Page 91 of Movers and Fakers

“Why don’t we sit down?” Renee suggests, gesturing to the table covered in thick white linen. There are way too many utensils at each place setting, and I am certain I’m going to choose the wrong one at some point during this dinner. I should have asked Jasmine. As an aspiring chef, she probably would have been able to instruct me.

Hayes pulls out my chair, then tucks it beneath me as I sit down before taking the one to my left. Renee and Truett sit across from us, looking pristine and pressed.

A server appears right after we sit down, wearing an ironed navy suit and a crisp white undershirt.

“What would everyone like to drink this evening?”

“We are in desperate need of champagne,” Renee states with a dazzling smile.

“Very well, we have several to choose from. Do you have a preference?”

“What do you think, honey?” She turns to Truett. “Should we do Cristal? We’re celebrating, after all.”

He nods once in approval. Renee relays this to our waiter. There are already waters on our table in ornate crystal goblets, so I don’t get anything else. Then we’re alone once more, putting me under the focused gazes of the Rosewoods.

“Hayes tells me you two met through shared classes,” Renee comments. “What drew you to my son?”

I shift in my seat, already uncomfortable. Even without the knowledge Hayes gave me, I’d be able to tell what a loaded question this is.

Was it his money? is being whispered beneath the surface. Status? Name? Popularity?

“I’m actually the one who approached her,” Hayes answers for me. “She wouldn’t give me the time of day at first, but I wore her down.”

He smiles, and I hope that his answer doesn’t backfire. Will his parents be offended that I didn’t like him right away?

Truett’s dark brows rise.

“You pursued her?” he questions.

“Yes.” Hayes sets a hand over mine on the table. “I saw her the first day of class and knew that I had to get her to go out with me.”

My face heats, and I avert my gaze to the table setting.

“Interesting,” Truett murmurs as the server approaches with a golden bottle sticking out of a bucket of ice. He sets down four champagne flutes, then picks up the bottle and begins unwrapping the gold leafing around the top. I glance at the glass in front of me, wondering why I wasn’t carded.

Hayes leans over while the waiter begins twisting the bottle at an angle while holding the cork.

“You don’t have to drink any if you don’t want to,” he whispers in my ear.

I give a slight nod, acutely aware of his parents watching us. There’s a soft hiss as the waiter removes the cork, much different from the loud pop I’ve seen in movies and TV shows. He gracefully pours us each a glass, foamy bubbles cresting to the top before settling down.

Renee thanks the man, then grabs her glass and lifts it. The rest of us follow suit.

“To my sweet Hayes, who’s growing up so fast.” There are tears in her eyes, and I’m torn between being moved by the display and wondering what she really means.

Hayes forces a smile, and we clink glasses. Though it feels strange to drink in front of adults in a public place, I press the glass to my lips and try a small sip. It’s bright and citrusy, but not too strong on my palate. I was worried that I’d end up in a coughing fit.

“We’d like the chef’s choice for our meal this evening,” Truett tells the server after our toast. “Five courses, no preferences, and no allergies.” He looks at me. “Unless you have any?”

“Oh, no, sir,” I answer, setting my glass down.

“Good. Then it will be as I said,” he informs the waiter, who dips forward in a slight bow before scurrying off toward the kitchen inside.

“Hayes mentioned you’re in ballet, but also majoring in computer science,” Truett says without preamble. “Where do you see yourself in five years?”

I swallow, the taste of champagne still on my tongue, reminding me of just how out of my depth I am.

Hayes places a hand on my knee and gives it a gentle squeeze beneath the table. I draw in a steadying breath.