My brother’s tuition.
Every bill waiting on my kitchen counter.
Mr. Harlan looked at me.
Then at Dominic.
He didn’t move.
Dominic raised one finger.
“She’s staying until I finish asking my questions.”
Celeste stared at him.
“Dominic!”
But he was already turning back toward me.
“What is your name?”
“Mara Bennett.”
“Miss Bennett, are you certain of that translation?”
“Yes.”
He studied my face.
Then he pushed the paper away.
“Thank you.”
For one brief moment, I thought the worst was over.
Then the sommelier entered with the wine.
And the evening became far more dangerous.
The bottle was a Château Margaux from Dominic’s private collection.
I knew because Antoine, our head sommelier, had mentioned it during the pre-service briefing.
“Handle this one carefully,” he’d told the staff. “Mr. Rinaldi requested it personally.”
Antoine had worked at the Obsidian Room for twelve years. He could identify a vintage by its label and explain the history of a vineyard without ever sounding pretentious.
Now he approached Dominic’s table carrying the bottle in a presentation cradle.
Celeste immediately smiled.
“At last. Something we can agree on.”
Dominic barely looked up.
“Not now.”
“Oh, Dominic. We’ve had a difficult evening. Have a glass of wine.”
