Page 103 of Tail, Dark and Handsome: Celestial Mates
“What?” she asked, as if she did not know.
“You prefer this? I booked a table at a desirable restaurant. It was not easy to secure.”
“This is better,” she said around another mouthful of the sugar and fat.
“I highly doubt that.”
“Come on, don’t be all snooty before you try it. And I’ve seen what you stocked on the ship, all processed and dehydrated, so don’t act like you’ve a refined palate.”
“It’s not that—”
Marigold shoved a fried dough-laden fork in his mouth. He chewed cautiously, disturbed to discover that the disgusting lump was just shy of divine. “Good?”
“Yes. If this is what you desire, then we shall stay.” He could not imagine Rebel turning down an exclusive table at a notable restaurant where photographers would be sure to capture her antics. Not for the first time, he realized the vast difference between Rebel and Marigold. They could not compare.
“Oh, that yogurt drink. I dunno what they’re called,” she said, tugging him off to another stall.
No comparison at all.
“And when Zero asks how we entertained ourselves, shall we tell him we gorged on all the treats?” he asked.
She made a dismissive noise. “No. We’ll tell him we ate our vegetables, played a few games, and then behaved like responsible adults. Now, give me all the sugar.” She tugged ineffectively on his arm, but he remained in place. “I mean, if you want to go to that reservation, I’m sure it’ll be the best meal I’ve ever eaten and the family-friendly photos are why I’m here, right?”
“That is not the only reason you are here,” he said, pulling her in. She had to know she meant more to him than a photo op.
A trace of powdered sugar dusted her lips, so he removed that for her.
“Come on, let’s find a table and we can gorge on our disgusting fair food.”
They found a table in a quiet section removed from the worst of the lights and the noise. Marigold mopped up the last of the fruit syrup with a piece of dough.
“So, I’ve been wondering, why don’t you have your own security team? That seems like standard wealthy businessman stuff,” she said.
Winter picked at his own plate. “I did when I was a kit. It was common practice on Talmar, during the war. Ransom and so on. My father kept me in a bubble, even when we relocated to Corra, and I hated it.”
“Were you ever ransomed?”
“No. My mother, though.”
“Oh. I’m sorry. If you don’t want to talk about it, I understand.”
Oddly, he did not mind discussing the matter, but there was little to say. “I was young. Younger than Zero when he lost his mother. I barely remember her.”
Marigold nodded, looking over his shoulder. Her brow furrowed. “What the?”
“What is it?” Winter twisted in his seat, trying to spot whatever had distressed his mate. The crowd was mostly Corravian, mostly adolescents laughing, clutching gaudy prizes from games or stuffing their maws with greasy food. The occasional bored-looking adult added variety.
“Nothing. You know that feeling you get when you think you see someone but it can’t be them?”
“Not particularly. Who was it?”
She looked down, picking at the remains on her plate. “It doesn’t matter. Never mind.”
“I will not disregard this. You are obviously upset.” Winter stood, unsure who he had to find to put this right but he had a fair idea. “It was Tomas.”
“No. I mean, yes, but it’s not. Obviously.” Marigold pushed the plate away and gave a broad smile which did not quite reach her eyes. “Let’s go win something tasteless.”
“Do you want a bodyguard? No, a team is best. No single person can be everywhere at once.” He reached for his comm unit, ready to upgrade the security measures at the house. Cameras were the bare minimum. There were so many more layers of protection he could put into place.
