.8.

AT SEVEN-THIRTY, or the moment just past, Sre's need to not come off as a whore jumping at the opportunity to seduce a zillionaire had her settling for the nude coloured bandage gown hugging her features. The clothing stretched taut across her hips and breasts, outlining her curves perfectly.

The frontal part of the dress graced with a criss cross bodice possessed a sizeable diamond-shaped cut that showed a great deal of her underboobs and part of her upper abdomen, the skirt portion of the garment laying over her flesh like a second skin.

She'd kept her accessories to a minimum, opting for large hoop earrings on her ears and a gold bracelet on her wrist. Raven black hair was piled atop her head into a neat bun, exposing a slim neck to the atmosphere. She'd made sure to lay her edges so her baby hairs stayed plastered to her scalp in smooth swirls.

The back of the gown was delicately plain, adorned with a slim zipper that was barely visible. On her feet, strapped stilettos locked moderately tight across her ankles, her fingers wrapped round a purse swathed in soft nude fur.

Standing in front of her mirror, Sreya sighed. Her underboobs were literally lunging out of her dress and straight at the mirror just as they'd be lunging at Xaver in the next ten minutes if she didn't do anything about it.

Clutching her purse tightly, she fought to restrain herself from rushing into her closet and slipping into another dress. She'd already tried eleven dresses on in an hour before picking this and she couldn't change it now. She barely had nine minutes left.

Seconds passed and she gave up, hurriedly throwing her purse on her white bedsheets as she began the short long-paced trot to her closet. Before she could pull her zipper down, the clock chimed as the doorbell rang. The Kirkgardes were good at being punctual, Sreya noted, rolling her eyes as she pulled her zip up and grabbed her purse.

~•~

Xaver pushed the doorbell at exactly 9:00pm, hoping Sre hadn't already changed her mind as he stuffed a hand in his pocket, resisting the urge to steal a quick glance at his watch. Habit.

The door knob twisted and his eyebrow etched in surprise, Crystal always took an hour to get to the door. But Sreya wasn't Crystal. He knew that all too well and was so damn sure of it as he stared at the woman in front of him.

Femme fatale.

Laved in moonlight, Sreya's glittering brown eyes and soft lips told a silent story. A story of mythical celestial creatures. They told a quiet tale of the existence of nymphs and mermaids. A tale of sirens and the meadow of skeletons. All it would have taken was one look from the demigoddess before him and Xaver will be willing to seat in her magical green field and let her warble him to death with the sweetness of her Siren song.

He knew Sreya wasn't meant for this world. She seemed to be something inbetween. A being between mankind and divine deities. Shit, the woman was made to be idolized.

Worshipped.

Adored.

Sreya wasn't Crystal.

And maybe, just maybe, if he didn't have such amazing self control, he'd fall on his knees and pay homage.

The skin at her forehead was beginning to crease into a small questioning frown when Xaver realised he'd been silent for too long. Clearing his throat, he offered her his hand, locking his jaw tightly when hers slipped into his, her glossy black manicured nails turning him on more than it should have.

Gritting his teeth to keep from cursing, they made the short walk to his limo where his Chauffeur —whose name Sreya soon learned was Pieter— stood. Pieter jerked the door open with a smile and Sre greeted him with one before climbing into the luxurious vehicle.

Sreya didn't know her cars but she knew a Pontiac Grand Prix stretch limousine when she saw one. She knew what brand it was before she'd stepped in and found herself in heaven. A stretch limousine was definitely the ultimate status symbol and it's glossy black colour only added to it's posh looks. The interior had leather seats stained a soft blue from the blue bulbs above them. On one side lay flutes lined with crystal stones and champagne.

Presently, Sreya was on the verge of a nervous breakdown, her hands quite obvious in their betrayal, shaking ever so slightly. Taking a deep inaudible breath, Sre sought to calm herself, straining to preserve her facade of ease and confidence but a part of her felt like Xaver knew how edgy she was.

