Evelyn

by C. L. Stone

  Should I? He seemed worried.

  Soma drove, silently focused on the road. He’d said little to me since he left me alone in the bathroom to dress, and I avoided looking in his direction.

  I’d never been nervous when going out before, never tried to impress a guy I didn’t know. I was always just me, and if a guy didn’t seem into me, I didn’t make any effort to change his mind.

  Ace never said where we were going, and I had settled into the back seat, ready for a longer drive. However, it was only a few blocks before Soma turned down a street and slowed near what I thought was the biggest house on the block.

  I leaned to be able to get a good look at it. The red brick building was four stories tall, taking up position on the corner, surrounded by other homes. It was topped with a copula and an arch over a driveway. The overwhelming size and the brick exterior seemed out of place a bit with the moderate estates around it.

  “This is a restaurant?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” Ace said. “Well, it’s technically an inn, but it has a restaurant.”

  Soma turned the corner where there was rear parking, although it was listed as for inn guests only, and dinner guests had to be dropped off.

  I’d thought that getting Soma to drive was extravagant but it turned into be a necessity. The lot was packed and the street-side parking was completely full.

  Ace got out the moment Soma stopped the car. He came around quickly, opened my door, and held out a hand.

  Time to look like a girlfriend. My heart was pounding. My knees were weak. I wasn’t so sure I wasn’t just walking into the line of fire, with questions and accusations thrown my way once people recognized me.

  I stepped out, taking Ace’s hand, and for my own need for support, I held on to it.

  He squeezed it gently and walked close enough I could feel the warmth of his body.

  “I’ll call when we’re ready, Soma,” he said to him as we stepped onto the sidewalk.

  Soma rolled down the window, watching as we walked toward the building. Concern was etched in his frown. Was he worried about Ace?

  Did he doubt I’d be able to do what Ace wanted?

  There was a plaque by the door reading The Wentworth Mansion, followed by a smaller sign nearby, very subtle, noting the restaurant name: Circa 1886.

  The rear entry steps were steep, and the material of the wrap dress became taunt against my thighs. I clenched my teeth, gripping Ace’s arm a little tighter and used him to pull myself up the steps.

  “You okay?” Ace asked.

  “Fine,” I said, smiling toothily. “Just waiting for the aspirin to kick in.”

  Ace’s face fell, and he paused right on the walkway. “I know I’m excited, but if you’re really not up for it...”

  “I’m up, I’m dressed,” I said. “If I don’t look like a tomato, let’s go.”

  Ace hurried on to open the door for me, and I instinctively looked down to hide my face. But this looked ridiculous so instead, I gazed absently forward, head high. If I was recognized, what would anyone do? Throw water in my face? Call the police?

  Both viable options, but at this point, I could either do it with my head down or high enough to look them in the face if they tried.

  I tossed that thought out of my mind, not wanting to play out that scenario.

  The interior hallway was bright with fresh white paint on paneled wood walls. The hall was wide with echoing marble flooring and high ceilings. Voices echoed from further in, somewhere deeper in the dining room beyond.

  There was a small waiting area. An older couple sat on a small settee together. Another man in a sports suit stood nearby with his arms crossed, absently looking at the floor.

  I sucked in a breath, holding it, adjusting my posture. I tried not to focus on any face in particular. Was the lone man Loïc? Or the older gentleman of the couple sitting there? I had no idea who I was looking for.

  I remained paranoid they’d recognize my face despite the makeup.

  Keep calm. I summoned some confidence, hoping to radiate it.

  Ace dropped his arm to loosen my grip and took my hand instead. “What do you think, Em?” he asked, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Didn’t I tell you this place was great? One of the best in Charleston.”

  “Wonderful,” I said, using a softer voice. I focused on him, finding it easier than trying to guess who Loïc was. I forced a smile. “You’ve been here often?”

  “A few times,” he said with a wink. “Always makes a great impression.”

