Page 45 of Even Robots Die
Florentine
Brice has been silent since we left the castle, and it feels weird.
I shouldn’t complain though, because him being silent means he’s not antagonizing me for once.
But it also makes me think of my dream and really, I shouldn’t.
Maybe that cold shower I took before getting dressed wasn’t enough.
I thought it would be enough.
But when I saw him in his casual clothes, I realized I was delusional.
Because the man cleans up so freaking well. There is absolutely no way in hell I would tell him though, but it still made me—still makes me—hot.
I also realized I needed a different outfit and since I have been eying that very dress for a while, I decided to order it. I heard his holo vibrate. I know that he knows I bought it with his money, but I really don’t care. He could have told me that we were going out and not just eating in the dining room, I would have looked for other outfits—that might have been less expensive—but it was the only dress I could think of and I panic-bought it.
Sue me.
Now I feel like maybe I went overboard, but there is no way I’m going to let him find out.
He hasn’t commented on it yet, so I’m just going to pretend it’s all perfectly normal.
Very adult behavior of me, truly,I think to myself with sarcasm.
We arrive at the restaurant, and Brice holds the door open for me.
I walk before him and I’m surprised by the small size of the restaurant and the cozy atmosphere. I don’t know why but I was expecting the man to like high-end restaurants, and I thought we were going to eat in one of those posh restaurants I’ve never had the money to try.
Am I disappointed? Maybe a bit, but then I remember how tired I am and how I don't know how to behave when I have this level of exhaustion—what? You thought it was new? Nah, I have no self-respect for my sleep schedule—and I concede that it might be better to be somewhere no one is going to give me side eye because I have my elbows on the table or because I’m not using the right fork or spoon.
“Thanks Franck,” I hear Brice say to someone at the back of the restaurant.
“You know that I will always be open for you, Brice,” an older man who approaches us answers.
If he’s human, he’s probably in his sixties, sports a big salt-and-pepper mustache that hides thin lips and he has dark brown eyes that are almost completely hidden by wrinkles that show off how much he’s smiled in his life.
It takes me a minute—and I’ll blame it on the sleep deprivation—to realize why the man said that he would always stay open for Brice.
The restaurant is empty.
I look at my holo and realize it’s ten thirty-six in the evening and the restaurant was probably about to close and yet Brice asked its owner to stay open for us.
He didn’t rush me either.
This evening is so very confusing for me but I still don’t comment on it.
Franck sits us at the back of the restaurant on the opposite side of the kitchen in the quietest part and lights up the menu at the table before returning to the chair that is positioned next to the kitchen entrance.
That's when I finally look at the menu. Pizzas. We’re at a pizzeria.
My stomach grumbles and I'm ecstatic that we didn’t go to one of those fancy restaurants because I could eat an entire cow right now—maybe not literally obviously, but the idea is that I’m starving and those bite size plates wouldn’t work tonight for sure.
Everything looks fabulous, and it takes me longer than I thought to finally settle on a choice. Four cheese pizza, because cheese is the solution to everything.
“What did you do to him to keep the restaurant open?” I ask Brice.
Maybe I didn't like his silence as much as I’d like to think after all.
