"No," I said.
"Sister, you're going to feel like you've been reborn," she said.
Voices again tried to clamor inside me, but I shut them down before they could really begin. What good was being alive if you couldn't take some chances some time, experiment, step over the line?
"Don't tell Wade I even mentioned any of that," Ami warned. "He's Mr. Clean when it comes to that stuff, but he doesn't have to know anything about what you and I do together. You know what really ties two people like us together tightly?" she asked me.
"What?"
"Secrets," she said. She nodded. "Secrets. Revelations, getting naked with your thoughts, your ideas, your memories. And you know what, Celeste, it doesn't happen until you have trust. We've got to trust each other first."
"Yes," I said.
"I thought you would understand. See," she said, "I do know you."
She laughed, but her words hung in the air like the odor of smoke, of something burned.
Minutes later, we pulled up to the front of Hunters, and a valet came rushing out to open our doors and park our car. The restaurant itself looked like it had once been a private residence and later I would find out that it really had been. The owners had torn apart the bottom floor and created one large dining room and two small private dining areas. The decor was rustic, the walls covered with old farm implements, historic signs, beautiful mirrors. All the panels and wood were dark oak. There was a beautiful bar on the right with brass fittings and very
comfortable-looking stools, tables, and an area for dancing. A trio was playing, and the bar itself was very busy. Two bartenders were hurrying to fill every order.
The main room of the restaurant was nearly full. Waiters and waitresses dressed in hunter green outfits moved gracefully between the tables. There were servers as well. Everyone eating there was well dressed. I saw some young women who I thought were about my age, but none of them were dressed like I was. They all wore more conservative clothing, less revealing dresses, pants suits and light sweaters with jackets.
The moment we entered the dining room, people turned their heads. Some stared, some whispered, and some laughed. The maitre d', an elderly, di
stinguished looking man in a tuxedo, hurried to greet us.
"Hello, Mrs. Emerson."
"Hello, Aubrey. I'd like you to meet our houseguest, Celeste Atwell."
"Please to meet you," he said, his eyes sweeping over me as discreetly as he could. Even so, I caught a gleam of disapproval at how I was dressed.
"Mrs. Emerson. Your husband called and left a message he would be late, but he said you shouldn't wait for him," Aubrey told Ami.
"That's because he knows we wouldn't anyway," she said, and Aubrey nodded, smiling.
"Right this way," he said, leading us through the room to a prominent table near the bay windows.
I felt as though I was walking through thick cobwebs. Everyone was still looking at us, especially me. What it really made me feel was naked. I tried not to look at anyone, but I couldn't help catching smirks on the faces of some of the younger men and reproach on the eyes of most of the older women. Some of the young women looked envious, if not a bit annoyed that I was capturing the attention of every male in the room.
Aubrey pulled out our seats for us and then handed us the menus. The waiter, a dark-haired, darkcomplexioned young man anxiously holding in the wings, rushed forward the moment Aubrey left the table.
"Hello, Mrs. Emerson," he said. "Welcome back." His name tag read "Anthony." Although he had addressed Ami, his eyes went to me.
"Good evening, Tony. This is my house guest, Celeste. She's quite fond of Cosmopolitans, so bring us two," Ami ordered.
"Is she of age?" he asked, tucking in the right corner of his mouth. He had nice features, especially his ebony eyes and firm lips and jawline.
"Doesn't she look it?" Ami retorted.
"If you say so, ma'am," he replied. "Be right back."
"But I'm not of age," I said as soon as he left our table.
"It's not what you are; it's what you appear to be," Ami said. "Appearances are everything. Look at these people, all watching us. We've given them something to talk about," she said, and nodded at an elderly woman with blue-gray hair glaring at us. Her bald-headed husband, with a face that looked squeezed between two giant fingers, appeared mesmerized, his right hand holding a fork in midair as if he had been frozen instantly. The woman returned a quick nod and shifted her eyes away, saying something under her breath to her husband, who immediately stopped looking at us.
Ami laughed.