the art aquarium and I struggled to keep my mouth closed. I was actually in Boston. Home to Boston College and MIT, the Boston Bean and Boston cream pie, site of the infamous Tea Party and a million other historical events. Whittaker could really take me places.
The restaurant was tucked into a quaint neighborhood on the north side of the city, where brownstone buildings abounded and old-?fashioned street lamps flickered over stone-?covered streets. A tuxedoed valet took the keys to Whittaker's car and he offered his arm again as he led me through the door. A crumbling cornerstone near the sidewalk read 1787.
Once we were inside, another valet slipped my coat from my arms and a third led us to a table in the back corner, close enough to a roaring fire that we could enjoy its warmth, but far enough away that we wouldn't get overheated. The conversation in the room was hushed, accompanied by the sounds of tinkling china and silverware. As I sat in the cushioned chair, I tried not to stare at the diamonds that dripped from every female neck and wrist in the room. Never in my life had I been in a restaurant so elegant, surrounded by people for whom money was no object. If my parents could see me now.
“Mr. Whittaker. A pleasure to see you,” a tall, mustached man greeted us. “Would you like to see the wine list?”
“That won't be necessary, John,” Whit said. “We'll have a bottle of the Barolo '73 we had for my parents' anniversary.”
I blinked. Wasn't there still a legal drinking age in this country?
“A fine choice, sir. Beth will be right over with your menu.” He executed a slight bow and moved soundlessly away.
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“No carding?” I asked.
Whittaker chuckled. “Reed, please.”
All righty, then. I crossed my legs under the table, bonking the underside with my knee and causing all the dishes to jump.
“Oops. Sorry,” I said.
“It's okay,” Whittaker said in a quiet, soothing voice, the one that sent pleasant reverberations right through me. “Just relax.”
“Right. Relax.”
I rested my elbows on the table, then quickly yanked them away. Was the elderly woman at the next table glaring at me, or was that just the natural state of her face? Under the white tablecloth, I fiddled with the chunky gold bracelet Kiran had lent me. Luckily, Whittaker didn't seem to notice my continued fidgeting. He leaned back and smiled as a slim man in a black vest poured ice water into our glasses. For the first time, I noticed there were three stems of various sizes behind my plate. Apparently we were to do a lot of drinking. That led me to the ornate silverware, of which there was far too much. Two spoons, three forks, two knives. What could they possibly be used for?
“Would madam like a bit of bread?”
Suddenly another man was hovering over me, proffering a basket full of rolls. They smelled incredible and I could feel their warmth on my face.
“Uh . . . sure,” I said, reaching for a brown bun.
The man cleared his throat and I froze. “If madam would like to select one, I would be happy to serve her,” he said.
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“Oh.” My face flushed and I glanced at the old woman. Now I was sure she was glaring.
“I'll have the brown one, please,” I said, utterly defeated.
“The pumpernickel? A fine choice,” he said with a tight smile. Then he produced a pair of silver tongs from behind his back, plucked the roll from the basket, and placed it on my bread plate. No fair hiding the tongs. If I had seen them, I might have known.
“For you, sir?” he said, turning to Whittaker.
Once Whit had made his selection, the bread guy slid over to the wall, where he stood next to the water guy, just waiting to be summoned at any moment. I couldn't believe these were actual jobs. What did these men put on their resumes? Expert Starch Distributor? Professional Thirst Quencher?
As soon as the bread guy was free and clear, a pretty blonde stepped up and handed Whittaker a leather-?bound menu.
“Welcome to Triviatta,” she said. “My name is Beth. Please feel free to ask any questions.”
“Thank you, Beth,” Whittaker said, looking over the menu.
She turned and started off.
“Uh, Beth?” I said, stopping her in her tracks. “I have a question.”