Sailing With Destiny

Sumptuous Repast

If I'd learned anything about Mitchell in the time I spent with him, it was he had a taste for lavish things. From cars to the places he stayed and even food, so when he escorted me into a restaurant that made me think I was back in the eighteenth century and about to dine with royalty, I wasn't surprised.

While Mitchell spoke to the concierge regarding our reservation, I took the opportunity and admired how eloquently elegant the setting of the three Michelin star restaurant was. I truly felt as if I stood in the room of a grand dining hall of a resplendent palace. The setting reminded me of the dining hall my father used for corporate guests at his Long Island home with a Versailles grandeur theme. Much like the rest of the hotel, the ceiling was high and adorned with beautiful paintwork and gliding, exquisite crystal chandeliers hung high.

Precious fabrics were set on each table and hung as drapes over the wide windows. The crème and gold hues of the room had a plush regal carpet that felt as if I walked on silk as we made our way to our table. The room was lit with golden lights and a wonderful tune softly played on the piano by a gentleman in one corner of the room.

Mitchell pulled out my chair and with a small smirk, I took a seat while he proceeded to do the same on the chair opposite mine. A young waitress dressed in an elegant uniform greeted us and placed a menu in front of each. She grinned at me and I didn't miss the way her eyes lingered on Mitchell for a bit too long before she flashed an extra friendly smile at him, exchanged some words in French, and left.

I ignored the need to roll my eyes at yet another woman who checked Mitchell out in my presence and paid attention to my menu. A frown grew over my forehead when I didn't understand a single word, other than the few names of edibles that were in English.

"Isn't Monte Carlo a tourist rife place?" I mused, "Then why is everything written in French?"

"Because they're particular about their culture," Mitchell replied, "And English is overrated."

You wouldn't say that if you didn't understand French.

I narrowed my eyes at his smug grin, "Show off."

Mitchell softly chuckled and reached for my hand on the table, "Why fear when I'm near?" his fingers gently drew circles over my hand, "I got you, baby," he winked.

I glanced at his long fingers that drew patterns over the top side of my palm and my dirty mind flashed back to a while ago in our hotel room, where those fingers were elsewhere and made me feel... things.

I instinctively rolled my lip between my teeth when I envisioned a mental image of how Mitchell held me in front of the mirror, my skin prickled and the temperature in the room increased a fraction as I recalled how each little touch from him felt on my skin.

"What are you in the mood for?" Mitchell's voice broke my reverie and I quickly composed myself.

At first, I thought Mitchell was ignorant about the effect he had on me, but the way he tried to hide his threatening smirk told me he very knew what he was doing.

"You," I stated and stared straight into his bright blue-grey eyes.

Amusement sparkled in his eyes but the ever so proper Mitchell glanced at our surroundings and softly cleared his throat, "I meant for dinner, from this restaurant."

"Oh," I feigned innocence and shrugged, "Surprise me, I don't mind."

"But for dessert," I slid my hand out from underneath his and his eyes were on my every movement as I casually drew patterns over his fingers with mine, "I want something with a cream-filled center that's bound to fill me."

I glanced at him from under my lashes and a small smirk grew over my lips when Mitchell looked at me sternly and shifted awkwardly in his seat as he once again took in our surroundings.