18. Courses on a tasting menu

EIGHTEEN

#1 Amuse boosh. Also wtf is that??

"You can do this," I whispered to myself. "It's just another part."

Four days, two shifts at Diamonds, plus my regular shifts at Opal later, I stood outside the blue-doored entrance of Per Se on Friday night. The shopping center at Columbus Circle was yet another New York semi-landmark I'd never entered, and it was clear walking through it that it was yet another place for people who made more in one day than I'd ever hope to earn in my life.

At least I had a little extra cash in my purse. Clutch? Baguette? I honestly didn't know what to call the little gold thing hanging from my wrist. It barely held my phone, ID, and what was left of the wad of cash I'd made this week.

I'd served two full shifts, and both had gone well. Kyle had promised to bring me on to serve at his game nights with Rochelle. That was apparently where the big money came in. Meanwhile, I could continue serving at Diamonds any other night I liked.

It wasn't the greatest work in the world. The customers were handsy, my knee was sore after too many simple yet taxing twists on customers' knees, and I had to give almost half of what I'd made back to the house at the end of the night. But the extra money had paid for a classy soap manicure like my sister-in-law Nina preferred, plus a blow-out at a swanky salon near Nathan's apartment. I'd also had my eyebrows threaded, watched about a dozen YouTube videos on table settings, and felt about as prepared for tonight as I could be.

Deep breaths, I told myself. Just like you were about to go on stage.

I pulled at the hem of the silk dress, so dark green it was almost black, that slithered down to my knees, revealed my shoulders with a demure boatneck, and showed a hint of leg through a slit that ran only a few inches up one thigh. My jewelry was simple. I'd traded the hoops and costume jewelry for the gold studs that had first pierced my ears at ten, paired with the simple gold chain and St. Mary medallion I'd received for my confirmation. More YouTube tutorials produced a simple French twist that was a lot harder to achieve than it looked and clean makeup instead of the dark liner and lash extensions I probably would have chosen on my own.

If this was another performance, then my character was the ingenue making her debut in high society. But the conservative fit somehow made me feel more naked than anything I'd worn on stage. Even at Diamonds.

And this little dinner with Nathan's colleagues was only a dress rehearsal for the gala I was supposed to attend with his entire family in another few weeks.

I opened the clutch and pulled out the little red book Nathan had given me. On the sixth page was the first list I'd written for tonight.

Things to do at dinner as Nathan's pretend GF

1. Think before you speek. dont talk about shit you dont understand.

2. Also dont swear so much. BE A LADY.

3. Keep your elbows off the table.

4. Dont spill anything on these Fancy cloths in case he wants to return them.

5. Good postur. Walk like the dancer you used to be ARE.

All good advice, most of which came from internet searches on "how to go to a society dinner," which led me down a rabbit hole of finishing school websites and TikToks about debutantes.

There was a lot about curtsying and people wearing books on their heads. I figured I could at least handle the posture. The rest of the rules I'd cobbled together the best I could.

"Just do it," I mumbled to myself.

Like it was waiting for me to quit stalling, the doors opened as a few diners exited.

Well, that was my cue.

I strode into the restaurant like I owned it, conscious of the turning heads (most of them belonging to men) as I made my way toward the bar on the far side of the neutrally decorated space dotted with linen-covered tables and views of Central Park. The place was crowded—every table was full, and the bar itself was jammed with people, even at only six thirty. The elegant notes of a grand piano being played in the far corner floated over the crowd, creating the perfect atmosphere of ease and elegance.

For the first time, I understood why Nathan had insisted on the new wardrobe—and was eternally grateful. Everyone in the restaurant also dripped money. If I'd shown up here in my jeans and Vans, I probably would have been given a dollar and sent to sit on the sidewalk with the other panhandlers.

I searched the crowded bar and eventually spotted Nathan sipping on what I would have bet was a soda water and lime out of a rocks glass. No scrubs tonight—of course, why would there be? Instead, he was wearing one of the countless pairs of wool pants he preferred for clinic days. This time with a matching suit jacket, tailored perfectly to those big shoulders, over a light blue shirt that complemented his eyes and a dark blue plaid tie. He was facing another man who was speaking, nodding every so often while he listened.

