The dress was a deep, rich red color that hugged her body. The flared skirt fell just above her knee, and the rounded neckline framed her face. At face value, the dress looked neat and modest, but on her, it was something entirely different. Sullivan's eyes darkened. His heated gaze shifted from the painter to his daughter beside her. The cheeky little thing was watching him with a smug expression.
They reached the end of the stairs. The painter nodded coolly at him. "I'll go get my coat."
He watched her walk away.
"What do you think?"
He turned to Bloom. "About what?"
Bloom rolled her eyes and tore out a sheet from her pad, holding it up to him.
Sullivan read the paper's bold title: "Dating Rules."
His lips twitched. "This is?"
Bloom gave him a look that said, "Are you dumb?"
"It's your dating to-do list. You have to follow it strictly," she narrowed her eyes. "If you don't, I'll know."
Sullivan scoffed.
Bloom crumpled the paper in her hand and went to sit down. "If you no longer wish to continue our agreement, say so."
Sullivan rubbed his aching head. He snatched the paper from her hand and shoved it into his pocket. "Brat," he muttered.
"Old man," Bloom replied.
Sullivan gasped dramatically, clutching his chest.
The painter returned before he could say anything else. Bloom transformed into a doll immediately when the woman got close. She tugged at the woman's hand, making her bend before planting a kiss on her cheek. Sullivan scowled; she was an angel to this stranger and a little devil to him. The last time he had tried to kiss her cheek, she had treated him like a leper!
He caught the painter's hand in a loose grip and said, "Let's go, or we will miss our reservation."
Sullivan knew something was wrong when he walked into the restaurant. He had ordered a simple table in the corner; instead, the whole restaurant was empty, save for a few staff members lined up, waiting to serve them. In the middle of a tacky set of red heart balloons and flowers was a single small table with two seats placed side by side. Sullivan cursed under his breath with a grim look. He could feel the painter stiffen beside him and even hesitate to enter. He placed a palm at her back, gently nudging her in.
"Take a seat. I'll be back," he said and walked away.
Turning away from her, his expression became annoyed. He turned a corner and walked down the familiar hallway to the kitchen. He pushed open the door and sighted the single chef sharpening knives by the stove.
"What's with the joke, Vincent?"
The clanging sound of steel against steel halted abruptly.
The chef turned around. Because he had been hunched over, he had appeared short, but stretching to his full height showed that he was just a bit taller than Sullivan. His chef's attire did little to hide the muscles beneath. His head of dark hair was tucked underneath a cap, but his sharp, amorous green eyes surveyed Sullivan with a hint of amusement.
"Bloom called and informed me you had a date with the future Mrs.," he grinned. "She said you had been delayed by work, so I should prepare something romantic."
Sullivan slumped into a stool and rubbed his head.
"That girl will be the death of me."
"I, of course, knew she was lying," Vincent laughed.
Sullivan glared at him. "Then why did you still do it?"
Vincent shrugged. "She also said to tell you to follow the rules and appointed me her spy."
Sullivan sighed. He stood up from the stool and headed towards the door.
"Wait," Vincent called out. "Who's the poor girl you tricked into liking you?"
His answer was the door being slammed shut.
Returning to the dining hall, Sullivan noticed that the seats were now placed at opposite sides of the table. Esther sat the same way she had entered, with her coat on and her purse tightly clutched in her hand as if hanging for dear life. Still, her face was a plaintive mask. Sullivan studied her, a bit amused, as he slipped into his seat.
"Are you not hot with that thick coat on?"
She stared at him for a second as if computing his words.
"Oh," she gasped. She stood up and removed the jacket, revealing the alluring dress underneath. Sullivan swallowed; perhaps he should have let her keep the darn jacket on. A service staff member walked over and took the jacket from her.
"How has your day been, Miss Powés?"
"Productive, sir."
Sullivan tilted his head at the answer. She had always been polite in her answers, but today felt different. Perhaps it was the fact that her eyes didn't meet his, that she didn't smile. It wasn't her usual shyness. She was upset about something.
Sullivan mentally shrugged and picked up the menu. It was no concern of his.
"You should order," he said. As soon as they picked up the menu, a waiter appeared beside them. Sullivan dropped the menu and said, "The usual."
"And madame?"
The painter bit her bottom lip as her eyes rapidly scanned the menu. Sullivan expected her to order his usual as before because he knew that the menu was filled with foreign words that he was sure she couldn't read. Hence, when he saw her point at a dish on the menu, he was quite surprised and amused. She had ordered what she must think is an exotic chicken dish but is instead a giant ditch frog.
A little wine was served, and the food came out fast. Sullivan nodded, as expected of Mariton City's best chef. The dishes were uncovered, and tempting aromas assailed their nostrils. Sullivan looked over at the glistening lump of meat before the painter. If he didn't know what that was, he would have regretted not ordering that instead of his usual large bowl of stir-fried glass noodles. Nonetheless, he watched her slowly cut a piece and chew. Her lips curled up in a satisfied smile.
"How is it?" he couldn't help but ask.
Her smile fell like a heavy dumbbell. She nodded. "Good, I've never had chicken with such flavor before."
Sullivan scoffed as he took a sip of his drink. "The chef is a talent in his field."