Mine to Keep (NOLA Knights #3) - Rhenna Morgan Page 0,77
bag for her burger. “Well, he didn’t tell me that.”
Cassie shrugged off her coat, a three-quarter length tan trench suitable for the nonstop rain outside, and hung it on the back of one of the kitchen chairs. She rarely wore the fancy suits she’d once worn at the station anymore, but she always had a tailored, classy look about her. Today’s tan jeggings, pretty white cable knit sweater and camel-colored flats were no exception. “It’s not like you’re a prisoner. You’re living here for Pete’s sake.”
“Yeah, but Roman could have told her.” Unlike Cassie, Evie was just as casual as Bonnie, except her jeans were of the skinny variety and she had on navy blue Keds to match her hoodie. She sat in the chair she’d hooked her silver puffer vest on, rested her elbow on the kitchen table and crossed one leg over the other. “If I didn’t know him better, I’d say it sounded like a controlling move, but odds are he’s just scared shitless something else will happen to you without him there.”
“Mmm hmm.” Cassie slid into the chair opposite Evie just as Bonnie slid a plate to the table and settled in the middle spot. “Nothing sits worse with men like ours than powerlessness.”
Men like ours.
Geez. Apparently, Roman wasn’t the only one thinking that they were a long-term done deal. Rather than address it she bit into the burger and moaned. Sweet baby Jesus. Nothing like seriously bad for you fast food to sidetrack reality and a whole lot of unknowns.
“Good grief,” Evie said with a chuckle. “When was the last time Roman fed you?”
“Yesterday,” she said around another mouthful. “The crazy fucker rented out some fancy schmancy French place I can’t even pronounce over in the French Quarter for a late lunch.”
“L’Arpège?” Evie said.
“Yeah, that place.”
“He rented out a restaurant?” Cassie asked. “For lunch?”
“Yep. Not a single other soul there except three waiters and whoever did the cooking. At least not that I saw.”
“Ohhh,” Evie said leaning in and resting her chin on her hand. “I’ve heard that’s an amazing place. Do tell.”
“You haven’t been?” Cassie said.
Evie shook her head. “Nope. Sergei knows I’m not much of a French food fan, and with Olga in the house, it’s not often we go out.”
“It’s insane.” Bonnie crammed a fry in her mouth. “Looks like they used the same decorator as Buckingham Palace. And we went there in jeans.”
Cassie snickered. “I bet that hasn’t happened in their entire history.” She shifted her attention to Evie. “Kir took me there once. Even the bus boys look like they could head out for an interview at a financial firm right after they got off work. Very upscale.” She looked back to Bonnie. “I didn’t think the food was all that, though. What did you think?”
Bonnie shook her head. “No clue. Our meal was a custom order and it definitely didn’t come off their menu.”
“A custom order?” Evie said.
“Yep.” Bonnie swallowed down the last bite of her burger and dusted off her hands over the plate. “He called ahead and told them what my favorite food was and had them make it.”
Both of the women’s eyes widened. “I’m almost afraid to ask,” Cassie said, “but what’s your favorite food?”
“A grilled cheese sandwich.”
Cassie blinked repeatedly.
Evie bit her lip, her smile huge and silent laughter making her whole torso shake. “Seriously? He had some fancy French chef make you a grilled cheese?”
“No, he had them make me three of them. All different variations.”
“Wow.” Cassie crossed both arms on the table and zigzagged her stupefied gaze between Bonnie and Evette. “That’s crazy romantic.”
Her friend was right. It was romantic. Enough so that Bonnie had been too tongue-tied all the way through the meal to argue anymore about the fiancée bit. And once they’d gotten home, he’d employed a far more physical approach to sidetracking any discussions. But damn it, there had to be a catch behind it all. Some gotcha she was missing because she was too glazed over to see good sense.
And she was definitely glazed over. Big time. So much so, she’d caught herself daydreaming a good number of happily-ever-after scenarios. All the frustration and confusion exploded at once and she blurted, “He called me his fiancée.”
Cassie gasped. “He did?”
“Yes.”
“When?” Evette asked.
“Yesterday when we were out running some business errand for him. Right after he’d bought me a three-thousand-dollar coat.”
“He said fiancée?” Cassie said.
“No. Mr. Frannelly said fiancée after Roman said something in Russian. Moya...something. It started with an n.”