Page 16 of Prey Tell
Dylan’s brows pull into an affronted frown before his face softens slightly. “If you like it, that’s all that matters.”
Giving me a quick peck on the forehead before walking off to talk to someone he knows, I take in more of the surroundings.
The Black Rose is one of the only restaurants in California with three Michelin stars. The menu options alone would set me back half my monthly assistantship stipend.How the hell did he pull this off?
I’d only been once before, when I graduated high school.
There are several large, round tables with black tablecloths and modern, wooden chairs. Despite being early May, it’s chilly tonight, and the fire is roaring in the grand fireplace. The bar at the center of the restaurant is fully stocked, the counters and shelves gleaming brightly. I stop walking when I notice a chocolate fountain, pieces of fruit piled higher than my head beside it.
How the hell did…
My thoughts trail off as the crowd quiets. I spin around just as five people walk into the room.
The last five people I ever expected at my engagement party.
Liam Ravage, the eldest Ravage brother, is wearing a dark-green dress shirt and dark gray trousers. Despite being dressed up, he looks like he came from chopping wood in the forest. His dark brown dress shoes could double as hiking boots. He’s always been rugged and enigmatic, a closed book. Kind of a recluse.
Next to him is Miles Ravage, the second oldest. As always, he looks like he stepped out of a boardroom meeting. As the CEO of Ravage Consulting Firm, he always looks really fucking rich. Shiny watch, polished shoes, and a suit that probably cost him thousands. He’s cutthroat and a little bit scary. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him smile.
To his left is Malakai Ravage. He’s in a white dress shirt with a black collar, black pants, and black converse. I’m actually not sure what he does—I think he’s a priest or a pastor or something. Jackson mentioned it at some point growing up, but I can’t remember now. I’ve always thought he seemed to be the nicest of the brothers. The mostnormal.
My eyes wander to Orion Ravage—the youngest of the quintet. Despite their mother leaving Crazy Charles and remarrying when he was a teenager, he seems to be the most unhinged of the Ravage brothers. He’s wearing a long, black thermal shirt, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. Dark tattoos snake down his right arm, and his face is full of dark scruff.
And next to him…
I stiffen when my eyes land on Chase, because his blue eyes are already on me.
Is it possible for people to becomemoreattractive as they age? Is Chase Ravage selling his soul like Ariel sold her voice to Ursula? Becausefuck,the way he looks should be illegal.
Which makes our history even more infuriating.
I could’ve had him, and he rejected me.
I press my teeth together and attempt to take him in without being obvious.
He’s wearing a dark-blue, three-piece suit with slim-fit trousers and a notch lapel over a crisp, white shirt. The fit is sharp enough for me to know this suit is expensive, and Chase wears the hell out of it. A slim necktie the same aquamarine color of his eyes, gold cufflinks, and dark brown dress shoes complete the look.
My eyes track up to his face. A prominent chin, angular jaw, and day’s worth of scruff surround his full lips. Straight nose, light eyes, and eyebrows that frame everything to make him seem more intense. His hair is a medium brown—currently combed back and parted to the side. His large hands are resting in the pockets of his trousers, and instead of a congratulatory smile or wave, he continues to glare at me.
He looks like he’d rather be anywhere but here.
Clearing my throat, I avert my gaze. Twisting around, my hand shoots out to swipe a glass of champagne from one of the passing servers. I shoot it back in seconds, plopping the flute down roughly on the bar before I scan the crowd for Jackson.
I find him immediately, chatting up one of the male bartenders. He throws his head back and laughs. Seeing him laugh startles me. I hardly ever see him so carefree. I walk over and his face lights up.
“Jules!”
“Where thefuckdid you find swans in Crestwood?” I ask, swiping another glass of champagne from the corner of the bar.
He chuckles. “You’d be surprised.”
I shoot the second glass back, and my nerves start to feel decidedly calmer.
Much better.
“And the chocolate fountain,” I add, wrinkling my nose. “Never mind. I’m not going to ask.”
“Just enjoy it. You look beautiful,” he interjects, beaming down at me.
