Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 88656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 355(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 355(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
“Let’s get out of here. I’m starving.”
Again, everyone stared at us as we passed between the cubicles and exited through the office door. Kage led me on a winding path through the hotel lobby and the casino, down a hallway, and through a set of soundproof doors. I knew they were soundproof, because on one side of them the noise of the casino was deafening, and the other side was like putting my ear to a sea shell. Through the high-pitched ring of sudden silence in my ear came the tinkling of light music from the down the hall. Something ethereal like new age.
The music was coming from the restaurant, dimly lit and furnished in dark leather and wood. A gentle flicker of candlelight added a romantic flair. The Grotto was chiseled into a rustic stone sign above the arched doorway, which was hung with Spanish moss and twigs.
A young woman in a peasant-style dress met us at the door. Her hair was pulled severely back from her face, which was conspicuously clean-scrubbed. The unassuming style of her greeting furthered the impression of being served by a simple peasant girl.
“Do you prefer a particular table today?” she asked Kage.
“One of the private courtyard booths.”
She grabbed a couple of menus and tucked them under her arm, cutting her eyes up at him several times. I was ashamed to realize that I could totally relate. He just had the kind of face that you had to keep checking, to confirm that it was indeed as unnaturally handsome as you remembered.
And yes. Every time, yes.
“No menus, thanks. Just tell Enzo we’re here.”
She replaced them in their discreet holder behind the hostess podium and led us through the quiet restaurant, through a set of French doors, and onto a covered patio populated by wrought iron bistro tables. Some of the diners glanced up at us as we passed, then resumed eating from crude earthenware dishes that somehow looked more sophisticated than the finest China against the backdrop of The Grotto.
Booths were built along the back wall of the building, and the other three sides were enclosed by tall shrubs. Flowering vines crept along and through the shrubs, creating the impression that were had entered an ancient garden somewhere in Europe. The shrubs blocked out the high noon sunlight to the extent that it appeared to be twilight within the confines of the patio, an illusion supported by strands of twinkling lights that dangled from the rafters.
After the hostess had seated us and walked away, I studied our booth. It was roomy but intimate, crafted from heavy polished wood and granite. A hurricane lamp affixed to the brick wall cast a flickering glow across Kage’s face, and I regarded him with a mixture of surprise and awe. “Is this your restaurant?”
He leaned back in his seat, sprawling in a manner that was all man. “Nothing is mine, Jamie. This all belongs to my uncle.”
I turned his comment over in my head and weighed it. An odd way to put it, I thought— a sad way, really. Nothing is mine.
“Well, you know what I meant,” I said, for lack of a better response. “This is amazing. It feels authentic. I mean, I’ve never left the United States, and certainly not the twenty-first century, but if I could imagine a really upscale medieval restaurant…”
“Thanks.” His terse dismissal of my compliment stung a bit. Had me wishing I hadn’t said anything about ownership.
I squirmed in my seat. “Um, so you said no menus. Are we… not eating? I can pay for my own if that’s a problem.”
That coaxed a laugh out of him. “You don’t have to pay for your food. I’m just ordering for you.”
“Oh. Okay.” I wasn’t sure what to make of someone else ordering for me. It had never actually happened before, not since I was a little kid and my parents forced me to get stuff I didn’t want off of the kid’s menu. To be honest, except for my parents, I don’t suppose anyone ever had a desire to order for me before. Maybe it was just that he was confident that he knew what was good at his own— his uncle’s— restaurant. They probably had a specialty or something.
It didn’t take long to find out. Within minutes, there was a stout, bearded gentleman standing beside our booth and beaming down at Kage. “So glad to see you brought a friend, Kage. Someone new I get to impress with my unequaled culinary skills.” He set a couple of water glasses down in front of us.
“Enzo has an ego on him, Jamie. But trust me when I say he can back it up in the kitchen. The man can cook his Italian ass off.”
Enzo beamed some more. “What can I get for you today, my darling? I’m thinking the salmon.”