  We were stopped shortly by a hostess standing by a doorway. Beyond her was the attached carriage house, which was the restaurant part of the building.

  The woman paused with a half-smile on her face and then furrowed her brow. “Good evening,” she said to us, focusing more on Ace.

  “Is it possible to get table seven?” he asked, offering a hand to her like waiting for her to shake it, and I assumed there was cash in his palm in offering.

  She blinked at him, seeming a little dazed. “I’ll see what I can do. What’s the name on the reservation?”

  “Waris,” Ace said.

  She scanned her list and frowned. “I don’t see a Waris.”

  “Ah.” He tilted his head back in my direction to indicate me. “She left the reservation. Might be her name. Check for Courteau.”

  I parted my lips, surprised.

  The hostess scanned her list again and then nodded. “Right. Loïc Courteau.” She went heavy on the French accent of the name and lifted her head again and then smiled. She shook hands with him, the hundred-dollar bill disappearing shortly into her pocket. “Table seven is open.”

  I gripped tighter at Ace’s hand, eyes wide, and starting to shake. Ace was taking Loïc’s reservation from him, and pinning me for it. Wouldn’t the restaurant kick us out when they realize what happened?

  Wouldn’t Loïc make a scene?

  He winked at me.

  He was too calm, too playful.

  All I had to do was distract Loïc. This was a surefire way we’d get his attention. I forced a smile, and Ace released my hand to walk behind me, leaving me to follow the hostess to the table.

  Table seven turned out to be in the dead center of the room. No matter who was dining tonight, there was no way for Loïc to not notice us.

  The dining room had old, dark wooden floors, a high ceiling and more white painted wood paneling. There was a large fireplace to one side the size of a doorway, with a small collection of logs inside but unlit. Every table dressed in fine white linen, a rose in a bud vase in the center, and a candle lit in a short, beige holder. It wasn’t a massive dining floor, but it was elegant.

  The hostess started to pull out the chair for me, but Ace came up behind her, easing the chair from her hands politely. “Let me,” he said. He stood by, holding it.

  The old-fashioned manners he carried sparked my curiosity. I sat, letting Ace scoot it in. This was the South, and in certain circles, it was very important to show great care and respect for women, elderly, and children in such ways.

  Ace sat down across from me, his eyes wide, wild and that coy smile barely smothered. He thanked the hostess.

  The moment she left, a young male waiter came by the table. He wore a sharp black bowtie and black vest over a crisp white shirt.

  He greeted us quickly. “Have either of you been here before?”

  “Plenty,” Ace said. “You’re new.”

  The waiter smiled and nodded. “Not new to waiting, I promise.” He pulled from his back pocket a pair of small leather books, each with newly printed menus inside. He opened mine before presenting it to me. He offered a second, longer menu and showed it to both of us. “Do we need this? I can give you my recommendation as well.”

  Ace went over wine selections with the waiter, although he asked me if I had a preference. I didn’t and letting him take care of it made it easier to sit back and scan the room.

  Only about three quarters of the other tables had guests.
The restaurant was busy, with a slow murmur of voices as people spoke, but it wasn’t overly crowded. We were a little early, or perhaps because it was mid-week, it wasn’t as busy as it could be. So why take Loïc’s reservation if we could have just gotten a table by asking?

  Since we took his reservation, Loïc wasn’t here yet, and I was positioned with my back to the door, so there was no way to watch and guess who he was as people entered. Unfortunately, there wasn’t a mirror anywhere to borrow for a reflection either. Maybe it was better that I ignored everyone in the room. The best way to get attention was to appear confident and look to be having a good time, right?

  I focused on the menu, ready to simply eat dinner, and do whatever Ace wanted at this point. I worked on my smile, how I was sitting, the way I tilted my head to look interested and inspired.

  When the waiter left to let us peruse the options, Ace left his menu folded on the table. He retouched his folded sleeves and then straightened his tie. The way he fidgeted made him seem nervous. “By the way, I recommend the antelope.”

