Highly Strung (Food Of Love 1) - Page 67

The waiter appeared and she dropped it abruptly, giving him the order for food and drinks.

Once he was gone, Lydia tried to change the subject, commenting on the Czech cuisine, but Mary-Ann didn’t want to be diverted.

“As I was saying,” she continued.

“What were you saying?”

“I couldn’t have got this far without you. You’ve kept me going when things were rough and I can’t thank you enough.”

“It’s okay.” Lydia looked around her, hearing raised voices from Milan’s corner, her heart bumping.

“Lydia, you’re so nervous! But so am I, actually. Really, really nervous.”

Lydia returned her attention to the conductor. “Nervous? What about? The concert?”

“No, not the concert. About being here…with you.”

“What…why would that make you nervous?”

Lydia heard a bang on a table, like a fist landing. Crockery rattled. She looked around, then back at Mary-Ann, hardly taking in what her friend was saying.

“Lydia.” Mary-Ann seized her hand again, tighter this time. “Don’t you know how I feel about you?”

“How you feel…? Oh, Mary-Ann! Are you saying that you…?”

“I’m saying that I have the worst crush on you. I’ve worried and worried that you don’t like girls, but I’ve decided to lay my cards on the table and

get it out in the open. Do you think you could ever be with a woman?”

“Well, actually, I have been,” said Lydia, thinking of the party in Vienna.

Mary-Ann’s face lit up. “Oh, I knew it! I’m so…oh! That’s wonderful!”

“Thanks,” said Lydia distractedly, her ears on stalks. There was a scraping of chair legs on the floor, then she saw Evgeny’s head over the top of the wooden booth. He didn’t look happy.

“Fuck you!” he bellowed.

“Oh dear,” said Mary-Ann, shaken out of her declaration. “Trouble in paradise.”

“You take my point about the drama,” said Lydia, chest tight, clenching her fists so her nails dug into her palms.

Evgeny bolted and Milan stood up to pursue him. Afraid of being spotted, Lydia ducked down under the table while the troubled lovers stormed out of the restaurant and disappeared into the crowded square.

“Are you all right?” asked Mary-Ann.

“Fine, fine,” said Lydia, emerging. “Just…dropped something out of my bag. Um. I’m not sure I’m very hungry, to be honest. I might just…go back to the concert hall.”

“But I’ve ordered now!”

“I’m so sorry, Mary-Ann. I feel a little bit unwell. I don’t think I can eat.”

“Maybe if you sit still for a minute—”

“The smell of the food is making it worse. I have to go. I’m sorry.”

Lydia snatched up her bag and ran out of the restaurant, knowing that she was treating Mary-Ann unfairly, but needing to find out what had happened between Milan and Evgeny.

She crossed the square and negotiated the narrow streets as quickly as she could, weaving through great gatherings of tourists listening to talks in every language imaginable, until she reached the grounds of the concert hall. A few of her fellow players sat here and there on the grass, eating sausages wrapped in pastry lattices from a nearby vendor.

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