He leads me toward a quiet corner of the restaurant where several other couples are seated. The men rise to their feet as Lucian pulls a chair out for me. I am happy to sit by an older couple. For some reason, everyone over the age of fifty seems to love me. Other than Rose and a few other classmates, I rarely spend time with people my own age; I learned early on that people can be petty and mean. Debra always tells me that I have an old soul.

Lucian seats himself beside me and begins making the introductions. The couple to our right is Margaret and Howard Sterling, and as I had hoped, they greet me with warm smiles. I can barely remember the rest of the names with the exception of the woman on Lucian’s other side, Monique Chandler. She has long, dark hair and is wearing a form-fitting, emerald green sleeveless dress. She is attractive, but to me, it’s all artificial…almost hard. The smile that she greets me with is calculating and cold. Lucian is polite but doesn’t seem overjoyed to be sitting next to her. I am just thankful I will likely never see these people again after tonight; I have a few regulars I have accompanied more than once, but venues change each time and, generally, so do the people.

After everyone has placed their drink orders, Monique leans around Lucian and asks, “So Lucy, how do you know Lucian?”

Before I can answer, Lucian says, “It’s Lia, and we met through mutual friends.”

I am grateful for his quick response. I am even happier when the server places the red wine Lucian ordered in front of me; liquid courage is just what I need.

It is hard to Miss Monique’s red nails trailing down Lucian’s chest and the possessive smile she shoots my way before turning back to him. If he were actually my man, I would be ready to knock her on her ass. Luckily, Margaret is indeed friendly, and I tell her honestly that I am attending St. Claire’s. Surely, that’s not something that needs to be kept secret.

When the dinner course arrives, the prime rib is big enough to cover my plate. Lucian ordered for us, but I was expecting something a little more…manageable. I have gotten even drowsier from my cold medicine and trying to cut the steak is going to be tricky. Taking a deep breath, I pick up the knife and fork and look for the easiest place to start. When Lucian speaks near my ear, I jerk around, almost stabbing his arm. “Whoa,” he mutters. “Do you need some help there?”

“Yeah, couldn’t you have ordered something easier? My Dayquil or Nyquil or whatever is making this hard.” Holding the silver knife closer, I study the elegant pattern on the handle. “It is pretty, though, isn’t it? Hey look, I can see my reflection in it.” Oh, dear Lord, did I just say that?

Lucian looks momentarily speechless before taking the knife gingerly from my hand. “Let me help you with that. I’ve never been stabbed at dinner before, and I don’t want to start now.” He pulls my plate closer to his and begins cutting the steak into small pieces.

I beam my approval at him, gushing, “You’re my hero.”

Monique notices what he’s doing and sneers. “Luc, really, if you’re going to bring a child to dinner, at least make sure she’s table-trained.”

“Monique,” Lucian responds, a clear warning in his tone.

Monique curls what I have come to think of as her talons around his arm, purring, “I guarantee you won’t have to baby me. I am fully capable of taking care of my needs…and yours.”

I roll my eyes before whispering far too loudly in Lucian’s ear, “Who invited Cruella? Oh, and her tits are totally fake. Rose and I can always spot those.” I giggle to myself at how much Monique reminds me of Cruella Deville from the 101 Dalmatians movie. I doubt Monique has ever seen the movie, so the insult is probably lost on her.

Lucian’s shoulders are shaking and Monique is gaping at me. I shrug and turn to my plate as Lucian puts it back in front of me. Margaret puts an arm around my shoulders and pulls me in for a side hug. “Honey, that woman will probably kill you, but you have just officially become my new best friend. I haven’t enjoyed one of these stuffy dinners this much… well, ever!”

“She’s right, you know,” Lucian says as he slides an arm around the back of my chair. “The viper will want to kill you.” A shiver runs through my body as his fingertips caress the side of my arm. “Did you really take Nyquil?”

Nodding, I say, “I’ve got a cold and I couldn’t stop sneezing. It’s kind of zoned me out, though. We were out of Dayquil, and Rose said Nyquil is the same thing. Do you think it is?”

Lucian lets loose a panty-melting laugh. “I don’t know, but you should have told me that before I poured you a glass of wine. You aren’t supposed to mix cold medicine with alcohol.”

“Whoops, my bad.” He is so warm, and the air in the restaurant has grown chilly. “Mmm, you feel nice,” I murmur against his side as I curl closer. His body heat feels better than a blanket. He smells amazing, and I fight the urge to put my nose against his skin and sniff…or even taste it.

I feel his body stiffen for a moment before he blows out a breath. “Eat your dinner, Lia.” After that, the meal goes by at a fast pace. Lucian keeps a firm arm around me, anchoring me to his side. At one point in the evening, I catch Monique’s eyes boring into me, and I childishly stick out my tongue at the other woman from behind my napkin. Take that, Cruella! When the evening is over, I say goodbye to my new friend Margaret and try to ignore the fact that Monique is giving Lucian a hug that borders on humping. God, the woman seriously lacks class.

As Lucian leads me toward his car, I jerk in surprise as he opens the door for me to precede him into the interior. Shaking my head, I say, “My car is in the parking lot, but thanks for the offer.”

Lucian tightens his grip on my arm, looking down at me. “You aren’t in any condition to drive yourself home, so I’ll drop you. Leave me your keys, and I’ll have your car delivered to your place later tonight.” I resist as he tries once more to steer me into his car. Finally, clearly losing patience with me, he snaps, “Lia, get in the damn car, now!” I am so surprised by his tone that I jump to do his bidding, never questioning his authority until the door closes firmly behind him and he settles his thigh onto the seat next to mine.

“Your address?” I rattle it off, knowing it’s useless to argue. Peeking at him from under my lashes, I wonder if he looks like a serial killer.

“I am perfectly fine, you know.” For some reason, I feel the need to point that out to him, even though we both know it’s not true; there is no way I should be driving myself home.