Page 9 of Eat Slay Love

Chapter seven

Stripped of Pretense

Rae

He wanted to know about my past, and I was nervous.

Fuck.

I hesitated, my fingers tightening around the stem of my glass.

How much should I say?

How much could I say without looking like a damn fool?

Because the truth was—I hadn’t always been smart when it came to love. Back then, I had ignored the warning signs, swallowed the hurt, and let myself shrink just to keep the peace.

And now, sitting across from a man like Fabien—who exuded power, self-awareness, and the kind of confidence that came from real growth—I didn’t want to look weak.

I didn’t want him to see me as a woman who had once let someone chip away at her piece by piece.

I wanted him to see me as strong.

But if I wasn’t honest, then wasn’t I just playing a role, the same way I had back then?

I exhaled slowly, bracing myself.

Fuck it. If he was bold enough to give me his truth, I could do the same.

I exhaled softly. “I divorced ten years ago.”

A flicker of something—understanding, maybe—crossed his face, but he stayed silent, letting me set the pace of my own story.

“I married too soon without truly knowing him,” I tapped the side of my glass. “And at the time, I thought I had everything I was supposed to want. A husband. Stability. A life that made sense on paper.”

I let out a small, humorless chuckle. “And I was smaller back then. Not thin, exactly—I’ve never been thin. I was always just a little chubby, even as a kid. But when I got married, I was probably the smallest I’ve ever been.”

Although Fabien did not speak, I could feel the intensity of his focus on me.

I took another breath. “Then, after about a year, I started gaining a little weight. Not a lot—ten pounds, maybe. But the way my ex saw it, I might as well have gained a hundred. He started calling me, his sweet little. . .Butter Ball.”

The line of Fabien’s jaw twitched.

I gave a small, nervous smile, though it didn’t quite reach my eyes. “He used to. . .playfully threaten to chain me to the back of his car and drive around the block so I could run the pounds off.”

Fabien’s entire expression hardened. His easy, flirtatious demeanor disappeared in an instant, replaced with something that looked an awful lot like restrained fury. . .as if he were struggling to hold himself back from loudly cursing.

My stomach twisted. “I would laugh it off because, you know, if you don’t laugh, you cry. And. . .besides, it wasn’t like he meant it, right? That’s what I would say to myself.”

My voice softened. “And the funny part? He had gained weight too. A whole lot more than I did. And I think. . .no. . .I know that’s where all the focus on me came from. His own hate for himself. He needed something to project it onto, someone to feel worse than him, someone to take the hit.”

Fabien exhaled sharply, his grip tightening around the stem of his glass.

“But because I didn’t love myself enough either, I stayed in the marriage. Even when his words got sharper. Even when his jokes turned into real disappointment, real disgust. Even when I started eating more and more just to cope with it all.”

The silence between us stretched thick and heavy.

Fabien’s voice, when it finally came, was quiet but firm. “You deserved better than that.”

“I know that now.” I forced a small smile. “But it took me a long time after the divorce to figure it out. Years of therapy. A lot of exercise, but not because I wanted to be thin—just because I want to feel good in my own body and be healthy. Also meditation. EFT tapping—”

“What is that?”

I blinked, surprised. “You’ve never heard of EFT?”

He smirked. “French men don’t exactly sit around discussing healing methods over wine and cheese.”

That made me chuckle. “It’s called the Emotional Freedom Technique.

It’s kind of like acupuncture but without the needles.

You tap your finger on meridian points of your body—like your face, collarbone, hands—while saying affirmations or processing emotions.

It helps rewire negative beliefs, ease anxiety. I do it all the time.”

Fabien’s gaze flickered with intrigue. “You’ll have to show me.”

I grinned, arching a brow. “You? Mr. Broody Parisian Playboy? You’re willing to tap on your face for emotional healing?”

His lips curved in amusement. “For you, chérie , I’ll try anything once.”

The way he said it sent a shiver down my spine.