  My lower lip dropped, and I knew I was showing teeth in a crazy grimace. I shouldn’t be so surprised at some exotic meats being on the menu, but it was one of the least expected. “You’re kidding.”

  He shrugged. “Unless they’ve changed the menu from last week. It’s seasonal.”

  “Are you having antelope?”

  “No. I’ve been wanting to try the quail. Tonight’s the night.”

  I scanned the menu, but it was the appetizers I focused on. I wanted something light. I’d barely eaten since the scones from breakfast, too nervous and worried, with my stomach in knots. “I’m leaning toward the steak and egg salad.”

  His blue eyes sparked with interest. “That sounds great. I haven’t tried it yet.” He opened his menu, checking it. “Actually, now I’m tempted to change my mind. I’m a little fond of bresaola.”

  “I know it’s aged raw beef, but the menu says crisp. Does that mean they fry it? Doesn’t that change the point of it being bresaola?”

  He cocked his head to one side. “I don’t know. Good question.” He paused and then glanced over my shoulder once and then back to my face, too focused, too straight on. “By the way, you look amazing. The blue was a good choice.”

  I stiffened, gathering Loïc must be coming in. I sat up straighter, ready for a confrontation with him, with the hostess, with management.

  I sensed movement behind me, and Ace’s eyes casually glancing up on occasion. Voices drifted to me, but they were mixed in with other guests around us.

  I simply had to follow Ace’s eyes, as his settled to a point behind me. They stilled. Did Loïc take another table?

  Ace retouched his tie, and then brushed fingers through his hair.

  Was he worried about a scene, too? Or having to explain to the hostess why he lied about having a reservation?

  “Um,” I said softly, trying to come up with something to say. It wasn’t good for us both to be nervous. Maybe we could get away with it being an honest mistake if I lied and said my last name was...whatever he said. Like coincidence, we had the same name. No one knew who I was, right? “I...thanks for...” I let a puff of air out from between my lips to release some anxiety. “I’m glad to experience this with you. This seems like a nice place.”

  Ace was looking at me, but often enough, he was looking over my shoulder, beyond me. “Maybe after dinner I could give you a tour around Charleston. You wanted to settle here, didn’t you? At least I hope you want to...”

  I blinked at him, trying to figure out how much he was serious about this or how much was an act for Loïc.

  “I’d like to get to know the city,” I said, trying to stick with being as honest as possible. “I’ve heard a lot about it. I’d imagined it to be a lot like Savannah.”

  Ace made a small choking noise. “What? No. We’re so much better. I’ll have you know, this very restaurant we’re sitting in now outdoes anything you’ll find in all of Georgia. That goes for a lot of places around the South.”

  I tried not to give him the evil eye for talking about Georgia. “You’re proud of your city,” I said in as cool a tone I could impress.

  “There are plenty of fine cities, but Charleston is unique, not another like her.” He leaned in on the table, his eyes redirected to hit right at me this time. “I’m not against taking you elsewhere, though. Any other towns you’ve wanted to visit? Anywhere in the world?”

  I met his eyes, curious how much he wanted honesty from me. Should I be lying and playing Emily now? I tried being honest. “Maybe somewhere in Greece? Perhaps other places around Europe?”

  “Did you bring your passport along?”

  “No.”

  “Then we may have to fetch it,” he said. He sat back and continued his stare that drifted behind me.

  I picked up the folded napkin on the dish in front of me, using it to fumble with in my lap to hide my twitchy fingers. I had dined with people and alone in many locations, but I never felt the sensation of thinking everyone was looking at me. I wasn’t the sort to care, just going about my business and enjoying the moment. This time I wanted attention from one person and wasn’t sure how I could get it if they were sitting behind us and out of view. Ace’s twitching around wasn’t helping my nerves.

  We ordered and didn’t have long to wait before we were eating. Ace ordered a light wine, and I worked my way through a glass and a half before I finally relaxed enough to do more than just spear my lettuce and actually eat something.

