and liberties are for all citizens, not just the living. As Mandela says, There is no such thing as part freedom.”
And was she going to endanger his purpose, everything he stood for? What choice did she have? If she didn’t, her brother would be shipped off to Guantanamo Bay. Peter had always looked out for her. She could do no different now, for his safety.
Maybe her comfort level with Vaihan was because she doubted he could hurt her. She knew he was only seeing her to further his own case, so he wouldn’t let his emotions run amok. People like Vaihan didn’t obtain what they wanted without having a ruthless side. He, too, could believe the ends justified the means.
Vaihan overlapped his hand on hers as he put down the menu. Butterflies traveled up her arm, sending a shiver through her. His touch felt right and thrilling all in the same moment.
What was she in the mood for? Spicy mixed with sweet. The ThaiMex salad was just the combo, with a shrimp cocktail to start.
“Have you decided?” Aaron stood beside their table, pencil and pad in hand.
“I have.” She smiled. “And how about you?” she asked Vaihan.
“Yes,” he responded. “I wouldn’t be much of a gentleman, if I ordered before you. Please go ahead.”
“Thank you.” Chivalry. She liked that quality in a male. “I’ll have a six ounce glass of vinho verde white. The shrimp cocktail, the ThaiMex fusion salad and a water, please.”
“Eclectic mix of flavors.” Vaihan’s upward-turned lips revealed his one dimple. “I’ll have all my usual.”
“Of course, Mr. Louchian. Let me make more space.” Aaron held out a hand for the menus, took them and left.
Vaihan’s smooth, long fingers strummed the tops of her hands. Heat danced beneath his touch.
She met his gaze.
“Your father fought for the first senate seat in the District of Columbia and your brother is a lawyer, who many believe will pick up were your father left off. So, how old were you when you decided you had no interest in politics or law?”
“Young.” In the beginning, she had feared her parent’s rejection. Eventually, she’d sought their disapproval. “My parents hoped I’d grow out of it. Peter helped shelter me from their criticism. My father believed I was mixed up with the wrong crowd, meaning boyfriend, so they shipped me off to study culinary arts abroad.” After the loss of her child and ovary, and breaking things off with Rowley, the victory of studying what she wanted had been bittersweet.
Aaron arrived with a wine and a Scotch glass on his tray.
Leera picked up her drink, smelled the sweet vanilla and pepper aromas then sipped the tangy liquid. “Delicious.”
“Wonderful.” The young man left.
“What were you seeking that cooking provided?” He locked his fingers with hers.
With Vaihan, an ease came over her at being touched that only her late husband and Rowley had managed to make her feel. “An artful skill, and something I could leave at work, when I left for the day.”
“And does your employment provide that?” He massaged the inside of her palm with his thumb.
“It can. However, after the accident, I buried myself in work and became the youngest woman head chef at a three star Michelin rated restaurant.” She lifted her glass and allowed the sweet taste to wash over her tongue. “As head chef at La Petite Brasserie, I do more managing than cooking. So the answer is no, but that is my own fault.”
A short man set down her shrimp cocktail, smiled and left.
Aaron arrived with a tray, placed a large white bowl in front of Vaihan with squares glazed in a dark red sauce. A deep-dish salad with leafy greens, tortilla chips pieces and beans with peanut butter dressing was placed before her. So far, everything seemed freshly made. Would the taste live up to it?
What had he ordered? Didn’t zombies eat humans?
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