Page 11 of Eat Slay Love

Chapter nine

Plans

Rae

I swallowed, my brain short-circuiting under the weight of what I really wanted to say.

Because the truth of what I wanted to do after this dinner. . .

The truth was reckless .

The truth was heat pooling between my thighs , my body already humming with the certainty of what I wanted to do.

I wanted to go back to his suite.

I wanted to see just how much of that quiet intensity would translate into touch, into movement, into the kind of pleasure that had been nothing more than a distant memory.

Ten years . Should I end my celibacy tonight?

But I also knew better.

I knew how easy it was to confuse attraction with something deeper, how temptation could masquerade as fate.

And despite how wildly my body disagreed, my mind whispered. . .

Be smart. Be patient. Learn him first.

Therefore, I scrambled for an alternative activity, my thoughts running through possible things we could do—things that weren’t him pressing me against a penthouse window, his hands on my thighs, his mouth on my skin, his cock pounding into me.

Museums?

Closed.

Rooftop bars?

Maybe, but I didn’t want to be surrounded by a crowd.

Jazz club?

That could be intimate, but I didn’t want to hear music, I wanted to hear him .

I chewed on my lip, debating my options, when Fabien leaned in slightly, his voice low and amused. "Tell me what you're thinking."

I hesitated, but his gaze held me there, steady, patient. "The things that keep coming up in my mind are probably closed or are going to close soon."

"Tell me anyway."

“I’ve always wanted to see The Metropolitan Museum of Art.” I exhaled. “But it’s closed.”

A slow smirk touched his lips. “The Met?”

“Yes, but it’s closed.”

“That doesn’t matter.”

I blinked. “What?”

“Hold on.” Fabien pulled out his phone and began typing something with casual confidence.

I let out a breathy laugh. “What are you doing?”

“I know people.”

I rolled my eyes. “Of course, you do.”

Seconds later, a soft buzz from his phone filled the air.

He read the responding message and then nodded. “Good.”

My brows furrowed. “Good?”

“My friend says we can visit this evening, but we are not to touch any of the exhibits.”

My mouth opened, but nothing came out. “Your friend?”

“Jonas,” he said smoothly, slipping his phone back into his pocket. “He’s an Austrian art historian and the current CEO and Director of The Metropolitan Museum of Art.”

I stared at him in shock. “Oh.”

Fabien tilted his head slightly, watching my reaction with amusement. “I just told him that I had a very gorgeous woman that I wanted to utterly impress and asked if he could do me a favor and let me give her a personal evening tour of The Met.”

Once again, all I could say was, “Oh.”

He leaned forward, and his voice was warm with mischief. “Will you let me take you there?”

My breath hitched. “Yeah.”

“Perfect.” His smirk deepened. “I’ll make sure to grab a bottle of Chateau d’Yquem—perfect for viewing art with.”

“So. . .we’re just going to go to The Met tonight, after hours?” I asked, half-laughing, half-in shock.

“Of course.” He winked. “I told you. I’m basically an international spy.”

I laughed, shaking my head. But excitement coiled through me, wrapping around my ribs and tightening in the best way.

And suddenly, I saw it. . .

The two of us, walking hand in hand through dimly lit hallways, glasses of expensive wine in our hands. The soft echo of our voices filling the vast empty museum, our laughter mingling with the silence, bouncing off marble and shadow.

Sometimes, his hand would be at the small of my back as we moved through halls of priceless exhibits.

It was intoxicating.

It was romantic.

And God… I never wanted to wake up from this dream.

The train slowed, pulling into a station carved from marble and gold, but I barely noticed.

I was too lost in him.

Our cars’ doors slid open.

Cosmo’s voice rang out through the speakers within our car. “This next course is all about transformation.”

The waitress entered our car, placing the dish before us.

I looked down—and my breath caught.

The plate was art.

A culinary masterpiece mirroring the metamorphosis of a butterfly.

At the base of the dish, a velvety swirl of dark truffle mousse represented the egg, rich and earthy, its texture impossibly smooth.

Resting just above it, a delicate arrangement of herbs and microgreens cradled a caterpillar—a tender roulade of lobster wrapped in a thin veil of saffron-infused pasta, its shape mimicking the gentle curve of a larva inching forward.

The buttery scent of the dish was intoxicating, promising indulgence with every bite.

Higher up, a perfectly crisped crostini—golden, airy, its surface glistening with the lightest brush of truffle oil—formed the chrysalis.

And at the very top, the butterfly—a breathtaking creation of spun sugar and edible gold.

Those wings shimmered.

Cosmo’s voice filled the space again. “Transformation is the heart of alchemy. The shedding of what was. The rebirth into something new. This dish is a tribute to that—to the cycles we move through, to the beauty of change.”

I swallowed hard, something about his words struck a chord deep within me.

Fabien picked up his fork. “Let’s see what transformation tastes like.”

I mirrored his movements, lifting my utensil. My fingers brushed his for the briefest moment.

Then—I took a bite.

Pleasure.

Pure, unadulterated pleasure.

I continued on trying everything with absolute enjoyment.

So many different flavors danced on my tongue—rich, decadent, surprising. The mousse melted into the crisp bread, the perfect savoriness of the lobster, the layers unfolding with depth, the sweetness of the sugar butterfly dissolving into something almost otherworldly.

When I took a bite of the chrysalis, I realized the interior was whipped brie and wildflower honey.

After that, time just swept by and the subway train glided forward, carrying us through a journey of flavors, mystery, and seduction.

With every course that arrived at a new station that we stopped at, I felt myself slipping deeper into the surreal magic of this night.

