Page 169 of Remy

“In all my years, I’ve never had French cuisine.” Lucy opens her door in the back. “I’m so excited.”

I hide a smile, her enthusiasm contagious.

“You ready?” Remy asks as Dad and Lucy climb out.

I nod, holding my focus on the restaurant.

I need to keep my wits about me—or maybe just wrangle my lust under some semblance of control—but my brain always wants to cut and run whenever I look at him.

We get out, all four of us walking toward the restaurant together—Remy in the lead, Lucy helping my dad in the middle, and me deliberately staying at the back.

The front door opens on our approach, a young woman in all black service-wear holding it ajar as she nervously balances a tray of bubbling champagne flutes.

“Mr. Costa?” She smiles at Remy.

He inclines his head.

“Welcome.” She inches the tray forward for him to take a glass. “Please come in. Dinner is going to be amazing.”

My heart rate increases as each of us claim a drink and follow the waitress inside.

It’s kinda random.

Actually, it’s top-notch weird.

The interior of the building is as ‘black tie’ as the outside. It’s definitely nice, with a welcoming small-town vibe and cute wooden chairs that match the cute little vases filled with small fake flowers beside the table numbers. But Les Délices de Versailles is nothing more than a small-town family restaurant.

An empty small-town family restaurant.

There isn’t a single soul dining here except us.

“Did you reserve the entire restaurant?” Lucy gushes.

What?

My gaze snaps to Remy for confirmation.

It’s the waitress who nods with enthusiasm. “He even requested the live entertainment. We’ve never had a booking like this before. The chef is beyond excited.”

On cue, a middle-aged woman walks through the swinging kitchen doors, raising a violin to her shoulder. She poises her bow against the strings as she moves to stand in the open floorspace near the small empty bar, then decimates my heart with a melodic rendition of a classic Ed Sheeran song.

I struggle to keep following everyone to the only table in the room covered with a crisp white tablecloth, the fake flowers replaced with red roses.

Remy arranged all of this? For me? For my dad?

The dress. The shoes. The extravagance.

How can he be so selfless yet still cast himself as the irredeemable villain?

The poor guy has more screws loose than I do.

“Come on, Liv.” Dad waves me over to the table, his grin infectious.

“Coming.” I down a large gulp of champagne and will the alcoholic goodness to suppress my growing attraction. All it does is awaken my mouth with tingles, making me wonder what it would be like to be kissed by someone brimming with confidence and charisma.

We’re seated at a square table, Dad and Lucy side by side, grinning at each other in excitement, while Remy holds out my chair to help me into the place setting beside him.

We’re offered water—sparkling, still, or tap. Tattered leather-bound menus are handed over.

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