Forty-five

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Red wine cascades into my glass, coming straight from the flask. The table is full of seafood pasta and several side dishes, not an intelligent combination with the wine choice. For a ritzy woman like Susan Cooper and her worldly first-class manners, this is an embarrassment.

I'd give her a big F!

I conceal my amusement by having a wine sip. Very exquisite, crispy, and sweet, with a delicious scent of aged grapes that reminds me of a high-school trip to Napa Valley. I let the young maiden fill my plate with two dinner rolls, trying to make it subtle that I don't eat anything with a shell.

I'm not a seafood enthusiast, and I wonder if Adrian is.

"No, that's enough," I say when the lady nears a spatula of pasta near my plate.

"Why? Not a fan of clam noodles?" Susan sneers. "My chef doesn't disappoint, I assure you. Try them; you'll see," she insists, playing all sweet and caring.

"She's allergic, Mom," Richard drawls.

I'm surprised he still remembers that I get rashes if I eat clams, but my attention shifts toward Adrian instead. He's focused on his plate; he stops the server from adding more pasta, jaw torqued. He doesn't look at me, but I know he's more than attentive toward me and everything around him.

"Oh, I'm sorry. If I knew you'd be joining us, I'd have surely prepared something different for you," Susan says, forcing me to look up at her shameless face.

What a devious actress!

"It's alright," I reply. And I didn't come here to eat! "I'm not hungry anyway."

She's seated next to her husband, her blonde hair styled high-low, elegantly. She's as boney as Parian models, wearing a hot pink sheath dress with black pumps and a pearl necklace. She hates me even though I'm no longer part of her son's life.

How funny.

I suddenly miss my little home and the two people I love the most. With them, I don't have to fake a smile as I'm currently doing. I'd be eating whatever I make, and they'd be fisting it contentedly.

However, being here is something I had to do—even if it meant having a meal with the last people I imagined I'd be dining with.

"Are you okay?" Adrian's deep voice caresses my ear as I drift for a while. Covering my hand with his, he slowly repeats, "Hey. Are you good?"

"Yeah." I smile tightly, and on his plate, I discern he's having what I'm having, except a small amount of pasta.

I'm about to question it when he breaks into a playful smile as if it's just the two of us in this dining room.

"You think I'd let you feel lonely?" he murmurs.

A giggle bolts from my lips. "I guess not. Thank you," I mouth, only to realize we've made ourselves a little exhibition of the romantic display.

Who cares?

"So, you're not from Las Vegas, are you?" Susan asks amiably, talking to Adrian.

"I'm not," he answers curtly.

"I see. So how did you two meet? We have known Arabella since she was a young girl, and she has never been out of here. Or have you, dear? It's been a while since you broke up with our son so maybe—"

"Susan!" Charles barks. A very pissed-off look on his wrinkled face tells how displeased he is. "Let them enjoy dinner, please."

"Honey, I'm just trying to make small talk here because we're not in a funeral home, and that's exactly what it has become," Susan returns innocently. Back at us, she smoothly mutters, "I apologize if I'm being overly friendly, Mr. Castle. It's not my intention to meddle with your private affairs."

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