My hair’s been cut but only an inch was taken off. And it’s been styled, which I admit does look nice. I don’t bother blow-drying it usually. I’m also wearing makeup which, again, I rarely do, and I won’t do for him. My nails have been done, and much to my dismay, I’ve been waxed in places I didn’t know you could be waxed. Mercedes’s doing. Or maybe it was at his request.
“You look beautiful,” he says, walking a circle around me, letting his fingers weave through my hair but not hurting me. “But you always look beautiful.”
My stomach growls loudly then, and my cheeks burn again, my hand moving automatically to my belly. He stops in front of me, and for a moment, I wonder if he meant to say that. To compliment me.
“Hungry?”
I nod.
“Please tell me my sister fed you.”
“If by fed you mean some leaves and a piece of cardboard masquerading as chicken breast, then yes, she fed me. She’s seriously awful. I mean, she almost makes you look nice.”
He chuckles at that, then sets his hand on my lower back and guides me to the long dining table set only for two. At least she’s not eating with us. He pulls out my seat. I sit down on the plush chair and drop my napkin into my lap. He takes the seat at the head of the table, and as if the staff have been waiting and watching, they appear out of a door in the wall that must be for the staff like they used to be in old days.
We’re silent as the dishes are laid out, and Antonia describes what everything is. I think there’s enough to feed two dozen people, but I can probably eat for at least two of those people, so I won’t complain.
“Thank you, Antonia. You’ve outdone yourself.”
“Thank you, M—sir.”
After a man opens the bottle of wine and Santiago approves, they’re gone, and Santiago begins to heap food on my plate. He doesn’t ask what I want. He just gives me a generous serving of meat, potatoes, and vegetables along with bread and butter.
“It’s a little pretentious to have them call you Master, isn’t it?”
He takes a moment to set his napkin on his lap. “Just be grateful I don’t require it of you.”
“I wouldn’t ever call anyone that.”
“Would you like to test that theory?”
When I don’t answer, he raises his eyebrows, waiting for me to acknowledge his win.
“No.”
“Then learn when to keep your mouth shut, darling.”
I grit my teeth so hard I’m pretty sure I’m going to crack a tooth.
He finally shifts his attention to the bottle of wine and pours himself a glass. I see the ring on his hand then and recognize it for what it is. I’ve seen it before but hadn’t had a point of reference. Now, with having seen his mark on my neck, I realize it’s his family crest.
“Do you all have that?” I ask, remembering seeing a ring on Holton’s finger but not on the doctor’s.
He follows my gaze to his ring and nods. “Sovereign families. Males only.”
“Of course. I wouldn’t think a woman would be allowed such an honor.” I put the accent on honor, and I’m sure he hears my sarcasm, but I don’t wait for him to comment. I pick up my glass, which is already full, and take a sip as he sips his. I raise my eyebrows.
“Juice?”
He nods, then sets his wine down.
“I’m not a child, you know.” Not that I drink much. It messes with my already poor balance if I do, but I’d like the option.
“You could be carrying my baby inside you. You won’t be allowed alcohol, Ivy.”
“Your baby? I hardly think you’re that potent.” He makes a face, and I think he’s about to say something rude so I continue before he can. “And again, I’m not a child. I can decide for myself, and if I were pregnant, which I’m not, I, of course, wouldn’t have a drink.”
“It’s one of your rules. No alcohol. Period. There will not be a discussion.” He picks up his knife and fork and starts to cut into his meat like this is a remotely normal conversation.
I shake my head but drop it. I honestly would only have taken a sip anyway, but it’s the principle. I stab a bite of meat and put it into my mouth. It’s even more delicious than it smells. We eat in silence for a moment, and I watch him, wondering if he feels any discomfort in the silence. I get the feeling he doesn’t.
“She only let me see my dad for fifteen minutes,” I finally blurt out.
He pauses, but I can’t quite read his expression.
“Was that your doing? Because I can tell you that having to endure a spa day with your sister is not worth fifteen minutes. I want to see him again. For longer. And I want to see my sister.”