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“This is an interesting place,” I whispered, leaning closer to him. “Have you been before?”
He nodded. “Only once.”
“What do you fancy?” Eliza asked.
“The lady will have Booker’s straight up,” Brand responded. “And I’ll have mine on ice.”
I nearly laughed out loud. He really did know me so well. Booker’s was definitely my favorite bourbon, and unlike him, I’d never bastardize it by having it over anything that would eventually melt and water it down.
After we’d finished our drinks, the same man who’d escorted us inside appeared to lead us to the dining room. Admittedly, I was a little uncomfortable that Typhon hadn’t said a single word and Brand hadn’t said much more.
“I’m sorry Eliza and I are monopolizing the conversation,” I whispered as we made our way up the same set of stairs we’d come down.
“Don’t be,” he said, kissing my cheek.
We walked into a room where a fireplace was lit and the lone table was set for four.
When the man walked out and closed a set of pocket doors behind him, both Brand and Typhon looked as though they let out a breath they’d been holding.
“I understand you were one of the galleries affected by the bloody Sicilians,” said Typhon.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Brand flinch.
“That’s right,” I said, rather than react to the news Brand hadn’t shared. I doubt he’d thought he could, so I’d hardly hold it against him.
Brand pulled out my chair and, as I took a seat, leaned in. “I love you, Butterfly.”
When he sat beside me and scooted closer, I reached for his hand.
“How nice that they have a private dining room,” I commented.
“Yes, quite convenient. Particularly when one doesn’t want to run into adversaries,” Typhon mumbled.
Eliza nudged him, his cheeks flushed, and he smiled. Later, when we were alone, I’d ask Brand if he knew what they were referring to.
“I was happy to hear you’d be joining us this evening.” Typhon spoke directly to Brand, who was seated across from him.
“What are you doing for Christmas?” Eliza asked.
“Something quiet at the flat.”
“You could join us if you’d like. It’ll just be the four of us.”
“Four?”
“My cousin, his wife, Typhon, and me.”
“Do you mean Saint?” Out of the corner of my eye, I could swear Typhon grimaced.
“They don’t get on,” Eliza leaned forward, cupped her mouth, and whispered.
“It’s hardly a secret, El,” said Typhon.
“But they’ve promised to try. For me. An armistice, if you will.”
Eliza smiled, but based on her date’s reaction, there wasn’t anything amusing about his lack of a relationship with her cousin.
“I want you to know you’ll have our support,” Typhon said later in the evening when we were getting ready to leave our private dining room.