I dug in, finding it was way yummy, and I did this ignoring Apollo and also ignoring the looks we were getting.
This also happened in the less fine establishments when I was with the boys. My guess was that it mostly had to do with the fact that, even though our clothing was travel-worn, it was all better quality than what most of the populace was wearing.
In other words, no matter what country you were in, we could just say that in this world there was definitely a line between the have and have-nots.
Here, this included Apollo wearing a dark brown thick wool turtleneck sweater that was knit exquisitely and fit his broad shoulders and wide chest perfectly. This topped tight-fitting dark brown wool breeches and (mostly) shined, obviously fine-quality boots. The cloak he unbuckled and tossed carelessly on an unused chair at our table had, on the outside, a dark-tanned hide, and the inside was a silky lustrous dark-brown-to-black fur.
I was wearing a soft green cashmere to-the-floor dress that skimmed my figure perfectly, had a scooped neckline and bell sleeves (which were kind of annoying when trying to eat, but lovely besides), the edges of both having very pretty, delicate pointelle stitching. It also had a thin belt knitted of the same cashmere but with silver threads in that I’d tied so it hung low on my hips.
On my feet, I had on low-heeled but high-rising (to the mid-thigh) buff-colored suede boots lined in cream fur. My cape had a high collar, the hide on the outside a fawn color, the fur on the inside thick luscious cream. I’d taken my cape off, too, but I’d been more careful placing it beside Apollo’s on the chair.
It must be said, of all my clothes in this world, the ones for Lunwyn were the best.
But as we silently drank our wine and ate our food, me avoiding Apollo’s eyes, him, I didn’t know since I wasn’t looking at him, I noticed that here, the attention we were getting wasn’t the fact that we were of the obviously-rare-in-these-parts upper-crust.
No.
As I surreptitiously glanced around, I realized it was something else.
When I caught eyes on me, before they looked away, I saw surprise in some faces. Extreme curiosity in others. Unease in a few.
And I knew.
We were a day away from her home, but I had a not-vague feeling that they knew who Apollo was, and worse, they’d seen him with the other Ilsa. An Ilsa who was supposed to be dead.
An Ilsa who looked exactly like me.
I had not noticed this on the way into Lunwyn. Then again, the men kept me sheltered and there were so many of them about, all of them big, it would have been difficult to note looks like this.
Or maybe I was so engaged with them, I just didn’t notice.
But with both Apollo and I giving each other the silent treatment, I had nothing to do but notice.
My meal finished, I saw his hand raise the wine bottle to my glass and he poured.
I took in a deep breath, and with it calm and control. Only then did I lift my eyes to Apollo.
He was also done with his food. As I watched, he refreshed his glass and set the bottle down. Then he twisted his chair a bit from the table and sat back. After that, he stretched his long legs out in front of him and crossed his feet at the ankle. He nabbed his wineglass, held it before him in both hands and tipped his chin down.
Then he settled.
He appeared to be contemplating his boots.
And it appeared this contemplation was brooding.
Hmm.
He must have felt my eyes because, before I could look away, he turned his head to me.
“The men, they call you Maddie,” he announced.
I briefly considered ignoring him, but for reasons unknown to me, I didn’t.
“Yes,” I confirmed.
“I explained the story we’re telling about you being here,” he stated and I fought looking around to see if anyone was close enough to hear as I nodded. “Obviously, you’ll need a name that’s not Ilsa. Is this what you wish to be called?”
Instantly and strangely, his question lightened something in my chest. It was as if my lungs were twisted but I’d lived with it so long, I didn’t even notice it was making it hard for me to breathe.