Page 10 of Eat Slay Love

Chapter eight

More to Come

Rae

Fabien rose from his seat, got right next to me, and extended his hand.

I gave him my hand.

Soon, those fingers—long, strong, elegant—curled around mine with a warmth that sent a slow, languid heat through my entire body.

It was a small gesture.

Simple.

Sweet.

But it wrecked me.

Because he didn’t just offer his hand to help me up—he tenderly held it.

His touch wasn’t hurried, wasn’t dismissive, wasn’t the kind of fleeting contact I had grown used to.

No.

This was romantic.

Sensually intentional.

And the moment I rose to my feet, I expected him to let my hand go.

But he didn’t.

Instead, his grip stayed firm, his thumb absentmindedly gliding across my knuckles as he led me forward, guiding me like I was precious.

Like he wanted me close.

And Lord help me, I loved it.

God this is a perfect night.

I couldn’t wait to tell my therapist and even Laila. They both would scream with joy.

What were the odds that I would meet him? Well. . .I am worthy. I am deserving. So. . .he came to me.

The tunnel ahead was bathed in an ethereal white glow, stretching forward like a path into another world.

The other couples moved through it in hushed awe, their steps slow, as if crossing some invisible threshold into magic.

Fabien and I walked together, fingers laced, his presence an anchor beside me.

And for once, I didn’t overthink the way I fit next to him.

I didn’t shrink.

Didn’t second-guess.

Didn’t let the old doubts whisper their cruel nonsense in my ear.

I belonged here.

With him.

And when we reached the end of the tunnel, my breath hitched.

Because—holy shit.

What greeted my eyes wasn’t another dining room, or even a secret chamber.

It was an underground subway station.

What the hell?!

And it wasn’t just any subway station.

The entire thing gleamed—polished marble stretching high and wide, chandeliers dripping light from above, gold inlay shimmering like veins running through the walls.

Unlike a typical New York train system, the tracks were pristine, without a hint of grime or vermin. And the walls had no graffiti.

Now they are just blowing my damn mind!

In front of us stood the most exquisite subway train I had ever seen.

It wasn’t some battered MTA deathtrap—it looked like a train pulled from a billionaire’s fever dream.

Polished steel.

Gilded doors.

Black-tinted windows that concealed whatever awaited inside.

Alright. This might be the dopest restaurant I’ve ever been to.

The other couples were already being led to their private cars by their waiters, disappearing into their own pocket-sized realms of whatever lavish experience was waiting beyond those doors.

And our waitress—the Black woman who had been effortlessly smooth all evening—stood by the last car, smiling knowingly as she gestured us forward.

My pulse pounded with excitement.

This was the kind of experience that rewired a person’s brain chemistry.

I turned to Fabien, barely able to contain my glee, and whispered, “It’s not my job, but I think this alone would confirm the second star.”

Fabien exhaled a quiet laugh, and his thumb traced along my skin. “I absolutely agree.”

Then, with a gentle tug, he led me inside.

And oh. . .the inside of the subway car looked nothing like a subway car.

Instead of rows of cramped seats and metal poles, there was a single, intimate table, positioned near the center, two plush chairs set impossibly close together.

Soft candlelight flickered from sconces along the walls, casting everything in a warm, golden haze.

The air smelled of something decadent, a lingering mix of aged wine and fresh herbs.

And to my shock, a man stood at the head of the car, draped in shadow and mystery.

His long, black leather coat fit snugly over his form, cinched at the waist.

But it was the mask that stole my breath—the long, beaked visage, smooth and expressionless, covering his entire face in an ominous display of old-world intrigue.

A full plague doctor ensemble.

Damn.

Why were masked men so hot?

Maybe it was the anonymity, the way the face—normally a person’s most telling feature—was stripped away, leaving only the mystique, the power, the presence. Maybe it was the sheer drama of it, the way a mask forced us to focus on the body, the gestures.

