“Save it, Willow.” He holds his hand out in front of him. “Why don’t you fuck off back to wherever it is you came from? And if you so much as even look in Emma’s direction again, you’ll have me to deal with. Got it?”
Thick tears billow from her eyes as she takes off down the hallway. Before I have a chance to say anything, Ashton steps forward enveloping me in his big strong arms. His body trembles as the fury radiates off him.
I get a glance of Willow over his shoulder as she stops and turns to look back at us for a moment. Am I wrong for feeling sorry for her? Because a part of me does even though she deserved what she got.
Ashton finally draws back, gently cupping my face in his shaky hands. “Are you okay, sweet-thing?”
“Yes.” It’s a lie.
I’m not sure what I’m feeling at this moment, but okay isn’t it.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be, you didn’t do anything wrong.”
He stuck up for me. Nobody has ever done that for me before.
“I hope you don’t believe one word she said. She’s just jealous.”
“Jealous of me… right,” I reply with sarcasm dripping from my voice.
Ashton pulls me back into his arms again, crushing me against his chest. “It’s true.” I don’t believe that for a second, but I don’t bother correcting him. “I never should’ve brought you here.” He draws back again, his eyes meeting mine once more. “Not because you don’t belong here, but I should’ve known Willow would make things difficult for you. She’s a nasty piece of work.”
“It’s okay. I’ve had worse things said to me.”
“Em…” His face softens, and there’s a look of sorrow in his eyes as he leans forward brushing his lips against mine. “Do you want me to take you home?”
Yes.
“No. I don’t want to be rude. Your mother’s been very sweet to me.”
“I’ve noticed. She likes you, but I knew she would.”
“I can’t believe you told her I was your girlfriend.” I grab a chunk of skin on his side, squeezing it between my fingers.
“Ouch,” he says, laughing. “Well, you are.”
“I’m not your girlfriend, Barclay. You need to tell your mother the truth.”
“Emma,” he says, sighing. “You’re a girl, and you’re my friend. Do I need to spell it out for you? Girl plus friend equals girlfriend.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
A smile plays on his lips. “You’re my girlfriend, Em, and that’s all there is to it.”
Ugh, he’s so bossy.
Ashton’s smile grows when I narrow my eyes. Leaning in, he places a soft kiss on my cheek before threading his fingers through mine. “Come, they’ll be waiting for us.”
Things seem awkward, well, for me, anyway, as the seven of us sit at the ridiculously long, rich mahogany dining table. It would sit fifty people easily, possibly more. I’ve never seen a table so long. Numerous staff fuss around us, filling one of the four different sized wine glasses that sit in front of us. Why so many, I have no clue?
Willow’s taken Ashton’s advice because she doesn’t so much as look my way. Her face is sullen as she picks up her wine, downing the entire glass in one gulp.
That’s not very ladylike, Willow.
Aston’s hand is resting on my thigh under the table. It’s comforting. I hate what happened earlier, but I’m feeling grateful. The way he swooped in and came to my rescue was amazing.
Drowning out everything going on around me, I focus on the gold utensils. There are so many pieces—three forks to the left of my plate, all different sizes, and to the right lay two knives, a spoon, and a tiny two-pronged fork.
I lean in toward Ashton. “Why are there so many utensils?” I whisper.
“They’re for the numerous courses we’ll be served.”
“Oh.”
“Start on the outside, Em, and work your way in.”
“Ah, okay. Thank you.” He must think I’m an idiot.
His grip on my leg tightens.
The servants reenter the room in a line, each carrying a plate in front of them. I watch on in amazement. They take their place behind each of us, and when Valentina nodes her head, they place the meals down in uniform precision.
I stare at my plate having no idea what it is. There’s some white-ish, slightly browned long thingies piled in the center with sautéed green beans underneath and a sauce drizzled around the edge. It’s plated beautifully. Are they snails? I have no idea. I mean they’re not in shells, but I don’t know how they’re usually served.
I lean toward Ashton once more. “Please tell me these aren’t snails.”
“No, it’s cuisses de grenouilles.”
He says it in perfect French.
Swoon.
“That doesn’t help… I don’t speak French.”
“Frog legs, Em. They’re frog legs.”
“As in Kermit?”
He chuckles. “Yes, as in Kermit.”
“Oh good God,” I mumble as bile rises to my throat.
I can’t be certain, but I’m pretty sure my face just turned green.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
I shake my head, I’m too afraid to speak. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Ashton remove the white cloth napkin on his lap, placing it on the table.
He reaches for my hand before standing. “Mother, Emma isn’t feeling well,” he says. “I’m going to take her home.”
“Oh, the poor dear.” Although my head is bowed, I can feel everyone’s eyes on me. “Should I call Dr. Ramsey?”
“No, I’ll make sure she’s looked after.”
I feel awful for deceiving her, but if I’m forced to eat those frog legs, I’ll surely barf.
Ashton lets go of my hand and pulls me into his side, placing a soft kiss on the side of my head. He’s being very sweet. My eyes dart to Willow, and she’s staring at us. She looks like she’s about to cry.
Valentina rises from her seat, coming around the table to us. She gently cups my face, studying me before placing her hand on my forehead, checking to see if I have a temperature. Tears sting the back of my eyes. It’s something a mother would do. I’m sure my mom did just that when I was a little girl.
I force out a smile, feeling even shittier now. I should’ve just blocked my nose and shoved those damn legs down my throat. My father tricked me into eating ox tongue once, and it didn’t kill me. Although I did stick my fingers down my throat and vomit when he confessed.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, which comes out more like a whisper.
“It can’t be helped. Would you like me to get Manu to make you up a plate to take home?”
“That would be—” I’m about to say lovely, but Ashton cuts me off. I’m just being polite.
“No.”
His mother’s eyes dart to him briefly before focusing back on me. “Will you come back another time?”
“I’d like that.”
“That would make me happy,” Valentina says and surprises me when she leans forward, kissing my cheek. “Maybe I could get your number from my son, and we can have lunch together… just the two of us.”