And I don’t want to.
Chapter 5
Dinner at Whitley is a formal, uncomfortable affair.
I feel horribly underdressed as Eleanor sits at the head of the table in a tailored skirt suit and the same strand of pearls. I’m fidgety, a tell-tale sign that I feel out of place. If anyone knew me here, they’d know.
“Tell me of your schooling,” Eleanor directs from far down the table. The gleaming table is so long, I feel the need to shout whenever I speak.
I’m in the middle of explaining public school to her when the doors open at nine minutes past the hour. Eleanor watches in stern disapproval as Dare enters the quiet room.
Thank you, God, I exhale. It’s like I hold my breath when Dare isn’t with me, and it’s a habit I need to change.
Tall and elegant, he slides into a place next to me, dressed in slacks and a suit jacket, a cobalt shirt open at the collar. He looks just as at home in the suit as he does in jeans, and a bit of his dark hair drifts down over his eye. He tosses it back as he sits.
Every tiny piece of my being is relieved that he’s here, and I try to ignore the feeling.
He’s not my security blanket, not anymore.
He can’t be.
“How nice of you to join us,” Eleanor says stiffly, before returning her attention back to me. It’s as though she doesn’t want to be bothered by him, as though he’s an intrusion. But he clearly belongs here all the same.
I can’t help but steal another glance at him and when I do, I find him staring at me.
He doesn’t look away, and his eyes are a smoldering midnight sky.
I swallow hard, and Eleanor notices.
She clears her throat.
“Adair, that isn’t your chair. You know your place is across the table.”
Astonished, I stare at her. There must be twenty places at this table and only three of them are taken. Surely it doesn’t matter where he sits.
“I’ll be sitting here tonight,” his answer is cool. My relief is immeasurable.
Eleanor doesn’t push it.
“Regardless of where you sit, dinner is at seven. Promptly at seven. You know that. If you’re late, don’t bother attending.”
Dare doesn’t seem concerned. He stares back at her.
“Noted.”
His voice is deep and husky and cold.
For the rest of dinner, the only noise in the room is silver scraping against china.
It’s uncomfortable, and it’s silent.
If only Finn were here.
He’d be kicking me beneath the table, rolling his eyes, making me laugh.
But he’s not.
I’m alone.