"Why" is my question.
Why did you leave? Why didn't you wait until I was out of surgery? Why didn't you dump me face-to-face? I deserved better than a fucking cardboard box.
When the nurse brought it into my room-apparently Ava left it with the receptionist-it was like the planet fell away from under me. Everything I'd ever given her was inside it-the clothes, the accessories, the fob to the fucking Lexus. Turning away from the nurse, I clutched my chest with a trembling hand as my heart pumped icy bitterness through my veins.
"Dinner," I grate out.
"What?"
"We should have dinner."
She stares at me dumbly.
"Or we can stand here all evening long." My left leg throbs. I ignore the pain.
Suddenly she looks away. "Your date must be waiting."
For a moment, I don't understand. Then I laugh dryly. "I'm here alone."
Her gaze darts back to my face, her face registering shock and something that makes the hair on the back of my neck bristle.
Suddenly the need to corner her grows more urgent. "Dinner."
Letting her gaze slide from my face, she tries to pull away. I change my hold and grab her wrist. I haven't flown for over thirty hours to lose her now. If she's trying to solicit help, that's not working either. People aren't interested in what's going on around them. They're either minding their own business or too busy staring into their smartphones.
Her pulse flutters wildly against my palm. "Fine. Dinner."
She's still not looking at me. Why not? She used to hold my gaze for hours when we were together.
She tugs. "Let go."
"I'm not letting you go."
She lets out a slow shaky breath. I recognize that tell. She only does it when she's nervous or trying to make a very difficult decision.
"Do you have a place in mind?"
I look around and see a bunch of restaurants back on the Night Bazaar side of the street. They're busy but not full.
"There." I jerk my chin. "We can go to any one of them."
Her mouth tightens. "Slumming again?"
A corner of my lips lifts in a sardonic smile. How she's changed … I like that. At least this version is honest.
"One of the restaurants at Le Meridien then."
I half drag her to the hotel, which is right on the street. The security guards smile and greet us, and I wave at them with a grin as though dragging an unwilling woman inside is an everyday occurrence.
The second we step through the four imposing columns of the main entrance, we're plunged into a cool air-conditioned environment. The lobby is contemporary and chic with warm colors and shiny stone finishings. Lots of plushy armchairs and tables are positioned for relaxation and small, impromptu meetings.
A crisply uniformed concierge welcomes us with a friendly smile, palms together in a typical Thai greeting. I nod. "What are your dining options?"
She asks what we want, and I tell her anything is fine, but ideally something nice and expensive, emphasis on expensive. I pull Ava closer and put an arm around her shoulders. She feels thin … much too thin for my taste. Why the hell is she so frail?
"My date adores good food," I say in a saccharine voice.
"Well." The concierge shoots me a quick smile for indulging my significant other and recommends Favola on the second floor. Contemporary Italian made with Royal Project organic produce.
I give Ava a look. Does this sound sufficiently gourmet and high class?
She looks away again, which only makes me more determined.
One of the staff leads us to the restaurant. It isn't that busy, so we're seated immediately at a table past a glass wine cellar that occupies the center of the dining area. The host pulls out a cream-colored chair for Ava, and she sits down with forced good grace. A server comes over and gives us two menus on the table made with wood as dark as that used for the flooring.
"Would you like something to drink, sir?" he asks.
"Water. Plus … " I gesture at the racks of wine carelessly. "A Pinot Noir No. 3 if you have it." Ava reaches for the menu, and I smile. "And we know what we want."
Her chin snaps upward. "I haven't ha-"
"The most expensive appetizer," I say, pinning her with my eyes. "The most expensive entrée. And the most expensive dessert."
"Certainly, sir." The waiter confirms our order, shooting a quick glance in Ava's direction, whose face is now bright red, and vanishes.
"That was uncalled for." Her voice is barely audible, but the force of anger underneath is formidable.
I lean back expansively in my seat. "Sue me."
Our server brings out a large bottle of water and fills our glasses. Then he runs back within a minute with our wine and lets me taste. When I nod, he pours for us then disappears again.