Chapter 3

　　The balcony at La Antorcha looked like something stolen from a dream.

　　Glass doors opened to a private room overlooking the city. White tablecloth. Dark wooden chairs. Moonlight spilling across polished silverware. Below us, Yorkshire glittered like a secret it had no intention of sharing.

　　I stood frozen at the threshold.

　　Damian watched me with his hands in his pockets. “Do you like it?”

　　“How could I not?” I whispered. Then I hated how breathless I sounded. “I have never been in a restaurant like this.”

　　His expression shifted. Not pity. Something softer. Worse.

　　“Then sit,” he said.

　　He pulled out my chair. I sat because my legs had started to feel unreliable.

　　A waitress brought menus. I opened mine and immediately regretted every life choice that had led me here. The words looked elegant, foreign, and expensive.

　　Damian looked amused. “Problem?”

　　“No.”

　　“You are holding the menu upside down.”

　　I flipped it and cleared my throat. “I knew that.”

　　“Of course.”

　　When the waitress returned, I chose survival. “Whatever the chef recommends.”

　　Damian leaned back. “The same for me.”

　　The waitress left, and suddenly there was nothing between us except candlelight and too much silence.

　　“You are kinder than I expected,” I said before I could stop myself.

　　His face closed.

　　The change was instant. One second he was almost warm. The next, he was carved from ice.

　　“No,” he said. “I am not.”

　　I blinked. “I did not mean...”

　　“You do not know me, Eleanor.” His voice dropped. “Do not mistake manners for goodness.”

　　The words cut deeper than they should have. Maybe because my father had taught me how fast a man could change. Maybe because Damian had made me forget that lesson for a few minutes.

　　I sat back. “Fine.”

　　He seemed to regret it. “Eleanor...”

　　“No. You are right. I do not know you.” I picked up my water glass with hands that were too steady. “Let’s keep it that way.”

　　Dinner arrived. I ate because hunger was stronger than pride, but every bite tasted like tension. Damian barely touched his food. His eyes stayed on me as if I were a problem he could not solve.

　　By the time I finished, I was done pretending.

　　“Thank you for dinner,” I said, standing. “It was lovely.”

　　His chair scraped back. “Where are you going?”

　　“Away from this table.”

　　I turned before he could stop me.

　　The waitress outside the private room looked startled when I rushed toward her.

　　“Please open the door,” I said.

　　“Miss?”

　　“Now.”

　　Behind me, Damian’s footsteps approached. Fast. Controlled. Furious.

　　“Eleanor, wait.”

　　The waitress opened the door.

　　I slipped through, heart pounding, and she closed it behind me before Damian reached us.

　　For one second, I leaned against the wall and breathed.

　　“What happened?” the waitress asked softly.

　　“I think I insulted him by thinking he was human.”

　　She gave me a confused look, but I did not stay to explain.

　　Downstairs, the blonde hostess smirked as I passed. “I knew you were just another one.”

　　I stopped.

　　I had been scared, hungry, humiliated, and forced into a dinner with the most confusing man in Yorkshire. My patience was gone.

　　“I do not know what your problem is,” I said, looking her directly in the eye. “But remember this. You may know this city. You do not know me.”

　　Her smile faltered.

　　Good.

　　Outside, cold air slapped my face. I searched for my mother and found Sebastian’s car in the parking lot, rocking slightly.

　　“Oh, please no,” I muttered.

　　I knocked on the passenger window.

　　My mother appeared flushed. Sebastian looked far too innocent for a man with swollen lips.

　　“Can I come with you?” I asked sweetly.

　　Margaret glared at me.

　　I looked toward the restaurant.

　　Damian had just stepped outside.

　　His eyes locked on mine.

　　The air changed.

　　“Sebastian,” I said quickly, “yes or no?”

　　Sebastian unlocked the back door.

　　I jumped in.

　　“Drive.”

　　The car pulled away as Damian reached the parking lot. Through the rear window, I saw him stop beneath the restaurant lights, one hand dragging through his hair.

　　He looked angry.

　　He looked worried.

　　Worst of all, he looked like a man who had just decided the chase was not over.