First came the Black Mirror , a dish so mesmerizing I barely wanted to touch it. A small, shimmering sphere sat atop a bed of crushed hazelnuts and saffron-infused foam.

Cosmo’s voice crackled over the speakers, explaining the dish.

One bite, and the delicate shell cracked, spilling molten chocolate infused with truffle and aged cognac onto my tongue.

“Damn.” I licked a drop from my lip. “That tastes like forbidden knowledge.”

Fabien smirked. “Then you must be the wisest woman on this train.”

Next was the Magnum Opus , a celebration of the four classical elements.

A slate platter held four precise bites—fire, water, air, and earth. Fire was a seared wagyu tartare with a hint of ghost pepper. Water shimmered with an oyster crowned with citrus pearls. Air floated in the form of a delicate, barely-there meringue, infused with lavender smoke.

And earth ?

A tiny mushroom soufflé, rich and umami-laden, the essence of the forest captured in a single bite.

Fabien moaned at the taste of the wagyu, shaking his head in pleasure. “Every meal should have a moment like this.”

We sampled another dish called Celestial Harmony .

Cosmo explained that this dish was inspired by planetary alignment—a duo of lobster and black truffle pasta, plated in a spiral like the Milky Way.

Then came the Elixir of the Sun —a citrus and saffron sorbet, served in a crystal goblet emitting a fine mist of liquid nitrogen. The burst of cold, the sharp kiss of citrus, the undercurrent of warm saffron—it was a palate cleanser and a spell in itself.

Throughout the journey, Fabien and I laughed.

We talked.

We let the ride of the train lull us into a shared rhythm, our conversations flowing as seamlessly as the movement of the subway beneath us.

And I swore it felt like I’d known him forever.

How was that possible?

I had never been one of those hopeless romantics who believed in love at first sight.

Hell, even lust at first sight was something I tended to side-eye.

Connections took time.

Trust had to be earned.

But sitting across from Fabien, his green eyes glinting with intrigue, his deep voice twisting around me like the softest velvet, I couldn’t deny the way my soul seemed to recognize him.

It was ridiculous.

Impossible.

But what if it wasn’t?

What if soulmates weren’t just an overused trope in romance novels, but real, flesh-and-blood beings walking the earth, waiting to collide with you in the most unexpected of places?

Because wasn’t this what I had always imagined that feeling would be?

Not fireworks or grand declarations, but this —the easy pull, the magnetic draw of another person’s presence. The way every word, every glance, every shared breath felt inevitable.

The way I wasn’t just intrigued by him, but comfortable , like my spirit had simply slotted into place beside his.

God, I felt silly even entertaining the thought.

I didn’t know him.

Not really.

But my body, my heart, my soul?

They were all whispering something else.

And that terrified me.

Because what if I had actually met my soulmate?

I tried not to think of it all too much, and just enjoy the moment for now.

But, soon. . .the journey came to an end.

As the train slowed, I noticed the shift in our surroundings.

Gone were the marble and gold.

Instead, the final station was something out of a dream—a meadow stretching out before us, softly illuminated by hidden lights designed to mimic the glow of dawn.

Delicate sculptures of butterflies lined the space, as if frozen in mid-flight, poised for release.

Cosmo’s voice rang through the station one last time. “And with that, my dear alchemists, our journey together concludes. Transformation, indulgence, and magic—may you carry this night with you long after you leave these doors. Thank you for allowing us to take you beyond the ordinary.”

I exhaled, my heart still racing from the night’s enchantment. “So. . .what will your review be?”

“I plan to send in the confirmation for the second Stellar star.” Fabien rose from his seat, and before I could even think about moving, his hand was already on mine, helping me up with that same tenderness, that same quiet possession that had sent a slow burn through my body all evening.

This time, I didn’t expect him to let go.

And he didn’t.

As we stepped onto the platform, Cosmo was already waiting, my fur coat draped neatly over his arm. “Here you go, Ms. Harris.”

I wish I could tell Cosmo that the restaurant is about to get even more popular.

As Cosmo moved to hand my fur coat to me, Fabien stepped in smoothly, taking the coat with a possessive ease. “Thank you, but I’ve got it.”

Alright now.

Cosmo arched a brow, before handing it over without a word.

Fabien turned to me, lifting the coat gently. His hands brushed against my shoulders as he helped me slip into it, the contact so brief yet so intimate that my breath caught.

“That’s what I’m talking about.” Cosmo smirked knowingly, winking at me before disappearing into the shifting crowd of couples bidding their goodbyes.

Wow.

Fabien placed his hand at the small of my back and guided me toward the exit, stepping through the large white doors of Alchemy’s side entrance.

The cold night air kissed my cheeks, and we emerged into the quiet street.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you.” I turned to him. “I have a driver waiting for me.”

“I have one too,” he said casually, then looked at me with quiet intent. “But we can take yours if that makes you more comfortable.”

I bit my lip, warmth spreading in my chest. “I’d like that.”

He nodded. “I’ll just text my driver and have him follow us.”

“Perfect.”

We stepped forward.

My heart drummed.

Then, I spotted my car.

The sleek black Phantom sat idling at the curb, and just outside, Dalvin stood waiting, the back door already open.

But as Dalvin’s gaze flicked toward me—and more importantly, toward the fact that I was holding Fabien’s hand—his expression shifted.

Shock.

Pure, unfiltered shock.

I fought the urge to laugh.

I know, Dalvin. I’m shocked too.

As Fabien led me toward the car, I couldn’t help but wonder—what else would happen tonight?