There was something missing, though. When he came to my bar, Nathan was generally so much quieter than he appeared to be here. When we weren't making idle conversation, he generally just sat with his overpriced scotch in front of him and studied everything and everyone around him, making no attempt to hide his interest.

Now, I saw none of that intense attention on his face. If anything, he looked like I probably did when I was forcing myself to pay attention in class, knowing the information was going in one ear and out the other, and unable to do anything to help it.

Because he was faking it, I realized. The interest, the slightly stiff smile, the courteous nods. I didn't know how I knew he was putting on as much of a show as I was, but I did. Which made me wonder how often Nathan felt like he had to be someone he wasn't just to fit in. Just like me.

And you know what? I kind of hated it.

I wanted my Nathan. The one who couldn't care less if people thought he was cold or slightly off. The one who only asked questions when he was truly interested and stopped talking completely if he wasn't.

I liked the Nathan who was one hundred percent genuine and didn't feel the need to hide his idiosyncrasies. Especially since I liked those too.

I raised a hand, trying to get his attention. "Nathan!"

The man he was speaking to turned with him and mouthed "Wow" before nudging Nathan in the arm. A few other people around them also turned to see who was calling out—two other men standing next to women in outfits even more elegant than mine, plus another woman with bobbed brown hair standing just beside Nathan, who didn't seem to be attached to anyone.

Though she was looking at me like she wasn't particularly happy I'd shown up.

Showtime.

"Hi, babe," I said as I strode up to my fake-boyfriend and laid a kiss on his cheek. "Sorry I'm late. I couldn't get a cab."

That wasn't technically untrue. Since I couldn't afford a cab, I couldn't really get one. It was kind of funny watching the reactions of people on the subway. People who wore clothes like this didn't take public transportation.

"Oh, I completely understand," said a blond woman I assumed was someone's wife, judging by the diamonds circling her left ring finger. "It's just murder getting across town this time of day, even just coming down Park. See, George, this is why I think we should have our own driver."

I congratulated myself on my excellent improv. Scene One in the Tale of Nathan Hunt's Girlfriend: establishing common ground with the rich and impatient. My first leading role, and I was already killing it.

Nathan, however, was forgetting his lines.

Instead, he was still staring at me. His eyes had lost that look of faux interest as they traveled over my clothes and my hair, lingering a half-second longer on my exposed shoulders. His mouth had also fallen open. Just a little.

I preened like a freaking swan.

Yeah, spending a few nights at Diamonds was definitely worth that exact reaction.

"Nate," said the man standing next to us. "How about an introduction to your lady friend?"

"Showtime," I whispered into Nathan's ear and turned to flash my brightest grin at his friend. "Sorry, I just couldn't wait to see this one."

I wasn't sure why he used my full name. Maybe it was just easier to keep my character straight. Or maybe it was the fact that Nathan said he liked the way it rolled off his tongue.

Nathan cleared his throat. "Ah, yeah. Giovanna. My, um, girlfriend."

"Joni," I corrected, then purred, "This one's the only one who calls me Giovanna. And that's only when he's flirting with me. Isn't that right, babe?"

"Can't blame him for trying," the man said as he stretched a hand toward me. "I'm Jordan."

Nathan seemed to wake up at the sight of Jordan's hand touching mine. "Yes, I apologize. Joni, this is Jordan Palmer, one of the chief surgeons at my practice, and his wife, Tracy. The others are Boon and his wife, Adele; that's Dwight and his fiancée, Reagan; and this is Charlotte Mueller, our newest surgeon."

As Nathan gestured toward each person now standing around us in a semicircle, they offered a polite nod or smile. All except the final woman—the one with the neat brown bob—who only barely managed a tight grimace.

"Wonderful to meet all of you," I said with another smile. "Nathan has told me so much about you."

One of Nathan's brows arched at that, but he didn't correct the obvious lie.

