Chapter 31
Luckily, the restaurant took my mind off that state and I was able to behave with decorum while having my cape taken away, being led to the table where Apollo pulled out my chair, being seated and handed a menu as Apollo ordered, "Bring us a bottle of Belle St. Michel and ask our waiter to give Lady Madeleine time with the menu."
The maitre d' bowed and moved away.
I didn't look at the menu.
I looked at him.
"What's Belle St. Michel?" I asked.
His eyes went from his menu to me. "Do you have white wine with bubbles in your world?"
"Champagne?"
"Indeed." He nodded. "Belle St. Michel is champagne from a region in Fleuridia."
I grinned at my menu, thinking, Fabulous. Fleuridian champagne. This night just kept getting better and better.
"That pleases you?" he queried and I knew he caught my grin.
I looked back at him. "I like Fleuridian wine."
At that, his lips tipped up and he looked down to his menu, murmuring, "A lady with excellent taste."
It was meant as a compliment but it struck me, and not in a good way.
Because I was that lady.
I was exactly that lady. The kind of lady who knew just how excellent the quality was of my boots and cape. My dress. This restaurant. Fine wine. I knew all that and more very well, in this world and my own.
I worried my lip with my teeth, perused the menu, and became aware of eyes on me. Peeking around, I saw Apollo and I getting furtive glances, the patrons here too well-mannered to stare outright.
They knew him here. And Ilsa.
Fabulous.
Oh well.
Whatever. It wasn't the first, it wouldn't be the last and because of that, I'd have to get used to it.
I might as well start now.
The wine came and I set my menu aside to watch it being served.
And I saw there was no taste testing exercise to go through here. The waiter just put down delicately etched, flat-bowled champagne gla.s.ses in front of Apollo and I, popped the cork and poured.
He then took orders. This time, Apollo allowed me to order for myself.
And then the waiter was away and I was alone with Apollo and champagne.
I went after the champagne and took a sip.
Beauty.
"What you expected?" Apollo asked and my eyes went to him to see he was asking this with his gaze on me over the rim of his winegla.s.s and, like everything about him, that was hot.
He took a sip as I answered, "Better."
His eyes smiled as he swallowed and set the gla.s.s aside.
It was then, it hit me that our date had commenced and I felt my palms start to get wet.
But here I was, in a new world and I knew one thing. I had no choice but to make the best of the situation.
In fact, I'd been doing that from the beginning.
And one could say that, so far, with a few minor blips that were mostly my fault, I hadn't done too badly.
So I set my gla.s.s aside, linked my hands in my lap and sought an easy subject of conversation.
I decided on, "What's your horse's name?"
He sat back in his chair and leveled his eyes on me.
Again, a simple movement, a simple posture.
And totally hot.
"Torment," he answered.
I blinked because, although that was a kicka.s.s name, it was also a strange one.
"Really?"
"Yes."
I didn't know what to say.
"His sister guides your sleigh," Apollo continued.
"What's her name?" I inquired.
"Anguish."
I blinked again.
Then I threw out a hand. "Those are, well...interesting names."
"They were born of the same mare at the same time. Rare and dangerous," he told me. "Usually, if a mare produces twins, one or both of the foals or the mare will perish during birth. If a foal was to survive, it would be small and sickly and not last
"Oh my G.o.d," I whispered.
"She was Ilsa's. They were born within a week of her dying."
s.h.i.+t.
Well, there you go. The reason for their names.
I decided not to reply.
"Surprisingly," he carried on. "They grew healthy and strong. A miracle. One built on tragedy but one nonetheless."
"Yes, a miracle," I murmured, reaching for my own winegla.s.s and looking away when I took a sip.
"We must speak of them."
At his words, I looked back to him, not understanding. "Sorry?"
"They existed. We can't pretend they did not. Burying memories, treasured or detested, is unhealthy," he explained.
He was talking of Ilsa and Pol and he was doing it matter-of-factly.
He was also right, of course.
I still wasn't fired up to share about Pol during our kind of first date.
Apollo leaned into me and he said softly, "Reliving unhappy memories is always unpleasant, Maddie. I'm simply saying that it's likely I'll refer to her because she was once in my life and to know me, you must know of my life. She's also the mother of my children and will always be a part of my life in some way because of that." His voice dropped even softer and his eyes held mine, his intense but warm, when he went on. "And last, I loved her deeply, so she simply always will be a part of me."
I nodded as this was true, but he wasn't done.
"I'm also saying if you feel the need to release your memories, unhappy or otherwise, and need someone to tell them to, and in the case of the unhappy ones, if you need someone to help take them from you, I'm here."
G.o.d, that was sweet.
Seriously, could this guy get better?
"Thanks," I whispered, though I added, "But can it not be now?"
"Absolutely, it can not be now. It can be never. It's your decision whether you wish to share...or not."
Yep.
This guy could get better.
And then he got even better and he did that by sitting back and changing the subject, which, at that point, was exactly what I needed.
"I have yet to tell you of Valentine's visits."
I nodded, and since I wanted to know about that, I put my elbows to the table and leaned into them, placing my chin in my palms and curling my fingers up my cheeks.
When I did, his eyes melted to tender and my belly melted at the view.
But what he said didn't make me feel warm and squishy.
"I must ask, dove, that if she visits you, you tell me. This is again your choice, but it is my preference to know if she meddles."
That surprised me. "Is she not a nice person?"
"I am not unskilled in reading people. This witch, however, I cannot say. She seems to have a rather robust protective bent to you. Yet she left you the tea without you understanding its potency or effects. It led to us sharing something beautiful, but this is not done. Indeed, it's frowned upon and there have even been men and women brought up on charges when they've used it on those who were unsuspecting."
"It's used as a date rape drug," I deduced quietly.
"Explain this," he ordered.
I lifted my chin from my palms and did just that.
"In my world, men and women go on dates before marriage. It's a kind of wooing, I guess. Courts.h.i.+p. A getting to know each other period. Sometimes, this leads to a union, marriage or the like. Sometimes, it doesn't work out and you move on. Also in my world, there are drugs that are used to make women-they're mostly used on women-unconscious or unable to defend themselves so the men they're dating can take advantage. They're called date rape drugs because, when it all boils down, even if there's no violence or struggle, that's only because the woman has been incapacitated. So it's still rape. Using adela tea like that is not the same, but it kind of is."
He nodded once, sharply, and concurred, "It is."
I sat back, reached for my winegla.s.s and took a sip, replacing it to the table, mumbling, "So I guess that's the second time she drugged me without my knowledge."
"Your first night in our world," he stated and I looked at him again.
"Yes."
He looked away but did it appearing annoyed and I'd know why when he murmured, "I'd wondered why you slipped into sleep so easily after your trauma."
"That was why," I affirmed.
He looked back to me. "This, poppy, is precisely why I wish for you to inform me if she comes to you. In word and deed she seems to have your best interests at heart. But it all depends on the person and their actions if their best interests are also yours, no?"
He was so right.
I nodded my agreement.
He again leaned toward me and gentled his tone when he requested, "And please, from now on, don't touch, accept or consume anything unless you're certain it was provided to you by me. Can you do that?"
"Yes," I said softly.
His lips curved up and he whispered, "Thank you, poppy."
Okay.
Totally.
This guy kept getting so much better I was beginning to wonder if he was even real.
"We must discuss something else sensitive before our food is served so it can have both our attention and then we can go on to enjoy the evening unhindered by such discourse."