I set down my wine. “You’re… eating that?”
She nodded, perfectly composed. “Of course.”
She took the time to chew, then swallow, sending my gag reflex to high alert.
“I mean, it might be a bit… crunchy.”
“That’s because it’s a skull,” I said, wondering why Luc would suggest this woman look after my daughter.
Sophie scoffed, watching with wide-eyed delight. “Yes, it’s for flavour. You’re not supposed to eat it.”
At her words, a chill slid between my shoulder blades. Was Sophie making fun of her? Had she ordered the soup deliberately? Like a brutal initiation test?
I watched Chloe, and something flashed on her face. I couldn’t name the emotion, but it was the first time I’d seen even a hint of weakness or vulnerability in her. Just as soon as it appeared, it vanished.
Pressing her napkin to her lips, she took a sip of wine. “You might think it’s only for flavour, but the head of a fish is full of goodness, too. Some would say it’s the best part. I’ve travelled widely. I promise you; I’ve eaten more interesting things.”
Sophie leaned in again. “Like what?”
Chloe tapped her finger against the stem of her wineglass. “Let’s see… crispy crickets in Thailand, fermented shark all the way from Iceland, and once, a goat eyeball in Marrakech.”
Sophie gaped. “Are you serious? What was it like?”
“Honestly? Solid jelly, then juice. Disgusting.”
Sophie giggled, shaking her head.
One-nil, to Chloe.
Once she’d laid the fish head on a side plate, dinner passed uneventfully, but I couldn’t ignore the empty tables.
It’d been the same since the novelty of our opening wore off. Fifi and I had created something beautiful, so why didn’t more people come? I chewed at my lip. The club was all for Sophie. Something for her to be proud of, something for me to leave her. Even if her mother’s wealth dwarfed any gesture I could make.
She was thick in conversation with Chloe now. Though I wouldn’t describe them as bosom buddies, at least Sophie was speaking. For her part, Chloe was demonstrating how to fold a napkin into God only knew what. After a few more folds, she lifted it to the top of her head, like a crown, balancing it like a ballerina. She’d made a lily pad.
“There!” she said. “What do you think?”
Sophie scoffed but still wore a hint of a smile. “You said it was going to be the Eiffel Tower.”
“It was, but steel girders are tricky to model. I think it’spretty good. Let’s see what your father thinks. Maxime? How does it look?”
She batted her eyelashes like a cartoon character. The napkin was exactly the same blue as her eyes. She looked equal parts ridiculous and beautiful. I swallowed hard. “You look… interesting.”
She smiled, nudging Sophie with her elbow. “I’m not sure that’s a compliment, but I’ll take it.” She met my gaze. “It might be the closest I ever get.”
Sending me a show stopping smile, she turned her head, braids whipping around her shoulders. “Where’s that barista of yours? I’m in distinct need of a coffee, and unless he’s hung up his steam wand and left the building, he’s the man I’m after.”
As she scanned the bar, my gaze caught on the curve of her neck, long and elegant, and the flutter of her pulse just beneath her skin. My breath thinned.
I needed a distraction.
“I’ll go check.”
“No, it’s fine. I’ll go,” she said. “I met him this morning. If he sees you, he’ll probably think he’s in trouble, and you don’t want to upset him or question his cappuccinos. Hell hath no fury like a barista belittled.”
“It’s the wrong time of day for a cappuccino,” I said.
Choe chuckled before bringing her hand to rest on my arm.