"So what do you do…Joni?" asked Charlotte. "We haven't heard a thing about you."

"Oh, I'm looking for a new position, actually," I said. "Right now, I'm working at?—"

"Joni's in recovery after an injury," Nathan put in before I could finish. "Before that, she was in Chicago."

"On Broadway?" asked the woman named Reagan. "Oh, that's such a good show!"

I nodded with a smile, ignoring the tightness in my chest at the mention of it. "Yes, it is."

"It must be so exciting to dance on Broadway," said one of the other women, whose name I had already forgotten. Drat. "You must be very talented."

I opened my mouth to say I really didn't know, since I hadn't even made it to my first performance when my knee decided to break, but Nathan stepped in again.

"I think our table's ready," he said. "The ma?tre d' is waving us over."

The little party immediately followed a host, who started leading them to our table. Nathan and I followed, and I took a moment to hang back.

"FYI?" I whispered into his ear as we walked. "Boyfriends usually touch their girlfriends. A little PDA isn't just for department store clerks."

That brown brow lifted again. It did funny things to my insides. "PDA?"

"You know, public displays of affection." I smiled. "Just a little since they're your coworkers. No need for full tongue. But they're not going to believe we're actually involved if you don't touch me at all." I nodded toward one of the doctors. "See the way he has his hand on his wife's back, guiding her around? I bet he lets it rest on the back of her chair when they sit down too. Maybe plays with her hair if he likes her a lot. That sort of thing."

Nathan seemed to look around the rest of the restaurant as if searching for further evidence. He'd find it, of course. It was a fancy place, but when couples weren't eating, they were generally touching, at least a little. The ones who weren't…well, they'd probably been together for eons or were on their way out.

"And women like that?" he asked.

I nodded. "Most, probably. I know I do. Just like they like being told they're pretty when they make an effort or petted like a cat."

He blinked but didn't hide his smile. "Like a cat?"

I shrugged. "Don't blame a Leo for being a lion, man. We like to be the stars of the show. All you need to do is pet me and tell me I'm pretty, and I'll be yours forever. Sad but true."

The smile quirked. "I'll keep that in mind."

His palm found the small of my back, fingers touching my spine. A shiver went straight up it as he guided me through the restaurant with a strong propriety, not unlike my dance instructor had in the sixth grade when I took a year of ballroom just for the fun of it.

I didn't know if Nathan Hunt knew how to dance, but if he did, I was willing to bet he was a hell of a lead.

"And you look very beautiful, by the way." His voice rumbled beside my ear as he pulled a chair out for me. "I would have said it earlier, but I thought I'd lost my voice."

He pulled out a chair, and I sat, but not before Nathan captured my hand and pressed a kiss on my knuckles. His breath was warm, and my insides danced again.

"Better?" he murmured as he took a seat beside me.

I smiled. "You're a quick study, boyfriend."

If I wasn't mistaken, those chocolatey eyes definitely twinkled.

I decided that maybe this whole pretend relationship gig wouldn't really be that hard. Then I looked at the menu and barely understood a thing.

Quail eggs. Foie gras. Wagyu.

It was a foreign language.

This was what it meant to be a part of high society? What was wrong with pasta and salad?

"Oh, there's one," I murmured with relief as I spotted something familiar. "Okay, I'll try that."

"What's that?" Nathan asked.

I pointed to the rigatoni. And uni with truffled black pearls, whatever those were. Anything was good with pasta.

Nathan glanced at the item, then looked up at me. "Oh. Actually, it's a tasting menu, so you'll get to try everything. They just give you this so you know what's coming."

"Oh."

I went back to studying the menu again. I wasn't able to get through it as fast as everyone else, so I set it down, not wanting questions about why Nathan's dumb date couldn't read a menu without murmuring the words to herself or tracing the lines with one finger. I did, however, spot a number at the bottom. One that made my mouth drop open.

"Nathan," I whispered when everyone else was busy chattering about their latest stock portfolio or whatever rich people like to discuss.

He turned to me again. "What?"

