Page 49 of The Billionaire's Bride
How could I have ever thought of him as being gentle or disciplined? He is wild, this man. All those emotions that he had smothered have only just begun to be revealed. All that passion that he’d locked inside has only now begun to be divulged. The dam has begun to crumble, and when he reveals what he really is to the world… Will I be there to see it? To which woman will he share that deepest part of himself, the secrets that he hides inside? He raises his gaze and meets mine, and a flush heats my cheeks. I glance away, then back at him.
Edward smirks. "You look good."
I chuckle, "I am wearing exactly the same outfit that I had on when the two of you barged in earlier. You’ve had time to go back and change while I? I had to make do with spritzing my face with water and refreshing my make up."
"You don’t need any embellishments." Baron places his menu card on the table. "Your inner beauty shines through, no matter what you wear."
"Oh." My cheeks heat. "That," I swallow, "that’s some compliment."
"It’s true." He holds my gaze and the heat spreads to my chest. My nipples tighten and my belly flutters. He reaches forward and holds out his hand, I place my palm in it. He winds his fingers with mine, "I knew it from the moment I saw you, Ava, that there was never going to be anyone else but you."
The hair on the back of my neck rises. I glance the other way and find Edward glaring at our joined-up fingers. Shit, knew it. Who were these guys kidding? Two minutes into the meal, and already, I can sense the beginnings of a disagreement.
I place the menu on the table, then hold out my other palm, face up. Edward takes it and I squeeze his fingers.
"You, okay?" I whisper.
He blinks as if coming out of a daze, then nods. "You?"
"I’ll be fine once I get some food in me." I tilt my lips up, and his features light up with an answering smile. His face brightens. The gold in his eyes seem to catch fire. My breath catches in my chest. I turn away to find Baron scowling at Edward.
I try to withdraw my hands and both men hold on.
"Guys," I warn, "please."
The tension builds between us; first Baron, then Edward releases me.
I fold my hands in my lap stare and the menu blindly. Oh, jeez, this is going to be a disaster of an evening.
The waiter comes up to us. "Are you ready to order?" he asks us.
"She’ll have the butternut squash ravioli with mushrooms and sage pesto," Baron replies.
"Get her the roast duck," Edward counters.
"I'm vegetarian." I mutter, and Edward blinks, then turns to the waiter.
"Get her the spinach and feta pie," he amends.
The waiter glances at both of them, then at me. I blow out a breath. Of course, neither of them had asked me what I wanted. Typical. The tension at the table grows. The waiter shuffles his feet. "Ma’am?" he urges me, and I roll my shoulders, feeling the beginnings of a stress headache. And this was supposed to be, a relaxing evening?
"I’ll have…" both men stiffen, "neither," I murmur. I really wanted the ravioli, but dammit, I cannot show favoritism with these dumbasses without starting World War III.
I sense the surprise from both of them, but don't look at them. Instead, I turn to the waiter, "Can you get me the classic ratatouille, please?"
The waiter nods, turns to the men, who proceed to order. Baron orders the wine; Edward doesn’t protest. Well, hallelujah. Apparently, they agree on something. Once the waiter leaves, they both turn to me.
"Thanks," Baron says. "We didn’t handle that well, did we?"
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. "That’s putting it mildly." I glance between them. "Why does everything turn into a competition between the two of you?"
"Old habits," Baron mutters, "we weren’t always this—"
"Combative?" Edward offers.
"I was going to say contentious." Baron smirks.
"I’d settle for cut-throat," Edward muses.
