announces to our end of the table. “Each course has three options to choose from, and we will tailor your pour, unless you vehemently oppose.”
Six more servers are spread out in sections to cater to smaller groups, and a small army waits behind us, each carrying wine bottles at the ready. In total, there must be close to forty people here for dinner tonight and almost as many staff.
“What is your name?” Henry asks calmly as he studies the card, never looking up.
“Umm … Jacqueline. Or Jacquie’s fine.”
“When was the red snapper brought in?”
“This afternoon at about 3:00 p.m. Caught an hour before by Captain Dave,” she answers without missing a beat.
Dave Rogers is known around here for guaranteeing the freshest day’s catch and gets paid well for it.
“And the king crab?”
“Our shipment arrived early this morning.” She holds her breath as she waits for his response. I imagine serving the owner of Wolf Hotels is nerve-racking at all times, but especially so when he’s grilling you.
“My wife claims she had impeccable service from you earlier.” Finally, Henry acknowledges the server with a glance. “Keep it up, Jacqueline.” He uses her full name, just as he called Abbi by hers earlier.
Jacquie’s eyes flitter to Abbi, who smiles up at her with encouragement. “If there’s nothing else, I’ll give you a few minutes to decide on your meals.”
He waves a hand in athat’ll be allgesture, and Jacquie scurries off.
Ronan and I exchange glances from across the double-wide table, an array of candles and florals a formidable barrier. Belinda separated us, seating Abbi and Henry at the very end as table heads—the king and queen. At least I’m closest to Abbi and not him. Ronan gets that honor.
On my other side is a man with a smooth Parisian accent who said a polite hello but has otherwise been caught up in conversation with Margo Lauren, the raven-haired supermodel seated next to Ronan. She’s even more striking in person than the magazine covers she graces, if that’s possible.
It would have been much kinder of Belinda to seat me and Ronan next to each other and pair these two up, but I don’t think showing kindness was a part of the equation where she’s concerned.
“How long do they swim for?” Abbi admires the aquatic tank, where a new mermaid skims through the water, this one in lavender-and-cream scales.
Henry abandons his menu card and leans back with his drink—scotch, if I had to guess. “I believe they change every twenty minutes. Is that accurate, Ronan?”
“My realm is the tank itself, not who or what swims in it,” Ronan answers wryly. “Lena will have to answer that.”
Henry briefly scans faces as if looking for thiswoman named Lena before dismissing the topic. “Sloane, how is your grandmother doing?”
“She’s good,” I answer warily.
He takes a sip. “Ruby, right?”
“Yes.”
“And it’s been what, now? Two years since you put her in an assisted-living center and claimed her properties?”
