Page 27 of Shattered Veil
Strong.Ineed something strong.
Balor lifts the drink menu, his thigh drifting toward mine. “I would adore a glass of red wine.”
I choke on a sip of water.
I said that on the plane. He’s mimicking me.
“Anything particular, sir?” the waitress asks, purring at him.
She’s either angling for a tip or a date.
Sorry, honey, unless you double as a hooker...
“Ellalovesred wine,” Dad says. “I raised her with a European focus on wine and food.”
He gave me my first sip of wine at sixteen.
Balor leans into me, his hip now fully pressed against mine. “Then Ella should pick. See anything you like?Ella?”
He’s taunting me now to say his name and out the fact that we’ve met before. I’m smarter than that.
I tilt my head and narrow my eyes with a grin. Glancing at the menu, I go right to the bottom of the list of Reds.
“We’ll have the Romanee-Conti Grand Cru 1990.”
My father’s jaw hits the table. “Estella! Are you mad? That is an insanely expensive bottle of wine!”
The waitress shifts awkwardly, and I hear a gurgle of glee in her throat, considering the tip this dinner will fetch her.
“Really?” I say and take a closer look. “I thought it said one hundred dollars. I mean, wow, twenty-thousand dollars is a lot of money. Right...Mr. O?”
Boy, does that fit him.
My father’s breathing goes erratic. He stares at me with an expression that says:You are out of your mind, teasing a mob boss.
I’m teasing the man who screwed me and left me with a stranger who gave me an envelope of crisp hundreds for my services.
“Twenty thousand dollars is nothing to me,” Balor teases back. “I’d pay anything for something so...sweet.”
Shit, I could have asked for more money.
“If I may, Mr. O’Rourke.” Dad grabs the menu, attempting to save both our lives. “We will have the Mondavi Late Harvest Reserve.”
My eyes lower to the menu, and scoff at the sixty-dollar price tag.
“And please, give me the bill for it.”
“Snow, don’t insult me.” Balor smiles across the table at my father. Underneath, his hand squeezes my thigh. “I can afford a sixty-dollar bottle of wine. And we both know I can afford the Grand Cru.”
“I cannot accept such an expensive gesture,” Dad says, his shoulders back.
He likes to be pampered and praised but only if no strings are attached.
The waitress stomps away mad, and I wouldn’t be surprised if our meals come with a side of spit.
With Dad checking the menu for the least expensive dinner, I reach under the table to knock Balor’s hand off my thigh and scooch away.
Only, his hand closes around the bottom of my sweater dress.