Page 61 of False God

“Newcastle?” I repeat. “Is that a town?”

“It’s my family’s estate.”

“How far is it from here?”

“About an hour and a half.”

I nod. “That’s not … that far.”

My plan for tonight was to annoy Charlie until he regretted his choice of dare. All while looking hot enough that he’d also regret walking away last weekend.

But Chloe was right earlier. If I hadn’t wanted to come tonight, I wouldn’t have. I hadn’t signed a binding contract. Even if I had, my family has a veritable army of attorneys.

I want to be here, with him, and it has me second-guessing every word out of my mouth.

I play with a piece of hair, now loose from the braid Charlie pulled it back in. The pink hair tie is on my wrist, nestled between silver bracelets. I rub at the reminder of that softer moment. I’ve been attracted to Charlie since the first time I saw him. But that’s different from wanting to spend time with someone. To know them.

Charlie tosses his napkin on the table. “I’ll be right back.”

I watch him cross the restaurant and head down the hallway that I assume leads to the restrooms, and I’m not the only one. I’m not sure if people are staring because he’s a gorgeous guy or because he’s a duke.

Once Charlie’s out of sight, I slouch back in my seat and blow out a long breath.

It seems like he’s regretting asking me out, and that doesn’t fill me with the sensation of success it was supposed to.

“Can I get you anything else?” Our waitress, Ivy—a young woman with a short blonde bob—stops beside the table, two dirty plates piled in one hand.

She glances at Charlie’s empty seat, then back at me with visible sympathy.

My cheeks burn. “We’re all set for right now, thanks.”

Ivy nods and keeps moving, leaving me to stew alone.

I’m on my last sip of wine when Charlie reappears. I swish the half inch of pinot grigio around in my glass as he approaches the table, searching my mind for something witty to say. Should I joke about being worried he left me here? Or would that sound too close to the truth?

He speaks as soon as he sits down, before I’ve decided what to say. “I’m having the steak. But the chef recommended the brined cod, if you like fish. Do you like fish?”

I stare at him. “You asked the chef what I should order?”

Charlie reaches for the napkin he left on the table, avoiding my gaze as he spreads the stiff cotton in his lap. “It came up while we were talking.”

“You know the chef here?”

He nods. “He was a friend of my father’s.”

I bite my bottom lip. “I-I’m sorry for your loss,” I say awkwardly. “I heard he passed away recently.”

Charlie’s expression hardens into granite as he nods again. “Thank you.”

I take a deep breath, then forge ahead. “Did—did a lot change when he died? I mean, I know you became a duke, but I don’t really know what that means.”

No response.

“We, um … we don’t have to talk about it.” I reach for my wineglass, utilizing it like a security blanket as I drain the last bit. “Tripp wants to know where you learned to drive like that.”

Charlie still says nothing. He studies me like he’s making a decision, and I have no clue what the outcome will be.

“My whole life changed,” he finally states. “I lost my father … and I had to become him.”

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