Page 32 of Devil's Iris
He shrugs. “Between my brothers and me, we’ve collected quite a few over the years.”
“Brothers?” The door opens as I ask, and our server clears the empty plates, replacing them with black truffle risotto and what looks like sautéed wild mushrooms. My mouth waters, and this time I don’t wait—I dig in the second the server leaves. The flavors are rich and earthy, and the risotto practically melts on my tongue. After a few bites, I take another sip of my delicious wine and try again. “How many brothers do you have?”
He smiles, clearly pleased. Whether it’s by my interest or the way I’m savoring every bite, I can’t tell. “Three. You have just one—Ethan, right?”
I nod. “Yep. It’s just Ethan and me. Four boys must havebeen chaos growing up. Your parents never wanted a daughter?”
“Oh, no—they’re not biological brothers,” he corrects. “I was an only child, but they’re my brothers in every way that matters. And they’ve given me amazing sisters-in-law too.”
Ahh. He meant the other guys in the Nightshades. They must be pretty close. A pinch of envy hits me. Ethan is a pain in my ass, but I love that little shit. Still, I wonder if we’ll ever be that close once he grows up. “You mentioned they’re the reason you want us to fake being in love?”
“Correct,” he says, but doesn’t elaborate. Instead, he nods towards my empty plate. “How was your meal?”
I narrow my eyes playfully. “It was delicious. But I’m not thanking you. I still think ordering for me was too presumptuous and arrogant of you.”
He chuckles. “Wait until you try the dessert.”
As if summoned by his words, the door opens again and in walks our server. I sit up a little straighter as he approaches, tray in hand.
He sets a delicate, golden puff of something fluffy in front of me, along with a small cup of pale green ice cream. I blink at it. “What is it?” I ask, not recognizing the dessert.
“Grand Marnier soufflé with roasted pistachio ice cream,” the server explains with relish, and I beam at him.
“You know,” I say as the server leaves, “if someone told me this club serves gourmet meals here, I’d argue hard.” From the outside it looked just like any other club, minus the long queue outside.
“And you’d be right. Wedon’tserve food here. Now hurry, your ice cream is melting.” He sounds almost eager for me to try the dessert.
I frown as I pick up the small spoon. “If you don’t serve food here, then how?—”
“I had Rafael send over his private chef for the night. Set up a temporary kitchen just for this.”
A private chef.Just for dinner with me. The thought is… a lot. And he said it so casually too, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. Sensing his patience is wearing thin, I bite back more questions and ease the spoon into the ice cream first, then dip it into the soufflé, scooping both together.
“Oh my God.” The words tumble out around a mouthful of heaven. The soufflé is light and airy with citrus undertones that perfectly complement the rich, cold pistachio ice cream.
“You like it?”
“I love it.” I’m already spooning up another, trying to make it last. On my third, I pause. “You should try it,” I offer, even though I kind of don’t want to share.
“I don’t eat dessert.” His voice drops an octave. “Notthatkind of dessert anyway.”
I scoff. “What other kind of dessert is there besides—” I cut myself off when I catch the look he gives me. One that says exactly what he means without saying anything at all. Heat rushes up my neck, and suddenly, my plate becomes the most fascinating thing in the room. I glue my gaze to it and focus hard on finishing my dessert.
Romero laughs. “Are you being shy right now?”
I shrug, trying to play it off while my brain scrambles for an escape route. “So… when do we have to start the whole fake love thing?” There, that should do it.
His lips twitch—he knows exactly what I’m doing but allows the deflection. “Ideally, tomorrow. Because we’re getting married next weekend.”
“Next weekend?!” My heart rockets into my throat. “Why so fast?”
“No point in delaying. The faster we tie the knot, the faster the year can pass, don’t you think?”
“Oh. Yeah. Right.” I’d almost forgotten about the contract. For a moment, this actually felt like a real date.Stupid.
The server returns and clears everything except our drinks. My wine bottle is already more than halfway gone, and I realize I’ve lost count of how many glasses I’ve had. I shrug and pour another anyway.
A heavy silence falls as the reality of it all starts to press in—how drastically my life is about to change once we’re married. But the wine’s finally hitting me now, softening the edges of that thought, and I find myself thinking…eh, how bad could it be?
