Page 88 of Every Silent Lie
I push my chest into his, and he groans, his body stiffening against me. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs.
“Me too.”
His phone ringing brings our moment to an untimely halt, and he crinkles his nose. “My sister,” he murmurs, helping me off his lap.
His sister? “The brat?”
“Not the brat.”
So not a half-sister, but an actual sister? “You never mentioned you had a sister.”
“I have a sister,” he says, deadpan, looking down at his screen.
“Are you going to take it?”
“I’ll call her back.” He nods toward the windscreen. “We’re here.”
Ron pulls up outside the restaurant, and Dec hops out, rounding the car and opening the door for me. “Older sister, younger sister?” I ask, my curiosity raging.
“Older.” His hand on the small of my back guides me to the entrance of the restaurant as he looks back at the car and waves his thanks to Ron.
“How much older?”
“Four years.”
“Her name?”
He smiles down at me. “April.”
“Was she born in April?”
“Yes. Our mother was very original.” He heaves the door open and gets us inside, and the heater above the door blasts us with hot air.
I gaze around, seeing paper hats on every head in sight. Christmas parties. People celebrating at every turn, the pops of crackers piercing the air as people laugh and talk loudly to be heard over the background noise of everyone else talking. I haven’t been in a restaurant in years, least of all at Christmas. A mild wave of panic ripples through me, but I stamp it down, looking at Dec. He appears as unenthusiastic as me.
“It’s busy, huh?” I murmur as he slips his hands beneath the shoulders of my coat and eases it off.
He frowns, but as I look closer, I see it’s more of a scowl. “Do you want to go somewhere else?” he asks.
“So you hate Christmas more than you love it?”
“And you just hate it, right?” he fires back coolly, and I roll my eyes, rather than freeze in terror at the potential of unearthing my demons. I know it’s got to happen eventually, but not now. Tonight we’re having dinner like a normal . . . couple? Is that what we are?
“Answering a question with a question isn’t answering a question,” I say, taking in the madness again. “We should stay.” I can do this. I should do this.
He passes our coats to the cloakroom attendant and gives his name to the maître d, who guides us through the tables to the very back. It’s no quieter, but at least it’s no louder. Dec pulls my chair out and orders water. “Give me two minutes,” he says, dipping and kissing my hair, before strolling away, presumably to find somewhere quieter and call his sister back. A waiter introduces himself and hands me a wine and Christmas menu.
“Thank you.” I put the wine menu at Dec’s place and cast my eye down the Christmas menu. “Excuse me,” I call as he’s walking away. “I don’t suppose you have the normal menu?”
He recoils like he’s been shot. “The normal menu?”
“Yes, the normal menu. The one that doesn’t have everything Christmas on it.”
“I’m afraid not, ma’am. We only serve the Christmas menu from December tenth through to January.” And then he wanders away, passing Dec as he goes.
“What’s up?” Dec asks as he lowers.
I wave the menu at him. “I hope you like Christmas food, even if you hate Christmas.”