And Xaver did know how edgy she was. He saw bronze. He always saw bronze. He saw it in the way her hands clutched her purse tightly. In her rigid expressionless posture. In the fast rapid beat of her pulse at the base of her neck. He knew. He'd always know.

Lifting her lashes, her eyes met his and held. Cyan. There was blue everywhere. Hues of green in light blue. His gaze was sharp, cutting, like shards of broken glass reflecting light and for the first time in months, Sreya cared about what someone else thought of her. She cared about what he thought of her so much it was almost scary.

Xaver couldn't look away. Sreya Dronian had curves nobody could ignore but he couldn't look away from her face. His eyes were drawn to her fine oval shaped facial bone structure as iron to magnet. She didn't look like the beautiful aftermath of an artist's gentle brush of colour on canvas. She didn't look like an unsoiled drawing. No artist was good enough. No one could envision something so perfect yet flawed. So confident yet insecure. No one could create something so innocent yet beautifully sinful.

The silence was deafening. Sre's laboured breathing creating quiet cracks in the cloud of voicelessness. She knew she should say something, but she couldn't. Not when he was looking at her like that. Not when his eyes were caressing the gentle planes of her face like he was painting a picture of her in his memory. Not when.... not when his gaze just settled on her lips.

Sweet Jesus. Sreya felt like someone had thrown her in a boiling volcano. Her body was hot all over, the razor sharp sexual tension in the air getting sharper by the minute. She had to say something. Anything. Snatching her eyes from his face, she cleared her throat, her lips parting in an attempt to say something when a knock echoed through the tinted window and Pieter's muffled voice was heard announcing their arrival.

Xaver thought he heard a sigh of relief.

~•~

The Plutarch was unusually quiet, the faint sound of classic music from the interior reaching her ears in a soft whisper but this wasn't a norm. The restaurant was never noisy but it was never this silent.

Xaver offered his arm and Sreya slipped hers into his, letting him guide her to the doors. A valet offered to park the vehicle but Pieter politely refused the offer, opting to park the limo himself. After Xaver assured the persistent valet that he wasn't going to get fired for not doing his job, he guided Sre inside.

Empty.

The Plutarch was Empty. It was never empty. What the hell was going on? Did they announce they were going to shut down today? Cursing silently, Sreya knew she should have checked first before telling Xaver to have dinner here.

Before she could tell him she thought they should leave, she spotted a waitress walking up to them. Sreya couldn't imagine the embarrassment at being told to exit the premises.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

The waitress came closer. Wait. Why was she smiling? The young woman had her face split into a lip cracking grin, it was almost painful to watch.

"Mr. Kirkgarde. Miss Dronian. This way, please", gesturing with a smooth wave of her arm, she began to lead them to their table.

Then it hit her. Kirkgarde shut down The Plutarch. For dinner. He shut down The Plutarch. The. fucking. Plutarch. Why the devil—

His voiced whisper cut through her thoughts, "We don't need the distraction".

They took their seats and the ever smiling waitress left them. With the amount of cash Xaver had paid to have the place closed to civilians, she'd smile that much if she was at the receiving end.

Plutarch was one of the most prestigious premium restaurants in Verum City. The Plaster of Paris on the ceiling was embroidered with a large gold plate in the center giving it a unique appeal. The walls were an impeccable white colour, decorated with gold linings and adorned with high dome shaped windows, their soft white curtains pulled apart to reveal the pitch black night. The chandeliers hanging down the top was golden, draped with silver crystals that gave it a more rich appearance. From the age old painting placed on the wall, the fireplace situated below it, the white table cloths, chairs, crystal flutes atop tables, fresh rose flowers as side pieces, cruet sets as center pieces and white glazed plates on medium sized gold trays, The Plutarch screamed Vintage. The napkins were folded artistically, few taking the form of a candle, some taking the form of a rose and most taking the form of a Bishop's hat. Napkin folding was a very serious task and was handled diligently. On good days, they'd be shaped like the fleur-de-lis, a dress shirt, a diagonal pocket or even an envelope. Perfect napkins contributed greatly to the beauty of a table than anything else and they knew it.