  Ace started out watching Loïc behind me, but as dinner went on, he spent less time looking over my shoulder and more at me. He asked so many questions, each one seemed designed to be casual conversation, but I couldn’t help but be rattled with each one. Where I went to school, the places I had vacationed previously, the types of books I enjoyed. Each time, I debated answering something false, but I wasn’t sure if anyone could even hear me, and I wasn’t sure I’d be able to keep track of lies. I was honest, but I hesitated a lot, stumbling over statements to avoid revealing too much of who I was.

  He skirted around topics about clothing and my previous work, for which I was grateful. Talking about those made it feel like people would make a connection with my face.

  However, he provided more about himself as well. He talked about having a yacht, but he really didn’t use it much. He got invited to many charity events, but rarely ever went, donating quietly to the places he felt needed them and did the most good.

  “You talk a lot about things you don’t do,” I said.

  He laughed. “Am I boring?”

  “Unhelpful,” I said. “You don’t use your yacht. You don’t like too many public events that put pressure on you. You don’t wear the suit in your closet. You’ve a large book collection. So you enjoy reading?”

  He nodded absently at first, his eyes wandering behind me for a brief moment, but then he came back, focusing on me. “Plenty.”

  “You mentioned travel.”

  “Love it.”

  I leaned forward, because focusing on him as a dinner partner instead of what was going on behind me made this much easier. Also, he became more natural when I had his focus, and fidgeted much less. And also because this was something I had interest in. “When do you go? Do you like tours? Or do you look for the local party scene?”

  “I like to drive if I can,” he said. “I like museums, don’t get me wrong, but I’d rather tour something off the beaten path.” His eyes unfocused on everything and drifted as he thought, and he put his fork down. “People are amazing sometimes. Imagine being in the middle of the countryside in Tuscany and getting out of your car, and for an afternoon, helping a farmer pull grapes from a vine, asking him questions about his work. That’s the real tour. Real people.” His focus returned to me. “I’ve been invited to a great many family dinners and to spend the night in places you only hear about in books just by asking strangers questions and being nice and curious.”

  This stirr
ed something in me. While I’d experienced a lot going to different resorts and spas, his experiences seemed so adventurous. “Isn’t it dangerous to go out alone?”

  He smirked and shrugged. “Is it dangerous to walk any street in the states? Sure. You take the risk anywhere else too, but I consider it well worth it.”

  “You seem to have a knack for getting to the heart of things.”

  He tilted his head and stared at me. “I love digging deeper. There’s always a story. Most people have a lot more depth, a lot more to them than what people see on the outside.”

  My face heated, more over on top of the sunburn. I wasn’t so sure he was talking about my love of fashion, or discovering what happened to me back in Atlanta, or directly about me at all.

  Or maybe he meant something else? It was just the way he was so intense in his stare.

  That’s when I heard a distinctive male voice behind me. The accent was what interested me at first, because it was heavily French accented.

  “I’ll have the steak and egg salad,” the voice said. “Yes, I see it’s popular. It must be a good choice.”

  The voice was deep, smooth. I didn’t think anything of it, until I realized the direction of the voice was right behind me, and also how Ace looked up, glancing over my shoulder every time whoever it was spoke.

  Loïc was at my back, directly behind me. Had to be.

  I took a long sip of the wine, and then held up the glass, hoping for at least a reflection, but it wasn’t at all helpful.

  As I listened, I heard another voice responding on occasion to Loïc. It was deep, rich, and with an accent—Southern, but also something else. Ethnic of some sort? As I listened, it just seemed a mix of both, heavier on the Southern. The masculine voice threw me. His dinner partner was male. Not that it was any of my business, but I wondered if I’d attract attention if Loïc turned out to be gay?

  When Ace continued and picked at the quail on his plate, I listened, but my focus was completely gone. I listened for anything Loïc was saying, but it kind of blended in with everyone around us.

  And he said very little. He seemed to ask questions, and it was his dinner companion making most of the conversation.