Page 8 of Dare To Break

I follow the direction of her gaze and find soft blue eyes focused on me. Arabella’s lashes drop as soon as our eyes clash, shielding her expression. Her shoulders tense, and her head lowers so her hair falls across her face.

I smirk. She really doesn’t like me. I already make her uncomfortable, and I haven’t even tried yet.

I like that.

Maybe going out for dinner won’t be a waste of time after all.

Maybe I can make her squirm for me.

Chapter 5

Arabella

My gaze skims over the yachts in the marina as we walk toward the restaurant. Everything looks perfect, from the boats bobbing gently on the water to the landscaping and dock. The people flowing in and out of the restaurant’s entrance are all dressed elegantly, and I feel out of place in my jeans and pretty floral shirt.

Elena is hanging off Elliot’s arm like he’s her new accessory. To my right, Eli is keeping his distance, although I can feel the burn of his eyes on me from time to time. His earbuds seem to be a permanent fixture, and I wish I could shut out the world around me with so little concern for how impolite it is. He looks out of place, dressed all in black—jeans, hoodie, boots—and with his piercings and that padlock on a chain around his neck.

Why couldn’t they just let me settle in on my first night?

I tried to make an excuse when my mother mentioned going out for dinner, but she wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Elliot holds one of the restaurant doors open. “After you, ladies.”

My mother walks in first, and I follow. “Thanks, Mr. Travers.”

He chuckles. “Call me Elliot. You don’t need to be so formal. Maybe, one day, you’ll be comfortable enough to call me Dad.”

There’s no way in hell that’s ever going to happen. He may be married to my mother, but that’s it. Even using his first name leaves me feeling a little uncomfortable.

A maître d’ greets us in the foyer. “Mr. Travers, I have your usual table prepared. If you’d like to follow me?”

Elliot smiles. “Thank you, Henry.”

The place is small, intimate, and screams high class, from the quality of the furniture to the artwork on the walls. Each table is spaced a good distance apart, giving the diners enough privacy for them to hold conversations without being overheard. Keeping pace with the others, I can’t help but notice the way we’re being watched. On almost every face, there’s recognition and a kind of poised eagerness at the sight of Mr. Travers and his son. Elliot smiles and nods to several other diners. Eli ignores them.

Our table is by a window overlooking a pretty garden, tucked away in a corner. Elena seats herself beside Elliot, leaving me stuck next to Eli. He takes out his earbuds, and drops on his seat, eyes on his phone.

I sink down into my chair, and freeze.

Why do I have four forks and three knives?

It’s a stark reminder that this is not my world. I shouldn’t be here. I’m used to mom-and-pop style restaurants with a warm, welcoming feel and comfort food. I’m not sophisticated or a socialite. I don’t know anything about etiquette.

My hands tremble as I unfold the napkin and drape it across my lap. Eyeing the silverware for a second time, I try to guess the purpose of each one.

Main fork, spare fork? Salad fork? Butter knife? Meat knife? Vegetable knife? And then there’s all the different spoons. You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

The server appears beside our table, ready to take our order.

“Ooh, I think I’ll start with the oysters,” my mother coos, peering at her menu. “That’s my absolute favorite. Followed by the organic Scottish salmon. Can we also have a bottle of your most expensive wine?”

I’m certain, at this point, the only reason we’re here is because Elena wants to make sure all of Elliot’s friends see us together. She’s ready to play her part as a high-society wife, and she’ll be looking to find people she can pick up all the gossip from.

I open my menu, and scan down the daunting selection of food on offer.

“I think I’m just going to skip the appetizer and have the pork chop with mushrooms, Bok Choy, and chilies. Can I also have fries with that and a bottle of spring water, please?”

“Are you sure about that, sweetheart?” Elena questions. “I don’t think you need the carbs. Maybe a nice salad instead?”

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