Page 136 of Prince of Masks
The tiny, cubed hamburgers are cute, but a novelty, and in my experience they don’t taste all that great. So I snub those and move for an all-time favourite.
It’s a special kind of toasted sandwich.
Not just any toastie, this one is called a jaffle, it has sealed edges, and is split into four sections, and—always at these things—the fillings are mouthwatering.
I decide on the one with truffle, brie and smoked Prosciutto.
My mouth is watering when Teddy, reeking of scotch and a suspicious brown stain down his white shirt, barrels into the table.
A stifled laugh twists my mouth as I eye him over.
The collar is torn free, his bowtie gone, and without his jacket, I can see that the sleeves of his shirt are ill-fitted, just a tad, and that his cufflinks are in dire need of polishing. Heirlooms, I suspect.
“Oops.” His eyes are wide as he rights himself. “Slipped.”
“On air?”
He leans in closer, those eyes too wide, and his breath strong with scotch and brews. “On the wings of angels.”
The smile I give is knowing.
Recreational brews have infiltrated the ball.
My money’s on Landon.
It’s his specialty.
Maybe he can build his family’s wealth back up with dealing illicit brews… or pharmaceuticals.
“I heard about your engagement,” I start, plucking a dom-infused doughnut from the platter, then tucking it onto the edge of my packed plate. “Congratulations.”
His mouth purses for a beat, still tilted towards me, hand flat on the edge of the table. His eyes finally thin, and now it’s like he’s trying to squint to clear his vision.
“Oh.” He draws back and his cheeks puff around a weighted exhale. “That.”
The hit of scotch is enough to tense my insides. If I let myself, I might gag.
Instead, I thin my lips into a faint hidden smile, but really, that is the mask to shield my distaste, stopping anymore of that scotch-breath from invading my mouth.
“She’s up there,” he says and flourishes his hand. “With Eric and Asta, last time I checked—but that was an hour ago, so,” he scoffs, hard enough to jut his shoulders.
And his words clang in my head.
“Eric?” I swerve my gaze to the promenade. “He’s here?”
Teddy sighs. “Yeah, with the ice queen.”
He perches himself on the edge of the table.
I shoot the improper seating a dark look.
If I was my mother, I’d knock him on the ear.
Bums should never be that close to food.
“He’s with Asta, then.”
“She’s available now.” Teddy nods. “Her father is at least entertaining Eric tonight. That’s a good sign.”