Either way, I had to absolutely acknowledge that a man in a plague doctor mask was unnervingly attractive.

Still.

I was damn glad I wasn’t doing this part of the experience alone. Because while the luxury, the elegance, the plague doctor, the theater of it all had been dazzling up until now, stepping into a subway car with a faceless man waiting in the shadows?

Yeah. That might have been freaky as hell if I didn’t have Fabien beside me.

Anyway, we both sank into our new plush seats.

Fabien arched a brow at the plague doctor. “Well. This is unexpected.”

The plague doctor gave a deep, theatrical bow, then gracefully lifted the silver dome from the cart before him.

Beneath it was an array of cheeses—delicately cut, perfectly arranged, each one a masterpiece in its own right.

He plated them in silence like some kind of alchemist conjuring gold from the mundane.

Then, without a word, he rolled the cart away, leaving me and Fabien in the hushed stillness of our own private world.

The doors slid shut.

And then—the train began to move with a slow, smooth glide.

This is insane.

As the outside world blurred past the tinted windows, my heart raced in time with the rhythm of the train.

The plush chairs under our bodies were so close that our thighs brushed against each other. Each lingering contact sent a ripple of electricity through me.

And still Fabien held my hand.

The motion of the train was so fluid, so seamless, it felt like we were floating through time itself.

I turned to Fabien. “I’ve never had an experience like this. I feel like a kid in a toy store.”

His lips quirked at the corners, but his gaze remained fixed on me.

Not the train.

Not the luxury.

Not the impossible setting.

Just me.

“This is quite the experience.” He nodded. “But honestly. . .I’m more blown away by you .”

My body heated.

Not just my face.

Not just a polite little blush.

No.

I felt him everywhere.

His words wrapped around me like silk, like the caress of a slow, teasing fingertip running down my spine.

Damn. I want him so bad.

“Well, I guess we should focus on the food too. . .” Frowning, he let go of my hand and went to his plate. “I keep forgetting my actual mission tonight.”

I grinned.

“Rae, you are too enticing.”

My body heated.

I picked up a slice of cheese and slipped it between my lips.

Instead of eating his own cheese, Fabien’s gaze darkened as he watched the way my mouth closed around it.

My stomach tightened, but I forced myself to focus, picking up another piece and setting it onto my tongue.

“Rae,” his voice was low, edged with something I couldn't quite place. “How long will you be in New York this weekend?”

I swallowed the bite, already knowing he wasn’t going to like my answer. “I leave tomorrow. Right at noon.”

His expression shifted, the easy seduction flickering into something closer to frustration. “Tomorrow.”

I nodded, setting my fork down. “Yes.”

He exhaled sharply, lowering his hand onto the table, fingers tapping against the surface. “Why did you decide to make the trip so short?”

“This was just about me splurging on myself for one night.” I shrugged. “Plus, I have another scene to coordinate on Monday, and I like to have a day or two, to refresh and relax before work.”

“Hmmm.”

I arched a brow. “What?”

His jaw flexed slightly before he admitted, “Upon seeing you , I had already planned on canceling my Paris flight for tomorrow.”

I smirked, trying to lighten the mood. “Because you’re starting to love New York that much?”

There was no humor in his face. His green eyes locked onto mine. “So. . .we only have tonight ?”

The weight of those words settled over me.

My pulse skittered. “Yes.”

Fabien exhaled, his frustration restrained, but palpable. Then, after a pause, he straightened. “What were your plans after Alchemy?”

“Well. . .” I tucked a curl behind my ear. “I figured I would just head back to my hotel and pass out.”

“Are you tired?”

“No.”

His lips curved slightly, his eyes running over me with indulgence. “Then. . .spend the rest of the evening with me. Is there something you want to see in New York? Something you’ve always wanted to do?”

I tried to scan my brain for some kind of bucket-list activity, but all I could think about was how badly I wanted him to keep looking at me the way he was now.

My body burned with awareness, but I forced myself to think.

Where should we go?