Meals here were prepared with expertise, time and energy, paired with amazing impeccable catering skill. It didn't matter that a tasting menu containing 10-20 courses cost $2000 a head (per person). The Plutarch didn't make outrageously expensive dishes for attention, they did it because they could, and because they were damn good at it. It's true you could drop $1000 for an ice cream sundae but why stop there when you can have an exceedingly delicious frittata, a strawberry pie or even a pavlova that each cost just the same amount. Or higher.

The waitress wasn't gone for long when the Chef appeared. He wasn't from the city, his differently styled hair and different face seemed to say but Sreya was sure about her assumption when he spoke for his accent was erratic and he said the English words one after the other. Like he wasn't used to the language.

"For your utmost pleasure, we have compiled our best courses here in Plutarch in respect to your 5-course dinner menu. We have also picked the best wines from our cellar to go with each course. If you will be patient, we will serve you shortly", he bowed, before strolling out.

Before the first course was served, they started with a kick-off drink to tempt their gastric glands a little, maybe to elevate their appetite, Sreya wasn't sure. A few seconds later and their meal arrived.

First Course: Cream of roasted celeriac and horseradish soup with citrus ćreme fraiche (V), to be splashed with 50ml of wine, Vina Edmara-Viogneiri.

A spoon of the sumptuous delicacy and Sre was gone. This was why she'd picked The Plutarch. Personally, it was affordable (though it'd be too expensive for many others) and food here was the shit.

Glancing over at Xaver, she realized he was speaking but she couldn't quite decipher the words, his lips were too distracting, "Tell me about you, Dronian. What do you like?"

Sex and chocolate. Fuck. Sex, chocolate and you.

"I can't tell you anything you don't already know, Kirkgarde", she took another spoonful.

"True but I'd rather hear about you from you. It'll make already known information more authentic and I appreciate authenticity".

His deep husky voice was doing wicked things to Sreya's nether regions.

"Asking me about me before having me researched would have been a good idea if you really appreciate authenticity". Fucking hypocrite. Fucking sexy hypocrite. Like literally, you know when they say "I put the hot in psychotic", that was Xaver. He put the hot in everything and the sex in sexy.

"Patience isn't my forte".

"I'm not surprised".

"I'm asking now, Sreya"

The way he said her name. Yeah, that shit made her wet. Like slick as fuck. It was literally raining. In her vagina. Shifting slightly, Sreya tried to adjust, sitting in soaked pants was the least comfortable thing.

She regarded him for a second before sighing inwardly, caving, "I come from a small town, Tales. Father died before I was born so I know only what I've been told about him. Growing with two older brothers and a single mother was amazing", chocolate brown eyes took a faraway look and a small smile tugged on soft lips, "Mother used to work two jobs but she always had time for us. She was fierce and protective. Strong. On Saturdays, we'd visit The Kofièn, a little cafe in Tales. We'd eat and talk, then take long walks on the beach. Mrs. Dale always showed up on our doorstep with delicious homemade cookies every Sunday morning, fresh from the oven. The birthday parties were fun and eventful, the family picnics were interesting..."

Xaver was listening.

"I finished High School and I wanted more. I wanted the independence that came with wanting more. So I moved. I moved to Hearts. Another small town next to Tales. Hearts was perfect, I had the best friends, Ethan was in town with me though we lived apart, I worked and saved up money for college though mother could afford it", Sreya laughed, "She could afford anything. Especially if it had something to do with us. But I wanted to work, for me. Everything was good, picture-perfect even", she paused, she paused for the longest time, lost in her thoughts, "but it wasn't long before," the light in her eyes died and her smile was gone, "I had to move again".