Page 73 of Wicked Prince

"What would you recommend?" he asks, glancing at the menu.

I quickly look down, realizing I'm going to have to make a recommendation. "Um, you really can't go wrong with the sampler platter. A little bit of everything."

"Sounds good," he remarks, looking up as Meghan comes back in record time with our drinks.

"Here you are," she says, taking out her notepad. "What can I get you?"

"I'll have the sampler, upon the lady's recommendation," he says, handing her back the menu.

"And you?" she asks me.

"The same," I say, giving back my menu as well.

I guess we'll get food poisoning together if this goes sideways.

"Is there anything else I can do for you?" Meghan asks in thinly veiled desperation, chewing the tip of her pen as she gazes longingly at Stefan.

"That'll be everything, thanks," he says with a polite smile.

She sighs. "Oh. Well, don't hesitate to call if you need anything in the meantime."

I was going to ask for a slice of lemon for my water, but she's gone before I have the chance, so I guess that applies only to Stefan.

"So, tell me about yourself, Amelia," he says, turning his full attention to me again. I'm not sure if the waitress's flirtation went over his head, or if he's just trying to be polite.

"There's really not much to tell," I assure him. Nothing I want to divulge, at any rate. "I'm just a first-year transfer from out west."

"A transfer with a secret identity," he says pointedly. "That's pretty interesting."

"More on my father's end than mine," I scoff. "I take it your parents filled you in on the whole niece thing?"

"Yes, that seems rather..."

"Ridiculous?" I offer.

"I was going to say ‘much,’ but same difference," he agrees.

"I'm sorry you got stuck with the off-brand Carillo," I sigh. "My half-sister, Kayleigh, is otherwise preoccupied."

"Ah, yes," he says in a knowing tone. "With the great Lorenzo Rossi, I hear."

"That would be the one. You know him?"

"We've met a time or two," Stefan answers with a wry lilt in his tone. "It may shock you to hear we didn't really hit it off."

"No," I say, clutching imaginary pearls around my neck. "You two seem like you'd have so much in common."

"Oh, really?" he asks, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes as he leans in. "Like what?"

"Well," I say, pausing to consider it. "You're both Italian, for one thing."

"Mmhmm. Very true."

"You're both heirs to major crime families," I add, counting off the reasons on my fingers. "And you have nice hair."

"I see your point," Stefan muses. "We're practically soulmates."

I laugh, which is rare, and rarer still that it's not forced.

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