I loved lobster.
I inhaled the main course, though I could have cursed the crustacean for making it so difficult to get to the delicious soft meat underneath its exoskeleton.
When I was done with the meat and had ventured on to the garlicky noodles, Evander spoke. “So, you made those shoes?”
“Are you still trying to convince yourself that your mystery lover isn’t a thief?”
“No, I’ve resigned myself to being in love with a petty criminal. But at least she’s pretty.”
I laughed, despite the fact that my mouth was full of pasta.
“How long did it take you to perfect the design?”
“I’ve been working on them for over two years.”
He frowned. “You must have been devastated when they went missing.”
I nodded.
Half of a smirk stretched the corner of his mouth. “But not devastated enough not to shatter the only pair you had left?”
“Well, being tricked into an unsavory engagement will do that to you. And it wasn’t a pair. The other one is still out there somewhere.”
He raised his glass to that and took a sip. “Are shoes your passion, then?”
I cocked my head at him, surprised by the question. No one had ever asked me that before. Not even my parents. What was my passion? Certainly not shoes, of all things. That seemed too simple, too inconsequential to label as a passion.
“The shoes are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever made. So yes, in that way, I guess they’re my passion. But it’s about more than just the shoes. I want to reframe the way the world looks at glass. I want to bring beauty to the common people. The rich have their crystal and diamond and gold and precious stones. But to take sand and fire and craft something that makes people’s eyes sparkle—that’s what I enjoy. It could be stained glass, or glass slippers, or even just glass-blown globes. It doesn’t really matter. I’d just like a workshop named after my father, where people come from miles and miles just to see a Payne.”
Evander’s eyes flickered. “So you’re an artist at heart, then?”
“That. And I like to think of myself as a businesswoman.”
He laughed, but not in the dismissive way I might have expected from nobility hearing what must seem like such an insignificant dream to someone like him. Someone who had probably traveled all of Alondria by the time he was weaned. “I assume you have a lot to prove to your fellow humans.”
I nodded, suddenly sad at the reminder of the dream that had been ripped away from me, so I changed the topic. “And what’s your passion?”
Evander’s smile didn’t reach his eyes, so much so that it almost looked like a grimace. “That, I’ve given up searching for.”
I shot him a knowing look. “That didn’t directly answer my question.”
“You’re getting good at detecting my tactics. I’m not sure that I like it,” he said, though his smirk might have suggested otherwise.
I shrugged. “Don’t yank me out of a perfectly good nap to come to dinner next time, then.”
“By the looks of that poor, devastated lobster, I’m sure I could find a way to bribe you out of bed. Or if I couldn’t, my chef could.”
I rolled my eyes and gestured, as if to stab him with the tiny lobster fork. “So what’s your passion, then?”
He sighed and locked those deep, sea-green eyes on me. My stomach whirled. Probably from the lobster. “Her.”
It took a tremendous amount of self-control not to gag. So I cleared my throat, the whirling in my stomach turning into something deep and heavy and not entirely comfortable. “And by her, I’m assuming you mean the mystery girl who swiped my shoes?”
“That would be the one,” he said, resting his chin upon his hand, lost in some dreamlike state.
Everything in me wanted to say that any respect I had gained for him had been lost in that one word. Her. Blech.
In fact, I found it irritating that he had gone to the effort of arranging this private dinner, even going as far as flirting with me about being too nervous to ask me himself, yet he still found it appropriate to bring up another woman.
Not that I cared.
Still, he wasn’t exactly placing great care into the kind of signals he was putting off. And even though I wasn’t under the impression the prince felt any romantic interest regarding me, that didn’t mean I couldn’t have gotten that impression from his actions this evening.
Then again, he had been kind to me about my glassblowing dream when he could have just as easily mocked it. Perhaps I should return the favor.
“Tell me about her, then,” I said, almost having to force the slimy words out of my throat.
Apparently, the effort was obvious, because he shot me a suspicious look. “You don’t really want to know.”
I sighed. “Alright. You got me. I don’t. But…” I said, lingering on that word, “that lobster might have been the highlight of a terrible week, so if you would like to talk about her, then I will, you know, listen. And then promptly scrub my ears out.”
“A true friend,” he mused.
“Oh, is that what we are?”
“I could keep calling you my dearly betrothed, if that’s what you want.”
“Friend is fine, thanks.”
