“I agreed to dinner. I’m not in the mood to stay over.” It’s not just my headache that’s stopping me from spending the night. It’s all this stuff with Carter as well. Until I sort through that, I can’t be intimate with Mark. It wouldn’t be fair on him. Plus it would only confuse matters.
As much as I’ve missed Carter over the years, I can’t believe I’m even contemplating the idea. Mark’s safe. Mark would never break my heart.
It’s around a fifty-minute drive to the restaurant. We end up at an upmarket waterfront restaurant on the North Shore. Usually we eat locally, so I’m surprised that he would bring me here.
My eyes immediately scan the surroundings when we enter. It’s beautiful. The waiters are all dressed in tuxedos. The restaurant is all white, with splashes of black, silver, and a deep cherry red throughout. It screams class and money. I’ve never been to a place so swanky before. I’d hate to see what it costs to eat at a place like this.
“Reservation for two under Thompson,” Marks says to the maître d.
“Right this way,” he replies with a pleasant smile. My eyes are darting around the room as we walk across the restaurant floor, heading towards the outside terrace overlooking the harbour. Mark pulls out my chair when we reach the table. “Thank you,” I say as I take a seat. He places a soft kiss on the top of my head when he pushes my chair in. The maître d spreads a white linen napkin on my lap before making his way around to Mark. I’m not complaining about being here, but again I wonder what the special occasion is.
When we’re alone, he reaches for my hand across the table and I smile at him. He really is easy on the eye. It brings all of my worries to the forefront. Can I really let him go? Can I allow Carter to waltz into my life after being absent for five years and disrupt everything?
“You okay?” he asks. I love how caring he is towards me.
“I am. It’s lovely here. Thank you for bringing me.”
“Only the best for you, sweetheart,” he replies pulling my hand towards his mouth and placing a soft kiss on my knuckles. It makes my stomach churn as guilt consumes me. Again I’m plagued with doubts. Doubts on whether I can give up what I have with Mark for an uncertainty. Doubts if I can let Carter go. Carter shouldn’t even be on my mind when I’m here with Mark, but he is.
When the waiter comes over to take our drinks order, Mark orders a bottle of their finest wine. His mother usually frowns upon me when I drink. “Drinking alcohol isn’t very ladylike,” she has said to me on numerous occasions. A wine here and there never hurt anyone. She can be such a pretentious cow sometimes.
Usually when we’re out with them, which thankfully isn’t very often, I don’t order wine anymore. His mother has a way of making me feel inferior. Like I’m not good enough for her son. Tonight though, I actually welcome the alcohol. It may help me relax a little.
The waiter pours a tiny amount into each glass. I hate how they do that. Mark picks up his glass and swirls the liquid inside before bringing it to his nose. I almost want to laugh. He wouldn’t know the first thing about fine wine since his family are non-drinkers. God, some rich people can be so fake. It’s all a show. It’s a two hundred dollar bottle of wine. How bad could it taste? Finally he takes a sip and nods, so the waiter proceeds to fill both our glasses.
As soon as he walks away, I lift my glass to my mouth and take a huge gulp. “Easy there,” Mark chastises. “It’s expensive wine. You’re supposed to savour the taste, not guzzle it down.” I roll my eyes at him before taking another gulp. I’m not interested in the taste. The faster I drink this baby, the quicker the alcohol will be pulsing through my veins.
“So what’s the special occasion?” I ask. I’m curious. He never usually goes to this much trouble on a date.
“All in good time,” he says with a wink. Great. Now he’s going to make me hang out. I’m not a fan of surprises. He smiles at me before looking over at the maître d’ and nodding his head. What’s he up to? I find out soon enough when a violinist appears at our table. Of course he stands right next to me when he starts to play. It’s not like I hate the sound of the violin or anything, but with this headache it’s like nails on a chalkboard. He may as well be bashing me over the head with the damn thing. It would have the same effect.
Mark reaches for my hand, giving it a light squeeze. I plaster a smile on my face. I don’t want him to think I don’t appreciate the effort he’s making, I do. It’s very sweet. Thankfully, he only plays one song before walking away. “Are you having a nice time?” he asks.