I plastered on my fakest smile as the waiter led us to our table, my knees still stinging from their little encounter with the marble floor. Behind me, Sebastian followed, calm as ever, like he hadn’t just let me eat the floor in a five-star elevator.
Once we reached the table—a perfectly set little corner with a view of the city skyline—I slid into my seat, still hyper-aware of every inch of my body, thanks to the lingering embarrassment. Of course, Sebastian didn’t say a word. Not an apology, not an acknowledgment, not even a “Hey, sorry I treated you like a leper back there.” Nope. Just silence.
“So,” he finally said, unfolding his napkin with the precision of a surgeon, “this restaurant is known for its seafood. I recommend the lobster.”
Oh, sure, because lobster was just a casua
