Page 39 of Wicked Salvation
Big doe eyes.
A coy smile.
“You’re beyond beautiful this evening,” I whisper, leaning down to kiss her.
“Thank you, Silas.”
Her words don’t satiate me. She should seem more in love with me, the way I like. She should be desperate for my attention, salivating for my compliments. She didn’t even blush when I complimented her.
“Are you sure you’re alright?”
She takes a step ahead of me, but I jerk her back in place. Eden looks down at our joined hands, then back up at me. “I am,” she whispers. “Just hungry.”
There’s something off.
“How are your parents and your brothers?” I ask, leading her into the restaurant.
She pauses ever so slightly. “They’re well. How is your father?”
“The same.”
Inside the restaurant, we’re welcomed like the royalty we are.
I watch the awe in Eden’s eyes dance around the restaurant—and suddenly, I feel calm. This is the Eden I remember, the one I want to love for the rest of my life.
Every girl I’ve brought here has had the same reaction.
But hers is the only one that matters.
Inside, bare stone walls are softened by heavy velvet drapes, each a different color of the forest. The entire room is candlelit—wax drips elegantly down golden sconces and antique chandeliers. Beneath our feet, dark oak is polished to a soft gleam.
And in the center of the room, a single table is draped in charcoal linen, with black crystal stemware and gold-rimmed plates. A vase with freshly picked wildflowers—mirroring the bouquet I gave her all those nights ago—sits on the table.
It’s exactly how I envisioned it.
We’re met by a mousy woman in a skirt suit. Her hair is pulled back in a severe bun, her face wrinkled with age. She gives us a bright smile.
“Lord Peregrine-Ashford and Lady Lockhart,” she says, as she curtsies. “It’s a pleasure to have you dining with us, here atAurum. My name is Frances, and I’ll be ensuring your satisfaction this evening.”
Eden nods with a smile, reaching out to shake Frances hand. The woman is shocked obviously—she just curtseyed, she knows we outrank her—but she accepts it all the same. Another reason why I’m certain Eden will make a good wife.
She makes me look good.
I don’t spare Frances a glance.
We’re led to our seats. I get Eden’s chair, and take the other. Laying on the gold-rimmed charger plate is a seven course menu—mine has the prices, Eden’s doesn’t.
“These are all my favorite things!” she exclaims, giving me a bright smile.
I nod, reaching over to hold her hand. “Yes, I had this menu curated for you.”
“Really?” Her eyes are wide over the edge of her menu. “How did you even know that?—”
“Your mother,” I say. “I told her my plans and she consulted with the cook, who sent over all of your favorite meals.”
Another smile. “Thank you, Silas.”
“Anything for you.”
