Page 48 of Dark Witch Resurrection

Margo chuckled. "I wouldn't dream of it. I don't wish Lynda ill. I want what is best for my brother, and Lynda is not it."

37

MARINA

Marina had a death grip on Peter's hand, not because her shoes were dangerously high and the heel was so thin that she was afraid it would snap if she made a wrong move. And it wasn't even the opulence of the plush, velvet-covered curved chairs in the circular booths. The people truly took her breath away, the faces she recognized from television and movies, from the glossy pages of magazines and gossip columns. They were the elite, the kind of people she'd never dreamt of meeting, nor had she wanted to.

And yet here she was, the lowly human girl who had grown up as a serf in a Kra-ell compound rubbing elbows with the crème de la crème.

The hostess led them to their table, a secluded corner booth cast in shadows, intimate, that would hide her from the crowd to which she didn't belong.

Peter guided her into the booth and slid in beside her, his body a solid, comforting presence that anchored her to the moment and shielded her from her anxiety and feeling of inadequacy.

"Your server will be with you momentarily," the hostess said. "Can I offer you something to drink while you review the menu?"

"Yes, please," Peter said. "The bottle of wine I reserved."

The hostess's eyes glistened with excitement, but Marina felt that it wasn't because she found Peter hot, or maybe it was, but it wasn't the only reason. "Of course. I'll be right back with your bottle."

Marina leaned against his arm. "She seemed very happy about the bottle you reserved. Does she get a cut?"

"Probably." He leaned in close, his lips brushing the sensitive skin of her neck in a way that made her shiver with anticipation. "I'm glad you don't feel intimidated by all this."

"Oh, I do. I'm very happy to be hiding in this booth with you." She turned to face him and brushed her lips over his. "Doing all kinds of naughty things that we are not supposed to do."

Peter's eyes started glowing. "Did I tell you already how much I love you?"

She smiled. "You did, but I don't mind hearing it again and again."

"You are perfect."

"Thank you." She batted her eyelashes. "Tell me more."

He fake-groaned. "I've created a monster." He kissed the pulse point on her neck, the spot he liked to bite.

"But you love me anyway." Smiling, she let herself sink into the plush, velvet-covered cushions of the booth.

The hostess returned with the wine and made a big production of uncorking it, pouring it into their glasses, and then waiting for them to approve.

Marina didn't know much about wines, but this one tasted exquisite, and she told the hostess that.

"Wonderful." The woman beamed.

"You'll have to order for me," Marina told Peter after the hostess left. "I don't understand most of the menu. What language is it written in?"

"Snobbish."

She laughed. "Seriously."

"French."

"Do you know French?"

He nodded. "But the easiest and best way to order in this place is to get the day's special. All the items are perfectly coordinated and complementary."

"That's convenient." She let out a relieved breath. "That's what I'll have."

The menu didn't have prices, and she wasn't going to ask how much it cost because Peter wouldn't tell her.

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