Page 56 of Angels Are Falling

I followed him to his car, mumbling, “I’m not even dressed for Virtue & Vine,” under my breath. “I’m in scrubs.”

That part was true. The scrubs would make me stick out like a sore thumb at the fancy restaurant. My parents had drilled dressing the part into me since childhood. I felt uncomfortable whenever I was underdressed. Not that Kai cared about my comfort. It also didn’t affect him since Virtue & Vine would never turn away Kai Cavendish, even if his date wore a potato sack.

Kai pretended not to hear me, unlocked his car, and I ducked into the passenger seat. I buckled my seat belt and became immediately aware of his cologne. It was barely there—hints of bergamot, vanilla, ambergris—and made me want to lean in for another whiff because it reminded me of home.

Suddenly, his fancy car felt too small for comfort, especially since his hand on the gear shift was close enough to brush against my knee every so often.

This was hell.

“Why does Kwon call you Nurse Noble?” he asked as he drove off the lot, seemingly certain of where we were going.

“Because it’s my name,” I said slowly, unsure where the conversation was going.

“Your name,” his words were like venom dripping from a cobra’s fangs, their sharpness hidden behind a veil of calm, “is Amelie Cavendish.”

My coworkers knew I was married to Stefan Noble. There was no way Kai thought I’d use his last name at work. How was I supposed to explain it to them?

“Our prenup was clear on the matter, Amelie.” His voice was devoid of emotion. “Name change is nonnegotiable. Make sure to update your personnel file.”

To hell with him and his prenup. There was only so much he could blackmail me with before he ran out of material. I was legally Amelie Cavendish, and that would just have to be enough for him. I decided against telling him so. I didn’t have the energy for another unnecessary fight.

Instead of responding, I turned toward the window and focused on the passing landscape. I shouldn’t be so surprised that Kai was serious about the name change. Everything about him was traditional and strict. Aside from when he was with the children, he was never joyful. His family was from old money. They probably didn’t laugh too loudly at the dinner table and adhered to old-school values. Once again, it begged the million-dollar question. Why would such a traditional man like him enter a polyandrous marriage?

I glanced at Kai, studying the rigid lines on his face as if the answer was written in his features. I was so distracted that I realized belatedly we were driving in the opposite direction from our destination. “This isn’t the way to Virtue & Vine.”

“You said you’re not dressed for Virtue & Vine.”

I frowned. “Right. But that’s where you wanted to go.”

He lifted his right shoulder. “I changed my mind.”

I glanced at him, perplexed. He could’ve forced me to go, and the restaurant would have made an exception for Kai. Why change his mind?

“Besides,” he added. “I have a better place in mind.”

I didn’t follow up on his sudden change of heart. Kai was far from an open book. He never encouraged questions, and I didn’t care to know him better. Still, I was relieved I wouldn’t have everyone staring at me for wearing scrubs into Virtue & Vine.

Within ten minutes, we had pulled into an unfamiliar parking lot. The restaurant, Brick Oven, was tucked behind a pawn shop and a payday lender, its windows half occluded by curling decals and sun-bleached flyers. It wasn’t a place you expected the richest man in town to frequent.

“This is where you want to eat?” I asked, unable to hide my shock.

“I like their food,” he said matter-of-factly. “And they won’t have a problem with your scrubs.”

I blinked. I hadn’t expected him to make concessions based on my comfort, let alone eat at a place a man of his stature wouldn’t be caught dead in. After my marriage to Kai was finalized, Stefan hadn’t looked back at any of the holes-in-the-wall we enjoyed on our rare nights out. Suddenly, it was all about the “most exclusive” experience. I wasn’t against nice restaurants, but I also enjoyed mom-and-pop shops and establishments without a dress code.

The inside of the restaurant glowed with gold wallpaper and mismatched velvet chairs like relics from a bankrupt theater. The hostess greeted us immediately and showed us to our table, which was wedged under a chandelier. Not a fancy chandelier, but one that looked like it’d been salvaged from a cruise ship. Every glass teardrop was dusted with time, the whole thing buzzing faintly above our heads.

Kai pulled out a chair for me.

As I sat, I caught the same intoxicating bergamot scent of his cologne and sat down faster than necessary. The warmth emanating from him as he stood behind me, mixed with the heady scent, made me dizzy and unnaturally hot. The restaurant’s air conditioning must be malfunctioning.

The waitress greeted us promptly. “Hi, folks. Welcome to Brick Oven. I’m Fiona, and I’ll be your server today. Can I get you started with something to drink?”

I peered over the menu while Kai didn’t bother opening his. How often did he come here?

Though Kai knew what he wanted, he didn’t place an order. Instead, he asked the waitress to give us a minute while I perused the menu. I begrudgingly admitted to loving his old-fashioned manners. Opening doors and pulling out chairs came naturally to Kai. He was painfully polite, though he kept his emotions locked so far below the surface that one would think they didn’t exist.

He didn’t rush me while I studied the extensive menu. I loved Italian food, and there were so many things I wanted to try. When I finally made my drink selection, he flagged down the waitress.