strappy, silver high heels and leave the closet.
As I enter the bedroom, I can't help but pause to look around. It still bugs me that it's almost as if Khristos plucked the image of all the things I want from my head, to make up this bedroom. The fact that he'd nailed down my favorite styles and colors is unsettling.
I think it's time to take more of an initiative where my mom is concerned. I've held out hope that she would contact me, but it's apparent that's not going to happen.
I have two choices. Either accept living with the Deveroux's until I'm eighteen, or find my mom and talk her into taking back guardianship. My mom wins hands down. I can't accept living here with the Deveroux's until I figure out what they're hiding, and that could take a full three months to figure out. I just have this weird feeling that these people are not who they say they are.
Since I have the dinner to attend, I try to shove my suspicions out of my head and focus on securing my hair into a simple knot at the nape of my neck. When I feel that I am ready, I make my way downstairs.
Five minutes later I am carefully slipping into the backseat of a limousine as Trace holds the door open for me. Khristos is already seated on the opposite side as Roman slips in behind me, settling in a seat close to my own. I smile politely at Khristos, feeling a brief moment of relief that I'd guessed correctly about what to wear for the evening. Khristos is wearing a dark, gray suit, and Roman is wearing dark pants and a matching long-sleeved dress shirt. Both of them look like they've stepped off a fashion runway.
There's a moment of awkward silence as the limousine starts up and begins to make its way down the driveway. Khristos's phone rings from within the depths of his suit pocket, and he frowns briefly before pulling it out. He glances at the number, and his eyes flicker to first me and then Roman. “I apologize, but I must take this call.”
Roman waves his hand as if he could care less. “Go for it.”
Khristos begins to speak into the phone but not in English. I wonder what language it is. It's not Spanish. At least not that I can recognize. Is it French? Italian?
The rest of the ride to Minneapolis is uneventful. Roman doesn't try to carry on a conversation with me, since Khristos stays on the phone right up until we arrive at a classy restaurant. When he realizes we've reached our destination, he quickly says something into the phone and pockets it. He then apologizes to us before the limo door opens and Trace is there.
As soon as we walk into the restaurant, I want to walk right back out. The place is elegant, and soft instrumental music fills the dining room we are led to. The walls are a rich, cream color with white, decorative crown moldings along the ceiling. Two large, crystal chandeliers hang over the room. The atmosphere is intimate, because the lighting has been dimmed now that it’s late evening. I note that the restaurant is busy, and there's a quiet hum of conversation along with the clinking of silverware. We are immediately led to a table on the opposite side of the room, and I can’t help but glance around a bit nervously. There are a few sculptures in front of the windows, giving the place an airy artistic feel. Rich paintings adorn some of the walls but not all, so as not to seem too cluttered with décor.
After sitting down in a plush, gray chair that is politely pulled out for me, I spy the numerous pieces of silverware next to each plate. I can't help but inwardly cringe. In my mind, I'm envisioning the dining scene from Pretty Woman. Hopefully, I won't be making a fool out of myself tonight.
My eyes nearly pop out of my head when I scan the menu. First, I don’t really recognize the foods listed. Second, the prices are ridiculous.
I’ve never been to a restaurant that serves an honest to God first course. The only thing I recognize is lobster, so I awkwardly order the sweet corn agnolotti with poached lobster, creamed spinach and curry. For my main entrée, I flush slightly as I order the grilled beef tenderloin with pine nut panisse, cauliflower and za’atar. It’s the