"So, you are the girl that has enchanted my Jace." she gives me a side-wise glance.

I bite my lips and increase the speed of my chopping. I regret volunteering to help with the dinner preparations. Why was I getting so desperate to impress Jace's family? I am just a friend. I don't need their acceptance. But actually I do and that is really a damned situation because I don't know how to cook.

"Don't know what he saw in you. You're pretty through!" she muses.

I almost chop off my pinky finger.

"Actually!" I clear my throat. She doesn't even look up as she stirs the soup.

"We are not like that. Jace and I are just friends. We met at a family party and he wants me to take me to a party at his mother's place —" I don't know why I am giving so many explanations.

"Why did you come here? To this house?" she stops moving the ladle and looks at me.

"Jace wants to teach me to dance— properly" I add as an afterthought.

"Well, go ahead then, set the table. We'll have dinner and you can have Jace all to yourself." she chuckles. I blush. The thought of having that gorgeous man all to myself makes my stomach leap again. I scuttle off to find the tablecloth, before I mess up any more.

Placing the last candle, I turn around to see Jace in a t-shirt and gym pants, his hands folded, silently surveying me from the doorway. His muscles are rippling beneath his flimsy shirt and suddenly I feel the urge to touch his skin, to feel those taught strands shiver under my caress.

"So, you can do household work too! Most office goers can't!" he says, coming nearer.

"I can't cook for the life of me," I turn around to face him and catch my breath. His face is half lit by the candles and he suddenly looks like the Prince of Darkness.

"Well, so were you trying to hoodwink my Gran back in the kitchen?" he winks.

"Your Gran was trying to put me on a Sherlock Holmes style investigation. I escaped. But I think it is actually time, she realizes that you and I—"

"Are just friends? Actually yes. Poor Gran still haven't gotten over Lydia. So, she's really cautious if I bring a girl home, even if they're my business associates." he looks away, into the distance.

"Who's Lydia?"

"My ex," the reply comes crisp and short, which means it's time to drop the subject again.

I wonder why he's so against discussing his past. But so didn't I.

"So — umm— what is exactly your business?" I enquire, "Because you told you're still studying."

"I am into designing as a parttime job. I'm a junior designer and our company makes professional book covers and movie posters and other book merchandise.I have to read bestseller books, analyze them and think about what new and innovative products can be made out of that." he pauses for breath.

"That means you like books? I know a very few men who do. Reading books is so much associated with a feminine trait, though there are so many male authors!" I sigh.

"Yeah! Male authors, of course! They're lucky to be there, recognized—"

I look at him surprised. There is a hint of resentment and sadness mixed in his voice and I can't fathom why. His eyes have dimmed to a sickly muddy blue as I see the spark leave them and suddenly it strikes me.

"You wanted to be a writer? "

"Shhh" he hisses, "That is not something we speak of in this house. It's a taboo. Men in our position don't do girly stuff like writing books. We have our goddamn class to maintain."

"Hey," I touch his shoulder for emphasis and gently trying to turn him around to face me. "Everyone has the right to follow their dreams. Being interested in literature, poetry or fiction isn't a crime. It is a talent."

"Say that to my family!" he groans.

"I know how it feels like to go against all for the sake of your dreams. A career in writing is tough! But it's worth the risk." I look into his eyes again as he turns around towards me, our faces inches apart.

"Dinner is ready, Sir, Ma'am." a timid voice sounds from the doorway.

We jump apart in shock, as if caught in some illegal act! Shit! We were having a moment.

"Yes, we were just talking!" I put emphasis on talking.

"Yes, Ma'am," she nods her head in a docile way, hands clasped in front of her and leaves.

"Does your Grandmother keep slaves instead of servants? The poor creature looked like a dried leaf, shriveled in fear." I comment.

"My Grandma keeps the housekeeping staff in order with an iron hand. I don't approve of it, but I don't have a say either. She's paying them."

"Hmm," I say, absentmindedly staring into the dark where the girl has disappeared.

"Why is your Gran cooking herself? Don't the staff help her?"

"That's a good question. We have the best French chef but when I come home, I want it to be like earlier times. I'm in love with Gran's cooking and you will be too. Now come. We must set the plates down."

He takes my hand to nudge me forward. I feel a jolt of electricity. My hormones are getting the better of me. Keep control Patriesse. You can't just lose it now. You have a reputation to keep.

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