I cleared my throat, needing to ground myself before I completely melted in my seat. “Anyway. . .I’ve been divorced for ten years now. And. . .”

“And?”

“Celibate too.”

His brows shot up, and something unmistakable flickered across his face.

Hunger.

Interest.

A deep, predatory sort of intrigue.

His voice was lower now, like he didn’t quite believe it. “No sex for ten years?”

“None.”

His gaze scanned me like he was seeing me in an entirely new light. “Do you miss it?”

“Of course.” I shrugged. “But I won’t let any man into my bed again unless he deserves to be there.”

Those green eyes went wild and I wondered what was on his mind. “Mmmm.”

Cosmo reappeared, smiling that foxlike grin of his as he lifted a delicate golden pitcher. “Now, we begin the true essence of alchemy!”

We both turned Cosmo’s way.

Waiters began placing dishes onto our table.

Cosmo raised his hands in the air. “This is the first of three transformations tonight. We call it Chrysopoeia —the transmutation of the ordinary into gold.”

Before me, a sleek, obsidian-black bar sat in the center of the table.

Next, our waitress placed a small, crystalline carafe filled with a shimmering liquid that rippled between bronze and silver as if caught between worlds.

Cosmo gestured grandly. “Alchemy is about change—about taking what is and seeing what it could become. So, I would like you to do this. Please, pour your elixir over that bar on your plate, and witness the impossible.”

Oh this is so much fun.

I lifted my carafe, the weight of it cool in my palm, and tilted it over the black surface.

The moment the liquid touched the bar, it bled outward like veins of molten metal, shifting from dark obsidian to a radiant, gleaming gold.

Oh shit.

The transformation was instant, mesmerizing, and I couldn’t help myself—I chuckled, giddy with delight.

Fabien didn’t pour his immediately. Instead, he turned toward me, his emerald eyes devouring the way I smiled, the way my joy lit up the space between us.

In fact, he looked enthralled —like he’d rather watch me than the miracle happening on the table.

The loveliness of his attention sent a delicious thrill down my spine.

After a long moment, he finally poured his elixir, but his gaze never left me.

“Don’t eat that just yet.” Cosmo, seemingly pleased by the reactions in the room, pressed forward. “Next, we move to the Elixir of Life —the legendary drink said to grant immortality, to defy time itself.”

Cosmo lifted his hand, and the waitstaff flowed in, placing before each of us a delicate glass filled with a glowing pink liquid.

Wisps of smoke curled up from its surface, spiraling like a living thing, the scent of something exotic and decadent filling the air.

Cosmo winked. “Try the elixir.”

I lifted my glass, hesitant but intrigued, and took a sip.

Oh.

The moment it hit my tongue, it was as if the drink exploded inside me—bright, floral, citrus, and honeyed warmth unfolding in waves that lingered, stretching out the moment into something infinite.

Just. . .wow.

I pressed my lips together and let out a shuddering breath, stunned by the sheer pleasure of it.

“Holy shit,” I whispered, setting the glass down carefully, because I needed a damn moment to process what was happening in my mouth. “I think I might actually live forever.”

Fabien still hadn’t touched his. He just watched me, his expression dark and amused, like he was savoring my reaction more than the drink itself.

“You really enjoy pleasure, don’t you?” he murmured.

I looked at him, heat rising to my cheeks. “Is that a bad thing?”

His lips curled at the corners. “Not at all.”

Before I could think too much about the way his voice sent a pulse of warmth through me, Cosmo clapped his hands. “And finally, we have Alkahest —the universal solvent. The great dissolver of barriers, the final key in unlocking the philosopher’s stone.”

The waiters set down the last dish, and I almost gasped at the sight of it. An impossibly delicate tower of crisped pastry sat in the center of the plate, layered with what looked like rich, golden crème.

But the real decadence was the caviar — mountains of it, tiny black pearls glistening under the golden light, cascading down the dish like some extravagant luxury only whispered about in secret societies.

