Chapter 43
Tori's POV:
Lucas bent at the waist, his gaze level with mine.
"Have you already forgotten what Elena said?"
He was so close that I could feel the heat radiating from his body, see the slight stubble along his jawline, and count each dark eyelash.
The scent of winter pines and something distinctly him filled the confined space of the car, making it hard to breathe.
My heart hammered against my ribs as I pressed back against the seat, trying to maintain whatever distance I could.
You could just bite him, Tracy suggested unhelpfully in my mind. Or kiss him. Either works.
Shut up, I mentally hissed back at her.
I swallowed hard, finding my voice. "I'm really not hungry."
"I can eat when I get back to the dorm," I insisted, my voice weaker than I intended.
Lucas's eyes narrowed slightly. "And what would you eat there? Instant noodles? Crackers?"
He shook his head. "That's not going to work for your condition."
Before I could argue further, he straightened up and extended his hand to me. "Now, are you going to get out on your own, or do I need to carry you?"
The thought of being carried by him scared me quite a bit.
"I can walk!" I blurted, practically lunging for my seatbelt buckle.
Before he could make good on his threat, I ducked under his arm and scrambled out of the car with a speed that belied my injured leg.
I nearly stumbled in my haste, acting as though another second's delay would result in him throwing me over his shoulder.
Lucas's expression shifted from surprise to amusement, a soft chuckle escaping him as he straightened up and closed the car door.
The restaurant was elegant but understated, with soft lighting and tasteful decor.
The hostess recognized Lucas immediately, her eyes widening as she hurried to greet him.
"Alpha Lucas! It's an honor to have you with us this evening."
Lucas nodded in acknowledgment. "My usual table, please."
We followed her to a secluded corner booth.
"Order whatever you want," he said, sliding a menu toward me. "The chef here knows how to prepare dishes suitable for various conditions."
I opened the menu and nearly choked at the prices.
The cheapest appetizer costs more than I made in half a day at the coffee shop.
"This is too expensive," I said quietly.
Lucas barely glanced at his own menu. "The price is irrelevant."
When the server arrived with our water and asked for our orders, Lucas gestured for me to go first. I hesitated, scanning the menu for the most modest options.
"Um, I'll have the vegetable soup and the steamed rice with seasonal greens, please," I finally said, choosing dishes that seemed gentle enough for my stomach.
After I finished ordering, he turned to the server.
"We'll also have the braised lamb with ginger and herbs," he added smoothly. "Tell Chef Ming to prepare it the way he does for stomach ailments."
He paused, scanning the menu briefly. "And add the pan-seared sea bass with the light broth, the roasted vegetables with mountain herbs, and a side of the medicinal rice congee."
Our food arrived quickly, and I was immediately overwhelmed by the array of dishes between us. Everything looked and smelled delicious, making my stomach growl despite my earlier protests.
I started with the soup, taking small, careful sips.
After just a few bites of the various dishes, I felt my shrunken stomach protesting. Four years of prison rations had severely limited my capacity.
I set down my cutlery, hoping he wouldn't notice.
However, Lucas immediately glanced up, his sharp eyes catching the movement.
He reached for a small bowl in front of him and ladled some rich chicken soup with delicate seafood treasures into it.
The fragrant steam carried the scent of ginger and herbs specifically selected to soothe digestive issues.
"Drink more," he encouraged, his deep voice somehow both gentle and impossible to refuse.
Finally, after what felt like a carefully orchestrated feeding ritual, Lucas seemed satisfied and signaled for the check.
As we prepared to leave, I realized my normally flat stomach was actually slightly distended beneath my shirt.
I realized with a start that this was probably the first time in four years I'd eaten until I was truly full. Even after returning from Silver Fang, I'd been careful with my limited funds, often going to bed with a gnawing hunger.
After dinner, Lucas drove me back to the dormitory.
The ride was mostly silent, with me staring out the window trying to process the strange evening we'd just shared.
When we pulled up outside my building, he turned off the engine and turned slightly in his seat to face me.
"Elena's herbs will be prepared tonight. I'll have it picked up and prepared," he stated matter-of-factly, as though any arrangement was perfectly reasonable.
"Jack will bring the first dose to your dorm tonight."
"That's not necessary," I protested weakly. "I can prepare them myself or—"
"The preparation is complex," he interrupted. "They need to be simmered for hours at specific temperatures with precise timing. You are not convenient at the school dormitory."
I sighed, recognizing the futility of arguing.
"Fine," I conceded, but then found myself asking the question that had been burning in my mind all evening.
"But why? Why are you doing all this for me?" I met his gaze directly. "And please don't give me some nonsense about love at first sight or anything like that."
Lucas looked at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable in the dim light of the car.
The silence stretched between us, becoming almost unbearable. I reached for the door handle, assuming I wouldn't get an answer.
"Because you're important to me," he said suddenly, his voice low and sincere.
The words froze me in place, my hand still on the handle.
I didn't know how to respond. Without looking back, I pushed open the door and stepped out, mumbling a quick "Goodnight" before closing it behind me.
I stood motionless on the sidewalk as his sleek black Maybach pulled away from the curb, its taillights eventually disappearing around the corner.
Important to him? What does that even mean?
I shook my head, letting the winter chill clear my thoughts.
This was dangerous territory. I'd already started to notice something shifting inside me—a ridiculous, faint impulse to lean on Lucas Grayson, to trust his support, to believe in his protection.
The thought was absurd. Laughable. Completely insane.