A few of his colleagues looked at me curiously. I didn't want to embarrass him, so I pointed at the number.

"It's…a lot," I said quietly. "And that's per person?"

He nodded.

I gulped. "Are you sure we can afford this?"

To his credit, Nathan didn't laugh. He didn't even smile. He just examined me for a moment, then plucked the menu from my hands and set it on the plate in front of me.

"Just enjoy yourself," he said as he slid his arm around my chair.

His fingers grazed my neck, toying with the curl that I couldn't quite keep pinned in place.

I shivered again. And not unpleasantly.

"Welcome to Per Se," said the server who had just arrived at the table. "I see some of you already have drinks, but can I refill a few cocktails or get anyone a different beverage?"

"We'll probably get a bottle or two for the table if there is something you'd recommend with the menu tonight," said one of the doctors. Shoot, I couldn't remember his name.

"Giovanna would like something," Nathan said. "A vodka soda—" He broke off and turned to me. "Isn't that right?"

I couldn't help my grin. He'd remembered. Not just my drink, but to ask.

I nodded. "Yes, please."

"Top shelf," Nathan said to the server, who left before I could protest that the house vodka was just fine for me.

But maybe that wasn't just fine for Giovanna. She would have been used to the finer things in life.

"Doesn't it look good?" said the woman whose name was…Reagan. Yes, that was it. "I've been dying to come here ever since this one told me about it."

"I don't know," said the woman named Charlotte, who was looking kind of bored as she peered around the restaurant. "I was kind of disappointed we couldn't find a table at Chez Miso."

"It's been booked solid since it opened," said Jordan. Yes, that was his name. "I've been having Brenda call weekly."

"I could probably get you a table there," I put in. "I'll just call the owner. The food is super good—totally worth trying."

The entire table swung toward me, more than one mouth agape.

"You know Xavier Parker?" asked the one I thought was named Boon.

I nodded as the server set down my drink. "He's married to my sister."

The rest of the jaws dropped. Besides Nathan's, that is, though the fingers at my nape had stilled.

"The Duke of Kendal is your brother-in-law?" asked Reagan.

I nodded again. "You know who he is?"

"Honey, everyone knows who Xavier Parker is," Charlotte put in like I was an idiot. "He was the toast of the city last year."

I didn't like her tone.

The divot between Nathan's brows appeared.

Charlotte continued. "My mother couldn't stop talking about him for months after he ran off with—I mean, reconnected with your sister. A teacher, isn't she?"

I flushed. This was kind of odd. Frankie had told me that she and Xavier were a hot topic of conversation and that more than one stuffy uppercruster had hated on her and Sofia, my little niece, since she and Xavier got back together. I'd just assumed it was happening on the other side of the pond and New York was safe for them.

Apparently not.

"Our parents know his stepmother, Georgina," Charlotte informed Nathan. "Huntwell Farms provided a stud for her horses a few years ago, remember?"

Nathan shook his head. "Spencer manages the breeding operation. I wouldn't have met her."

Races? Breeding? Mothers?

What in the crazy horse farm was Nathan's life?

And why hadn't he told me about Annie-Get-Your-Man in his office?

"It's crazy, I know," I said. "He and my sister had a fling years ago. Then he went back to England, she had his baby, they ran into each other at a party five years later, and abra-ca-damily, there's your new family. They got married last year, and I'd be stupid jealous if I didn't love my sister so much. But Xavier is crazy about her. They are legit fire together."

I turned to find Nathan watching me closely and mouthing "legit fire" to himself with an adorable smile.

"Right?" I said with a knowing glance.

After all, if we were in a relationship, he would know these things.

That seemed to pull him out of whatever trance he was in. "Oh, right, yes. They are very happy."

Charlotte looked between us. "I'm surprised you never mentioned you have a new connection there, Nate. Your parents must be thrilled."

She did not sound like she enjoyed that particular possibility.

"That's amazing," Reagan said whole-heartedly. "What a fairy tale, huh, hon?" she asked her fiancé, the one named Dwight.

He was quiet like Nathan. I hadn't yet heard him say a word. Her, though, I liked.

