Chapter 2 - Look At Me
I didn't answer him.
That was the worst part. He asked it plain and low, and the whole table went still waiting for me, and I just stood there breathing through my mouth.
My tray had gotten heavy. It was just a service tray, empty except for the folded crumber and the extra napkin I'd grabbed in the kitchen so my hands would have something to do, but my left arm started to shake under it. I locked my elbow. I told myself to look at the plate in front of him and not at his face.
He didn't look away.
I had served a lot of men like him before. Men who talked loud when they wanted attention and went quiet when they wanted control. He wasn't doing either one. He was just watching me. His hands were flat on the white tablecloth on either side of his plate, and the ink on his neck moved when he swallowed. He didn't blink.
Beside him, she shifted in her chair.
Vivian. I hadn't known her name during service. We just had table numbers and seat calls. But I'd heard him say it out there in the open, and now I couldn't unhear it. She sat up straighter and lifted her glass a little higher, the stem caught between her fingers, and the diamonds at her ears caught the chandelier light when she turned her head toward him.
The candle in the middle of the table popped. Somebody two seats down set a fork down too carefully.
I forced air in through my nose. I could smell the beef and the rosemary and the wax, and underneath it the bleach from the side towel tucked at my waist. I made my voice come out even.
"I'm fine," I said. "We're clearing for dessert in just a minute."
It sounded thin. I hated how thin it sounded.
Marcus didn't nod. He didn't smile to let me off. His eyes stayed right on mine, firm but not mean, and I understood that he wasn't going to pretend he hadn't seen my face. That scared me more than if he'd raised his voice.
"Emma," he said. Just my name. Quiet.
I glanced down fast, then back up because he'd asked me to look at him and some stupid part of me wanted to do what he said. My eyes were burning again. I blinked and stared at a spot just past his shoulder, at the window light hitting the gold frame of one of the chairs.
Vivian laughed, short and bright. She leaned toward him and touched the rim of her glass lightly against the edge of his water glass. A little clink to pull his attention back.
"Darling," she said. Her voice was smooth. Practiced. "Let her get back to it. We're holding up the whole course."
She flicked her fingers, just barely, toward the kitchen end of the room. A hostess gesture. The dismissal was in the wrist, not the words. She kept the stemmed glass in her hand the entire time. She never set it down.
A couple of the blurred guests behind them started talking again, too loud, like they wanted to cover the hole in the conversation. Silver moved. Somebody cleared his throat.
Marcus finally shifted his gaze, but only for a second, to her. I saw his jaw work. He didn't argue with her. He just looked back at me.
I took that as my chance.
"Excuse me," I whispered.
I stepped back. Half a step. My heel caught a little on the rug under the table and I steadied the tray with my right hand before it could tip. The folded napkin slid an inch. I caught it.
May you like
Nobody else looked at me now. That was almost worse. Vivian was already turning to the woman on her other side, lifting her glass, smiling with her mouth closed. Marcus kept his eyes on me for one more beat, then dropped them to his plate.
I turned and walked toward the hallway door with the tray pressed tight to my side, and I didn't answer his question at all.
