Ignoring his attempt to be a gentleman, I walked around the table and slipped into the leather seat opposite. Valentine’s lips pressed into a tight line, but he made no comment on my rudeness. How could he when I at least had the dignity to snub him in private?
As soon as we were both seated, the waiter filled our water glasses and returned with a bottle of Châteauneuf-du-Pape. Not just any old bottle, but a Rayas 2007 vintage he’d served me on the unforgettable afternoon he had taken my virginity.
I pushed away images of the picnic he had set up within the rose garden of his palace, of how he had knelt in front of me holding a diamond engagement ring that resonated with his magic.
My throat thickened, and I fought back memories of bursting into tears of happiness before he undressed me on the rug and pleasured me with a tenderness that made my toes curl, my heart ache, and my lips murmur his name over and over until the words became a moan. Afterward, he whisked me into his bedroom and we spent the rest of the afternoon making love.
My heart pounded. A rush of heat filled my veins and surged to my cheeks. What the hell was this—his attempt at rekindling old mockeries?
I raised my head and met eyes that stared at me through a haze of affection I now recognized to be false. If he wanted a public scene, it wasn’t going to happen. The girl who broadcasted her emotions to a baying audience died that night in Logris.
The waiter poured a small sample into Valentine’s glass, allowing him the first taste. When Valentine inclined his head, the waiter turned to me with the bottle.
I shook my head. “None for me, thank you.”
Valentine waved the waiter away.
As soon as the man disappeared behind the shimmering curtain, I asked, “What’s this really about?”
“Eat something first,” Valentine said. “You look like you haven’t slept well in days.”
I pointed at the tattoo on my wrist. “It’s been difficult to focus on relaxing with a magical anomaly etched into my body. Tell me something, or I’ll leave.”
“It’s firestone.”
“Obviously,” I snapped. “Why are you part of a plot to infect me with an object used to store a dangerous and explosive power?”
His brows rose. “I’m impressed you identified it.”
Actually, that had been Istabelle, but I wasn’t about to admit that to Valentine and have him change the subject.
He stared at me, looking for the reaction I used to give him in response to compliments: heated cheeks, lowered eyelashes, and a stuttered denial. That wasn’t going to happen.
The waiter returned with a bowl of bread rolls, butter, and quails’ eggs served in teaspoons. I continued glaring at Valentine until he spoke.
“Your aunt, Arianna, came to the palace last month.”
My lips parted. I’d spoken to her two weeks ago, and she hadn’t once mentioned having contacted Valentine. “Is she alright?”
“Someone told her a mage had been asking about you, and she wanted to know if the inquiry came from the Supernatural Council.”
I held my breath. There were seven monarchs in the Supernatural Council, each representing one of the seven supernatural races—vampires, shifters and weres, demons, angels, faeries, witches, and elemental mages.
There was no reason why any of them might have an interest in me. Not even the Witch Queen knew of my existence, and I came from a long line of her subjects.
“Why did she come to you and not our queen?” I asked.
Valentine frowned. “Isn’t the answer obvious?”
“No,” I snapped.
After Valentine had dumped me, I had returned to Aunt Arianna in tears. She had thrown her arms around me, saying it was better to know a vampire’s heart before I’d made the mistake of becoming enthralled by him—or worse, pregnant with his vampire offspring.
He dismissed my words, seeming as though he didn’t want to bother giving me an explanation. “A group of enforcers broke into your cottage early this morning.”
I clapped a hand over my mouth. “Is Aunt Arianna—”
“She was out on a Samhain retreat,” he replied.
The longest breath of relief escaped my lungs, and I slumped into my seat.
“Grosvenor Square is no longer safe.” Valentine leaned across the table and offered me his hand. “We’ve prepared a warded safe house in London. You can move in there with me—”
I pulled my hands into my lap. “Not as your mistress!”
He paused. “No.”
My wretched heart had the gall to sink. I don’t know why because I was perfectly content without Valentine and ready for a relationship with someone else. I neither wanted him nor needed him, but something about what he said set off a tiny alarm.
“Is the Supernatural Council investigating me?” I asked.
Another pause. “They shouldn’t be.”
They wouldn’t have any reason to track me because I hadn’t done anything wrong except be duped by one of their own. And I’d left, not lowering myself to raise a fuss.
Whoever had been asking after me couldn’t have been an old friend from the academy. Neutrals were rare and often overlooked. Besides, if their intentions were innocent, they would have asked Aunt Arianna directly for my contact information.
The waiter arrived with our starters of tuna tartare, served with sliced radishes, avocados, and a ginger sauce. I took a bite of the fish and nearly hummed out loud as it melted in my mouth. There was nothing better in the world than sushi.
“How’s the food?” Valentine asked.
“It would taste better if I knew what you were hiding.”
He exhaled an impatient sigh. “I’ll take you to the safe house after lunch. If it’s not to your liking, you can choose somewhere else.”
I sat back and shot him my most venomous glower. “There’s no reason anyone would come after me, since I haven’t said or done anything wrong.”
He was about to answer when the waiter brought our main course, a Wagyu sirloin that was so tender it disintegrated in my mouth. The buttery meat combined savory with sweetness and was served with charred broccoli, garlic mashed potatoes, and roasted cauliflower.
Valentine didn’t bring up the subject of my supposed danger, and I took that to mean he’d given up on trying to convince me to go to this mystery safe house for reasons he was unable or unwilling to divulge.
Dessert was my absolute favorite—a chocolate and hazelnut bomb that imploded the moment I doused it with warm chocolate sauce. Valentine ordered a hazelnut gelato, which he pushed across the table, and chuckled when I set upon it like a ravenous cat.
Perhaps sweet things were my weakness, but it would never be my heart.
As we enjoyed the most delicious blend of Black Ivory espresso, he leaned across the table and frowned. “What kind of services do you offer in the crystal shop?”
“None, right now, since you pulled me out of work,” I snapped.
His brows rose. “Mera?”
I knew it was childish, but I wanted him to feel what it was like to squirm. “Oh, you know…” I took another sip, letting the bitter taste roll over my tongue. “A bit of this, a bit of that. Anything to keep the customer happy.”
“And this Jonathan fellow is a regular?” he asked.