Born in Fire (Fire and Ice Trilogy #1)

“Do you not want to eat alone, is that the issue?” He studied me.

“Alone is great. I’ll just grab a few things and head on down to the kitchen, which is probably still cleaner than I am.”

“I am losing my patience. I’ll send someone to attend you.” His hand on my back wasn’t as light as normal, and it became even firmer as he all but shoved me into the large room with a ginormous table that could easily seat twenty people. I knew this, because there were twenty chairs surrounding it.

Twenty chairs.

More could squeeze in, of course. There were another six chairs against the wall, just waiting for go time. A crystal chandelier hung in the middle, bedecked with electric candles. Big, draped curtains closed off the windows, blocking all light, which was weird but probably a necessity, and a large rug stretched beneath all of this.

Did I mention it was all light cream? Walls, chairs, parts of the rug—light cream.

I did mention I was dirty. Filthy, actually. I was wearing the clothes in which I’d rolled around in the dirt. Dust was fleeing from me in puffs.

When dust wouldn’t even stick to my person, I knew I had no place among cream-colored decorations.

I circled the table, trying to stay on the thin slice of wood floor between the rug and the wall. This became difficult when the extra chairs stood in my way, so I stripped off my boots and gasped at the lines of brown on my socks. Those had to come off, too.

Barefooted, I continued to circle, eyeing the simply wasteful array of food that had been set out. Among the plentiful options was an entire roast beef surrounded by baked potatoes and carrots, a punch bowl of soup with a ladle, a roasted chicken with rice pilaf, a silver tray with crab legs accompanied with melted butter, and shrimp dishes. The spread could feed enough hungry people to fit in all twenty-six chairs, plus a few stowaways besides.

I blew out a breath as I eyed the lone plate at the head of the table.

He’d had all this prepared for one person. Me. What a nincompoop.

“Well…” I sighed. “I better try to eat it all, or he’ll think I’m rude.”

“What was that?”

I jumped and my hand shot to my sword as a beautiful woman entered the room. Brown hair tumbled over her shoulders in loose curls, and she wore a strapless dress with a sparkly sort of bodice leading down into flowing silk. With a face that would make cupid sport a boner, she was a knockout. I wasn’t into girls, but even I wanted to stare at her and drool.

“You’re Darius’s girlfriend, then?” I asked. Because that seemed to fit. Handsome guy, hot chick, A-list friends. What tabloid hadn’t I seen that in?

She drifted into the room like a poltergeist and waited beside a chair next to the head of the table. I hurried forward and pulled the chair out for her. Logic said it wasn’t my job, but my motor skills seemed to think otherwise.

She lowered herself into it like a queen and folded her hands in her lap.

I hovered around my chair like a gobshite, dopey and clumsy. “You really don’t have to hang out with me,” I said. My stomach growled.

Why didn’t you say that before you pulled her chair out, idiot? Now she thinks you secretly do want her to hang out with you.

“I’m okay on my own,” I added.

Why am I sitting?

“I’m usually on my own, actually.” I laughed awkwardly. In fact, there wasn’t much about that moment I hadn’t made awkward.

I folded my hands in my lap like she was doing. It was like my brain was on complete hiatus. Was this what guys felt like in the presence of a beautiful woman? Because if so, forgiven. And also, they were idiots. I was an idiot.

A man glided in wearing a tux and carrying another place setting. I hopped out of my chair. “No, no. Honestly. I don’t need company.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, but set her place anyway. She didn’t smile or thank him when he was done. It should’ve been weird, but her muteness just added to the mystery, making her even prettier. It wasn’t fair.

Next he put his hand to the back of my chair and waited beside it for me to sit.

“Really, I think I’ll just grab a plate and head down to the kitchen.” I glanced at my shoes, and was suddenly mortified that I was barefoot. Who in their right mind went to a friend’s house for dinner and took off their shoes before they sat down to eat? Surely that looked as strange as it sounded.

I took the chair. It was the least awkward option, and that was saying something.

“Would you like something to drink, Ms. Somerset?” He bent slightly at the waist to give me his utmost attention. “Wine, perhaps?”

“Wine would be great, thanks,” I blurted.

“Of course. Ms. Beauchene?”

“Goblet of O-negative, freshly poured.”

That was gross.

“Of course,” he said, as though it was as simple a request as the wine. He exited the room.

“So…” I said, swallowing a little too loudly. “I’ll just get this underway, will I? I’d hate to keep you.”

She turned to me with a demure expression. “He will serve you.” Her voice was deep and sensual, with a thick French accent.

“Right. Yes. Actually, I think I’ll just serve myself. I’m used to it. I wouldn’t want you to wait on ceremony and…uhm, it would be a pity for your blood to get cold. You know.”

I slid from my chair on the opposite side of the table so as to hide my bare feet. Quickly, I scooped heaping portions onto my plate, helping my overall barbarian look, and scurried back to my seat.

I took up my fork and knife, about to dive in, before glancing over at the empty plate in front of her. Suddenly I was at a loss. “Do you eat, or…?”

“I will attend you,” she said pleasantly.

Was that a no?

I was too afraid to ask and look even stupider.

Slowly, I put the first bite of food into my mouth and chewed, staring in front of me while kind of hunched over, wondering if I was being incredibly rude or just incredibly weird.

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