Games of Fire (18 page)

“Are we allowed through there?” she asked, peering anxiously into the darkness on the other side. “You’re not really going to kill me
and do weird things to my body are you?”

She had only the twist of his lips in a dark grin as reassurance as he motioned her onward. When she hesitated, his smirk broadened, triumph glinted in his eyes.

“Scared?”

The challenge had her spine prickling. She stiffened, squaring her shoulders. “Of course not! I was just enjoying the weather.”

He didn’t say it, but the simple arching of his eyebrows spoke volumes. Sophie huffed. She turned on her heels and stubbornly marched over the threshold. He followed her and the door closed seamlessly behind them, throwing them into absolute blackness.

“Where to now?” she demanded, trying her hardest not to squeak in fright.

“Forward.”

Since Sophie couldn’t see the hand she was waving in front of her own face, she had no idea which way forward was until his hands, without fumbling once, settled lightly on her shoulders and turned her twenty degrees to the right.

“That way.”

Grumbling and resisting the urge to release the shiver working up her back, she shuffled
forward. Five steps in and she walked into a soft wall that rippled with the contact. Splinters of light shattered around them, laced with the mouthwatering scent of melted cheese, garlic, tomato sauce and frying meat.

“What—”

His arm brushed across her shoulder as he reached over her and parted heavy curtains. Sophie winced, cringing as a shimmering flood of light punched her directly in the eyes. The attack sent her stumbling back into Spencer who caught her and guided her forward.

Carefully, she peeled apart her lashes and squinted at the cobblestone path winding ahead of them through towering sheets of fabric. All around, beige
material rustled, hanging from iron rods from the ceiling, forming rectangular tents. Fairy lights wound over the tops, along the sides and through the rafters overhead. Antique lampposts sprouted where the path curved down through another section. Ivy twisted up the poles and crept lazily over the huts. It reminded her of a picturesque village. As they passed, some of them were parted, the sheets rolled back to expose a square table stuffed within, surrounded by a leather booth and people.

“What is this place?” she asked Spencer, peeking in on a couple feeding each other bits of garlic bread and smiling in that disturbing way only people in movies did while they gazed longingly into the other’s eyes.

Spencer didn’t respond, or he didn’t get the chance to when a figure rounded the curve ahead and hurried towards them, arms open as though prepared to embrace them.

The man was short and skinny with
shiny black hair greased to one side and a mustache equally slick and curled at the ends. He had kohl around his brown eyes, making them appear enormous. He wore a black vest over a white dress shirt and a white apron over black pants. His black shoes caught the light from the lamps and glinted. He beamed at them as if they were long lost friends.

“Spencer!” He stepped straight past Sophie and pulled Spencer into a fierce embrace. He smacked the younger man several times on the back before drawing away just far enough to keep a firm grip on Spencer’s arms. “Look at you!” he said in a heavily French accented voice. “I almost didn’t recognize you. You’ve changed!” The smile dropped into a very theatrical pout. “But it is to be expected. A man is never the same when his heart has been broken.”

Spencer, looking mildly uncomfortable, smiled a little. “Thanks, Pierre.”

Pierre patted him lightly on the arms and dropped his hands. “Have you come for our special
…?” He trailed off when his eyes finally registered Sophie. They widened, flickered between her and Spencer. Interest sparkled. “And who is this enchanting creature?”

Sophie blushed and nearly giggled when Pierre dropped into a very extravagant curtsy. He swept her hand up as he rose and brought her knuckles to his lips.

“I don’t know which enchanting creature you’re referring to, but this is Sophie,” Spencer said, grinning when Sophie glowered at him.

“Sophie!” Pierre said her name as if whispering the name of a
goddess, full of marveling wonder and worship. “You are a sight to behold. I am Pierre, owner and operator of Chateau Pierre. If you ever need anything, do not hesitate to find me.”

Unsure what she was supposed to say, to do, Sophie smiled. “Thank you. It’s nice to meet you.”

Inclining his head, Pierre relinquished his grip on her hand and took a step back, his arms open wide. “Come! I will show you to our best table.”

The moment his back was turned, Sophie elbowed Spencer in the gut for his earlier comment. He doubled over with a grunt, clutching his middle as she smirked and hurried after Pierre.

“This place is beautiful!” she said, catching up to him. “I can’t believe I’ve never been here before.”

“It is my pride and joy,” Pierre said with an affectionate sigh.

They passed a pretty blonde dressed identically to Pierre carting a silver tray. Steam rose from the pizza, filling the air with its succulent scent of roasted vegetables. Sophie fought not to lunge at her and steal the tantalizing dish. Instead she watched as the girl stopped in front of a hut and said, “Knock, knock!” Someone responded from the other side and she pushed open the curtains to reveal the small crowd seated around the table on the other side. She was setting the tray down in the middle when Sophie hurried past.

They wove their way through the makeshift village, passing the odd waiter or waitress as they served the people huddled within the
tents. The entire place was incredibly magical, like walking through some fantasy land. Sophie half expected glittering fairies to be frolicking through the clumps of brush strategically placed throughout the restaurant. It didn’t even feel like she was indoors anymore. The fairy lights strung overhead gave the impression of stars and the atmosphere was so surreal and dream-like. She forgot all about Spencer until he brushed her side, startling her.

“Do you come here often?” she asked him.

“Spencer used to work here!” Pierre interrupted before Spencer could answer. “He used to be my favorite worker. The customers loved him!”

She looked at Spencer for confirmation. He cleared his throat and averted his eyes.

“What happened?” Sophie asked Pierre.

The little man shrugged, throwing his hands up into the air in both frustration and bewilderment. “What happens to all the great
s! He fell in love and she ruined him.”