"It really was," I said. "She's expecting their second this spring."

As if on cue, the wives and girlfriends at the table all broke into a chorus of oohs and aahs while their men eyed me curiously as if to wonder about the genetic code I carried that attracted someone like Xavier Parker.

I didn't tell them I was nothing like my sister except for the dark hair and green eyes. Frankie was petite and curvy, while I was taller and almost too thin. She was bookish, smart, and could offer far more in conversation with these people than I'd ever be able to. Of course, she fit into Xavier's world. That was where she belonged in the first place.

Unlike me.

But tonight, apparently, you wouldn't know it. I was killing with this crowd. Well, most of them, I thought as I caught Charlotte giving me the evil eye.

I just smiled sweetly and took a drink of my cocktail.

"We tried to get the head chef to cater the Brooklyn Museum benefit," said the blond lady whose name I thought was Stacy. Or Pacey. Crap. "Maybe you can ask your brother-in-law about that too."

"Oh, I've been to that benefit!" I exclaimed.

Maybe I was a little too eager, but I was honestly just excited that I actually had something in common with these people.

Again, a table full of surprised looks turned my way.

"Well, not as a donor," I admitted when even Nathan looked doubtful. "I was in the dance company that did a production of Giselle as flowers." I grinned at Nathan. "I was the peony."

His mouth had fallen open in the most adorable way while he looked me over as if with new eyes.

"Your favorite," he said.

I grinned. "You remembered."

Nathan picked up my hand and feathered his soft lips over my knuckles without breaking his gaze. "I'd never forget."

"I remember that too!" the blond woman put in. "Oh, you were exquisite! No one in the room could even speak while you did your solo. Nathan, have you ever seen her dance?"

Nathan's eyes didn't move from me while he replied. "I have."

I bit back a smile. The fact that it had only been on a platform before I literally fell into his arms was our private joke.

"And she is exquisite," he agreed.

It was a fake compliment. I knew that. A complete and total farce.

But every cell in my body seemed to shimmy with pleasure in response to it.

"Where did you study?" Charlotte interrupted our little moment. "A conservatory, I assume? That is, if you're so accomplished."

Her face was pleasant, but I could hear the snarl in her voice. Even if no one else seemed to.

"Ah, no," I said. "I grew up in the city, so I learned mostly at local spots. I've been auditioning since I was twelve or so, though."

"Did you attend LaGuardia?" asked the blond woman, who, even if she was nosy, was reasonably nice. At least her interest was genuine.

"Tracy, don't pester the girl," chided her husband, whose name I barely remembered was Jordan. "I apologize. She's like a child with a new puppy. Just crazy about the arts."

"That's okay with me," I said, though my face was growing hot with everyone's eyes on me. For some reason, this felt harder than the thirty-two fouettes in Swan Lake. "Um, no. I studied mostly at a studio near Fordham. And later worked with some teachers in Harlem, too."

"The Bronx, really?" said Jordan to his wife and really everyone else at the table. "I suppose there's more than meets the eye to this one, isn't there? Congratulations, Nate. You've really found yourself a rose out of concrete."

Was the compliment more than a little condescending?

Yes.

Did I still beam?

Absolutely. More because Nathan was still watching me with admiration. And that meant more to me than what any of these people would ever have to say.

On the other side of the table, Charlotte eyed me a second longer than was comfortable before taking a long sip of her wine.

"Giovanna is full of surprises," Nathan said. "That's one of my favorite things about her."

He brushed a hair out of my face, pulling my gaze back to his as his finger lingered around my jaw. To my surprise, I found humor there. And something else I'd only ever seen on the faces of a few men, all of them in my family: my grandfather, my brother, and my two brothers-in-law. And only when they were looking at their wives.

Adoration.

It almost made me drop my glass, so I took another sip of the impossibly smooth vodka instead.

"Lucky bastard," said Jordan to one of the other doctors, who chuckled in response.

I didn't know who it was. I couldn't look away from Nathan's warm gaze.

Nor, it seemed, could he look away from mine.