own anything fancy. Plus, the men hadn’t changed and were in casual attire. Still, I couldn’t help but feel a tad bit underdressed and out of place.
In big, bold letters, Café Italia was written against the awning above the restaurant. I’d never been to a fancy restaurant. There was never an opportunity to go. The fanciest restaurant I’d ever been to was at the casino buffet, and that was a comped meal.
A valet attendant opened the back door to Charles’s Range Rover, and I stepped out of the car.
Brad and Mason had driven in a separate car and were right behind us, and I followed the clan.
Everyone’s eyes flipped up to Charles as he led us past the people waiting outside, past the double doors, to the inside, where a sophisticated woman with a red bob holding menus greeted us.
I tugged at Patty’s arm. “Patty, I’m not sure I can afford a meal here.”
She linked my arm through hers. “Don’t worry. Charles takes care of everything.”
I smiled awkwardly, all teeth showing this time. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, honey. You’re officially employed by the Brisken household.”
My attention was forced to the front—to this tall woman with Pantene-sleek chestnut-brown hair in a fitted dress.
“Good evening, Mr. Brisken. Your table is ready. Please follow me.”
I forced myself to stop fidgeting and concentrated on pushing one foot in front of the other. I couldn’t help it. I was a bucket of nerves and totally out of my element in a fancy restaurant in my casual clothing.
As we were escorted to our table, I observed everyone noticing the Brisken men. I couldn’t blame them. They were gorgeous. I mean, when three tall, model-looking, dark-haired, brown-eyed men strolled into Café Italia, everyone—men and women, old and young—openly gawked as we walked past tables to the back of the restaurant.
Maybe they were staring because Brad was carrying Mary or Sarah was knowingly making Mason laugh so loud that it was making everyone turn, but my money was on the fact that this family looked as though they had stepped out of a Gap commercial.
Seriously.
But although the men were stunning in their separate and unique ways, Charles stood out to me. Because his beauty was like that of a god you couldn’t touch. Strong, fierce, powerful.
He didn’t talk often, but when he did, he spoke with authority and strength. Undoubtedly, he’d been groomed for and grown into his position as the CEO of Brisken Printing Corp.
We were led into a private room in the back of the restaurant, which had one long table for twelve people. Appetizers were already set on the table, and when I sat down, two waiters entered, dressed in black button-down shirts and black slacks.
“Sir, would you like your regular drinks and meals today?” he asked, addressing Charles at the head of the table.
“Yes, but we also have a new guest.” Charles motioned to me, and I smiled shakily.
I wasn’t used to attention being called to me. I was used to being in the shadows. To living in the shadows, out of necessity. Just the thought of coming into the light was making me shiver. As soon as that thought pushed through, automatically, my eyes scanned the room, the vicinity, and I zoned in on the exit, like I always did when I entered an unfamiliar area.
“Becky, what would you like to drink?” Charles asked with an air of kindness.
“Just water, please,” I croaked out, apparently having lost my voice in the process of all the attention.
His brows knit together. “You sure?”
“Yes.” I nodded curtly, so he wouldn’t doubt me.
The waiter took out a pad from his back pocket. “And for the meals?”
“Please order our regulars too. Becky?” Charles asked. “Take your time, looking over the menu.”
I swallowed. “I guess you guys come here often.” I flipped open the menu and scanned it quickly. I’d never been in this position, having to choose from my pick of fancy meals. It was fun and also unnerving.
“It’s our favorite restaurant,” Sarah said, taking a cheese stick from the middle of the table.
I ducked my head into the menu in front of me, feeling everyone’s eyes on me. Silence ensued, which made my ears feel impossibly hot.
I lifted my head. “Suggestions, anyone?”
“I like the mac and cheese here,” Mary answered, bouncing on her booster seat.
“I always get the chicken parm, gluten-free pasta, with a side of vegetables. The chicken is baked, not fried,” Mason added.
Brad pointed to me. “Whatever you do, don’t pick that.”
“Try the steak, Becky. It’s