And I had no reason at all to feel bad about all this effort he—or rather his hired team—had put forth tonight to make this happen. Because Tristan Hawthorne was hiding a nasty past, and for all I knew, a nasty present as well. After all, wasn't he in the middle of trying to tear down a whole neighborhood, people and history be damned?
Yes. Yes, he was.
That cold protective shield stayed firmly in place over my heart. I wouldn't fall for his duplicitous act.
There was a glass of wine sitting in front of me, and I took a long drink of it. Smooth, just like the man eyeing me from across the table.
He seemed to watch me carefully, like he was studying me, my features, my mannerisms, my every move.
Oh, lordie, my pulse took off. He was definitely trying to figure out who I was. It was only a matter of time before he did so, seeing past my mask, changed hair and eye colors, and I had to wonder what he'd think when he put it all together.
He'd know that I knew. Or he'd know that I knew he knew. Or... Oh, God, what was I even thinking right now? A cold panic that had nothing to do with the temperature washed through me.
His eyes narrowed, the ever-perceptive jerk. "Are you okay?"
"Hmm? Me? I'm good. All good."
This was a mistake. A huge mistake. I couldn't pull this off. I was deep in enemy territory. And I was the idiot who'd put myself here.
No. You know what? If he figured it out, he figured it out. And I'd tell him the hell off for all that he'd done to me. I wasn't that scared little fat girl anymore. I was a grown woman now. Proud of my body. Proud of my ambition and accomplishments.
And I wouldn't let my high school bully get away with bullying me anymore.
Still trying to reassure myself, I realized that as much as he'd done to me back then, I knew he wouldn't hurt me physically. It's not like he'd pull a gun on me and rob me or something.
I was at least physically safe.
My emotions? My heart? Now that was a whole other matter. Although he appeared to be nothing but sweet and charming at the moment, my mind continued to spin with all manner of things he could do to me tonight.
He was like a snake, coiled and waiting in the grass for the perfect moment to strike. I just had no clue how modern-day Tristan would poison me. The only thing I knew for sure was that he would somehow.
Despite that, I had to staycool, calm, collected.
The door opened and in walked a teenage boy carrying several plates, grumbling something under his breath.
This had to be Archie.
I held my breath as a plate tipped dangerously, the food close to the edge. Tristan jumped up and rushed to his side, saving our dinner from falling to the ground.
He whispered something that sounded like, "Dude, this is why I suggested using a tray."
"Well, I didn't want to use a tray," Archie argued.
Watching them bicker, I had to bite back a laugh. It was like a warped comedy show, their interactions hilarious to me for some reason.
They finally made it to the table safely, our food still in one piece.
Archie set a plate down in front of me and bowed. "Ma'am," he said. "Your chicken marsala with parmesan polenta. Enjoy."
"Ooh, thank you so much. Did you make this?" I asked Archie.
He snickered. "I did."
Tristan raised a brow but didn't say anything.
They both watched me expectantly, so I dug in with my fork and took a small bite, not quite sure what I was in for. And damn it, it was good. Likereallygood.
The flavor exploded on my tongue, rich and buttery, the chicken impossibly tender.