“That’s not exactly—” But both Sophie and Pierre ignored Spencer’s protest.

“Do you mean Aimee?”

Pierre snapped narrow eyes in Sophie’s direction. “So you’ve met her?”

Sophie rolled her eyes. “Briefly today. I wanted to hit her.”

“Yes!” Pierre exclaimed, coming to an abrupt halt and whipping around. “Yes!” he said again with vigor. “I am a gentleman of course, but had I been a woman, I would have knocked her on her pretty behind.”

Sophie stifled the urge to laugh. “So you’ve met her as well?”

Pierre sniffed, flicking a hand dramatically. “She would come around, but never inside. My establishment was never good enough for her.”

“That’s not—” Again, neither paid Spencer any attention.

“Well that’s her loss, isn’t it?” Sophie said. “This place is incredible. You might have to throw me out to leave.”

Pierre beamed, his chest swelling in pride. “I can see why Spencer has brought you when he has never brought another. You are very special.” With a delighted clap of his hands, Pierre snapped on his heels and resumed their walk.

Sophie turned to Spencer, grinning. “Hear that? He thinks I’m special.”

Spencer smirked, stowing away his hands inside his pockets. “Oh you’re special all right.” The implication in his tone had her frowning and him snickering as he waved her onward.

“Jerk,” she mumbled, stalking after Pierre.

The best table in the house was a set up like all the others, except the curtain around this table was velvet red with gold trim. It poured over the polished, mahogany table in a waterfall of crimson. Gold rope tied back the fabric, revealing the glossy leather bench forming a square U around the table. Six red candles danced and flickered from the center of the table, the flames were contained in a beautiful crystal bowl filled with water. Two lamps stood guard on either side of the booth, casting soft light through the otherwise subtle darkness.

“Oh wow!” Sophie gasped, feeling suddenly very underdressed.

“You like it!” It was not a question and her delight reflected off Pierre’s face as he clapped his hands like an excited child.

“Pierre, I don’t
…” Spencer shifted uneasily, tossing uncertain glances at the booth.

The smile on Pierre’s face dropped. “You don’t like it?”

“No! I mean, yes! I do, but …” He flicked a glance in Sophie’s direction, then towards the magnificently romantic setup. Sophie glanced as well, trying to determine what his problem was. He exhaled, rolling his eyes heavenwards. He shook his head. “Never mind. It’s fine.”

Pierre smiled again. “Excellent! Sit and I will have someone come serve you.”

“What’s the matter?” Sophie asked when they were alone.

Spencer shook his head, motioning for her to sit.

“Is this the spot you and Aimee used to sit?” she ventured, slipping into the soft leather.

A muscle twitched in Spencer’s jaw as he took the place across from her. “You heard Pierre, Aimee never came inside.”

“Then what’s wrong?” she pressed.

His mouth opened, then shut. He shook his head. “Nothing. Just forget it.”

“You don’t like red?” she prodded. “You don’t like leather? You don’t like the view? What is it?”

He scowled. “That is the opposite of forgetting about it.”

Sophie shrugged. “You’re the one who went all shifty and edgy about a booth and since I doubt you’ll be initiating any sort of conversation throughout this … whatever
this
is, I figured why not.” She poked a finger inside the bowl of water and nudged a candle. It floated and bumped into two others, sending them teetering along. “What exactly is this anyway?”

His heavy exhale muffled the squeak of leather as he slumped back in his seat. The candlelight sparked off the leering skull on the leather band around his wrist as he shoved his fingers through his hair. “Does it matter?”

It became harder to focus on the ripples in the water when all she wanted to do was look at him, gauge his reactions, but a part of her didn’t want to see it. “Kind of. The last thing I ever expected from you is a dinner invitation.”

He drummed long fingers on the table. “I told you. I wanted to apologize.”

She couldn’t stop her eyes from lifting to his face this time. “Is that all?”

His attention was fixed on the hut across from theirs like it was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen. Silence thrummed, a steady pulse of pent up hesitation. It swelled with his indecision. Part of her willed her not to expect an answer, but a much larger part of her prayed for it.

“What else is there?” The words were smothered by the thumb nail he was picking at with his teeth.

Unwilling to let the matter drop, Sophie shifted forward in her seat. “
At Roy’s party, you said—”

“I know what I said.” His hand dropped into his lap. His gray eyes snapped to her. “I was drunk.”

She shook her head slowly, refusing to let him play it off so easily. “No you weren’t.”

His eyes narrowed. “How would you know?”

Because I was watching you the whole night.
She didn’t say it, couldn’t. She had fallen far enough where Spencer Rowth was concerned. She had already given him too much ammunition, too many ways to hurt her. She dropped her gaze to the table instead, following the path of a scar carved into the otherwise smooth surface.

“I think I want to go home,” she decided, climbing out of the booth. “Thanks for the attempt, but this was clearly a very bad idea. I’m not into the whole head game thing. I don’t like being played like I’m stupid and I really don’t like being made to feel like an idiot. I think it would be better if you just
…” She made a staying motion with her hands. “Stayed away, okay? I’ll do the same and …” she trailed off, biting her lip. “Yeah.”

Without waiting for the stunned expression on his face to wear off, Sophie hurried back the way Pierre had brought them. She dug into her pocket for her phone and dialed Lauren’s number. It rang several times before dropping to voicemail. She hung up without leaving a message. She phoned a cab instead, before realizing she had no idea what address to give.

“Damn it!” she cussed, hanging up on the female operator.

“Sophie!” Spencer jogged after her, his hair fluttering over his brow. “Wait!”

“Where am I?” she demanded.

He ignored her question. “Please come back.” He gestured in the direction
of their table. “Let me start over. I promise this isn’t how I wanted tonight to go.”