Cosmo bowed. “Enjoy, Alchemists.”

Then, he left.

I am absolutely going to enjoy this.

Fabien took the first bite, scooping a perfect portion with the edge of his spoon and bringing it to his lips.

The moment it hit his tongue, he let out a low, deep groan of pleasure.

Damn. That sounded good.

I swallowed hard, my mind immediately spiraling to places it had no business going.

That groan—it was pure sin , rich and thick like molten chocolate, like the kind of sound a man makes when his cock is buried deep inside you, losing himself completely.

I clenched my thighs, suddenly hyper-aware of the heat pooling in my belly.

Fabien, oblivious to the war he was waging on my self-control, tilted his head slightly, considering. “Hmmm. Sometimes caviar can be an unnecessary flashy ingredient for a dish, but this?”

He took another bite. “This works. I can taste the magic of the sea.”

I finally gathered myself enough to try a bite, and oh damn . It was creamy, salty, buttery, the crisped pastry adding the perfect contrast. It melted on my tongue like an erotic promise.

“I am truly enjoying this.” I tried the first dish—the black bar that shifted to gold—and tasted succulent lamb. “This is definitely a once-in-a-lifetime experience.”

“I agree.” Fabien nodded, but the way he looked at me, the way his eyes dipped from my lips to my throat, then lower, made it clear he wasn’t just talking about the food.

The moment stretched between us, thick with unspoken words, heavy with the weight of something unnamed. As I took another bite, the rich, buttery layers of pastry dissolved on my tongue, mingling with the salty burst of caviar.

I let my eyes flutter shut for a brief second, just long enough to savor it—to let the pleasure unfurl through me like silk slipping over bare skin.

When I opened my eyes again, Fabien was still watching me, his expression dark and knowing, like he was committing every reaction, every sigh of enjoyment, to memory.

His spoon hovered just above his plate, forgotten, as if he were more interested in my pleasure than his own.

Yeah. . .I just might take him to bed tonight. Fuck. Would that be too soon?

I swallowed hard and glanced around the room, trying to ground myself, to remind myself that we weren’t alone.

Every table shimmered under the golden glow of the Chandlier light.

The air was thick with laughter, hushed voices, and the occasional clink of glasses.

Couples leaned into each other, hands brushing, fingers tracing over bare skin, mouths moving in whispers that I knew carried sexy invitations meant for later.

A woman near the far end of the room lifted her flute of champagne to her lips, her partner watching her with the same kind of intensity Fabien had given me all night.

Another pair sat closer to us, the man’s hand resting on the inside of his date’s thigh beneath the table, her lips parting slightly as he murmured something in her ear.

Every moment in this space felt decadent, intimate, like the entire restaurant existed in its own private universe—separate from the rest of the world.

And here I was, caught in the middle of it, with a man who made me feel like I was the most indulgent course of the evening.

I cleared my throat and returned my view to Fabien, suddenly needing something solid to hold onto. “This menu is like a portal into a magical world.”

“And that,” Fabien nodded, “is what fine dining should be. Not stuffy or snobby, but fun, creative, and even. . .inspiring.”

I shivered at the way his voice slipped along my skin.

Then, the lights brightened slightly, and Cosmo reappeared, beaming. “Now that everyone is done. My dear alchemists, I must ask you to rise.”

I blinked, startled. “What?”

Cosmo only grinned. “For our next set of courses we must take a journey.”

Behind him, a massive section of the wall slid away , revealing yet another tunnel—this one glowing bright white.

What the fuck?

A hushed murmur swept through the room.

The couples around us glanced at each other, clearly just as surprised as I was.

I had assumed we’d remain at our table for the entire evening, that this was the experience.

But apparently, we were just getting started.

Alright. Now I see why this cost so much.

“Alchemists!” Cosmo turned and stepped toward the entrance. “Come with me!”

Where the hell are we going next? And—more terrifyingly obvious—what would happen once we got there?